Tuesday, April 21, 2026

Looking for Lucy - Gothic Mystery - Psychological Thriller - and a Giveaway #GothicMystery #PsychologicalThriller #Giveaway

Debbie De Louise is here to tell us about Looking for Lucy, a gothic mystery-psychological thriller.

There's also a great giveaway.

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A missing cousin, 

A Mysterious Mansion, 

Family Secrets, 

and a "ghost" cat. 


Looking For Lucy

by Debbie De Louise

Genre: Gothic Mystery, Psychological Thriller



 She was never meant to be the brave one.

Despite their different personalities, cousins Mary and Lucy are closer than sisters. Mary, a teacher in a small town, fears change and suffers from claustrophobia. Lucy, a thrill-seeker, travels around the world in search of adventure.

When Lucy goes missing, Mary, her mother, and aunt visit a Long Island mansion called Hollingham Hall where Lucy had been employed as a tour guide before she disappeared. There, Mary meets three men, one of whom may have been romantically involved with Lucy – a charming historian, a volatile artist, and a friendly landscaper.

As Mary searches for her cousin, she is drawn deeper into Hollingham’s labyrinthine gardens and shadowed corridors where she discovers a chilling connection between Lucy and a woman who vanished seventy years ago on the eve of her wedding. She also learns of the “ghost cat” rumored to prowl the property.

When strange events take place at Hollingham, the police are called to investigate. But is Lucy alive and is her disappearance connected to the missing bride or one of the men on the estate?

A mystery of illicit affairs, hidden passageways, and family secrets, Looking for Lucy is the perfect read for fans of gothic novels, psychological thrillers, and atmospheric suspense.

 

Amazon * Apple * B&N * Kobo * Smashwords * Books2Read * Bookbub * Goodreads

 




I held my cousin’s letters from earlier this summer that I’d read over a dozen times.

We lost touch after graduation when she took off to explore the world to volunteer in a variety of countries while I stayed home and found a job as a teacher at the elementary school that we’d both attended in our small town.

The last time I saw Lucy she was wearing her Bardsley T-shirt and jean shorts. My aunt’s battered suitcase stood at her side.

“I’ll send you lots of postcards,” she promised, but I’d never received any. That’s why I was surprised when I got her first letter as school was closing for the summer.

“Dear Mary, I hope you’re well. I’ve seen many things but have missed you. While I was making a quick stop in the Hamptons, I visited a beautiful place by the sea called Hollingham Hall. It was my luck that they were looking for tour leaders. I feel like, after years of wandering, I’ve finally found my place. The reason I haven’t called is that I lost my cell phone in the Amazon River (OMG!) and am not replacing it. I’ll call you with the phone number here soon.”

Lucy never called, but there were two more letters. The next arrived  ten days later.

“Dear Cousin, This is a dream job. I wish they had another opening for you. So, here’s the thing, Mary, we once talked about my being an independent woman the rest of my life without need of a man. Well, that’s changed. In the short time I’ve been at Hollingham, I believe I’ve fallen for someone. I don’t want to say too much in case I jinx it because the attraction is new, and I’m not sure how he feels about me yet. I promise I’ll reveal everything soon, and I can’t wait for you to meet my charming suitor.”

Lucy’s final and still eager letter arrived a week later.

“Me again, Dear Cousin. I had to write right away when I discovered the most interesting thing by accident.”

“I’d ventured into a part of the mansion that’s off limits to the public. I wasn’t snooping, but I couldn’t help myself. There was a portrait in one of the closed rooms of a young woman who looked so much like me that I thought someone had secretly painted me. I was so curious I had to ask about it and risk losing this incredible job. I wasn’t admonished  for going into the room. Instead, I was told me a history of the house that I hadn’t yet heard. The woman in the painting disappeared at about our ages. They never discovered what happened to her. I felt like I was caught in one of your favorite mystery novels.”

“It won’t be long now, dear cousin. I’m going to ask if you can stay here with me at the carriage house when you visit.

After rereading her letters and trying to figure out what was really going on behind her dramatic prose, I was shocked to get a live call from Lucy around midnight, less than a week after receiving her last letter. The phone woke me up. I answered in a groggy whisper, “Hello.”

At first, there was no reply, and I was about to hang up when I heard Lucy’s whispered voice. “Mary, help me. Come quick. Please hurry.”

I was fully awake now. “Lucy, is that you? What’s wrong?”

There was a click and then a dial tone. “Lucy,” I said louder into the phone, but she was gone. I didn’t realize at that point how gone she really was.




Debbie De Louise is an award-winning author and a retired reference librarian. She is a member of Sisters-in-Crime, International Thriller Writers, the Cat Writers’ Association, and the South Carolina Writers Association. She’s written over twenty books including three cozy mystery series: the Cobble Cove Mysteries, Buttercup Bend Mysteries, and her new series, Soup the Supernatural Kitten Mysteries. She’s also written a paranormal romance, standalone mysteries, a time-travel novel, and a collection of cat poems. Her stories and poetry appear in more than a dozen anthologies. Originally from Long Island, she moved to South Carolina where she now lives with her husband, daughter, and three cats. Learn more about Debbie and her books by visiting her website at https://debbiedelouise.com.



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Monday, April 20, 2026

;IGY6 - Standing Together Through PTSD - A Veteran's Journey - Memoir - and a Giveaway #Memoir #PTSD #Veteran #Giveaway

Dean Sali is here to tell us about his memoir ;IGY6, Standing Together Through PTSD, a veteran's journey.

There's also a great giveaway.

________________________

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Dean Sali will be awarding a $10 Amazon/BN gift card to a randomly drawn winner. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

;IGY6 is more than just a self-help guide, it is a beacon of hope for those in the military and beyond. Whether you are a soldier, a veteran, or someone who supports them, this book provides invaluable insights and practical advice that can make a real difference. Readers will find solace in the shared experiences and learn how to navigate the complexities of PTSD towards a better, more fulfilling life.


Read an Excerpt

I didn’t just hit rock bottom, I crashed into it.

Anger coiled in my chest with every step towards the gun cage. As I started to unload my service revolver, the world blurred, like I was watching a movie in slow motion, every sound muffled and distant. Time collapsed into a black tunnel.

Snap out of it, I told myself.

The next thing I knew, I had pressed the barrel under my chin, trigger at the reset. Just then, I heard someone whistling—light and unaware—behind a row of shelving. My breath froze. Instinct took over, and I eased my finger off the trigger, put the gun down. I quickly unloaded it and locked it away.

Holy fuck.

I was drenched in sweat, shaking so violently I could hardly breathe. It was the closest I’d come to using it. I stumbled into an empty office and picked up the phone. My voice was shaking, but the words were clear: “I need help. I’m having suicidal thoughts.” My union rep didn’t hesitate. He told me to call my doctor, to get therapy, to reach out if the thoughts got worse. I hung up and texted Suzanne: 911.

She called back before I could take another breath.

“Dean, are you safe?” she asked.

“No,” I whispered, voice cracking.

About the Author: Dean Sali is a resolute advocate for personal growth, resilience, and inner healing. With a background in the military and law enforcement, he has faced intense challenges that tested his strength, confidence, and sense of purpose. He served on a UN tour in Rwanda in 1994, an experience that deeply shaped his perspective on trauma, recovery, and the human spirit. His journey with PTSD has given him firsthand insight into the struggles of rebuilding from within, and he has spent years exploring methods of healing, including chi exercises, mindfulness, and reconnecting with nature.

Beyond his professional experiences, Dean is a devoted father of four, with a granddaughter on the way. His writing is deeply personal, offering practical guidance and heartfelt encouragement to those seeking clarity, confidence, and peace. Through his work, Dean hopes to inspire others to embrace their own healing journey and discover the strength they already carry inside.

Amazon: https://amazon.com/dp/0228815371
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/67545013.Dean_Sali


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Broadswords Over England - Crimson Empire Book 1 - Historical Fiction - and a Giveaway #HistoricalFiction #Giveaway

James Mace is here to tell us about Broadswords Over England - Crimson Empire Book 1, historical fiction.

There's also a great giveaway.

___________________


If you're a fan of Outlander, and now want a visceral, more realistic telling of the 1745 Jacobite Uprising, devoid of all the incessant romanticism, you will enjoy this new series!


Broadswords Over England

Crimson Empire Book 1

by James Mace

Genre: Historical Fiction



In 1745, Charles Edward Stuart, claimant prince to the unified thrones of England and Scotland, leads one final uprising to seize the crown for his father, James Edward Stuart. This is the third attempt by James’ followers, known as the Jacobites, to depose the ruling dynasty and restore the House of Stuart.

Though most Jacobites come from the Scottish Highlands, English, Scots, Welsh, and Irish alike fight for both sides, with few caring who occupies the throne. For many Scots, it is a clan war, a chance to settle centuries’ old scores. For others, it is a civil war, with red-jacketed soldiers compelled to fight their plaid wearing fathers, brothers, or sons on the opposing side.

“The ’45,” as it is referred, is a dark chapter from a merciless age. The fate of the burgeoning British Empire, and that of the Highland people, will be settled in a crucible of cannon, musket, bayonet, and broadsword, all wrought with ruthless fury. Many combatants and innocents alike shall grievously suffer in its wake, with only the faintest glints of humanity. This is their story.

 

Amazon * Apple * B&N * Kobo * Soundbooth * Bookbub * Goodreads

 



Though they could not yet see the enemy, the Recoat defenders could certainly hear them. In the faint glow of torch and starlight, they saw what looked to be a pair of barrels, overflowing with God knew what, being heaved against the sally port entrance.

“They’re going to try and burn the sodding door,” Lewis whispered with a disbelieving grin.

“I’ll sort that,” Molloy replied. “You give them a proper reception once they light the barrels.”

The sergeant then hastened along the western rampart until he found his lone sentry. He ordered the man to bring up water from the kitchen, as much as he could carry. He then raced across the courtyard and gave the same order to the other sentry before returning to the north wall.

Crouching low, he stared through one of the firing ports. He could see the shapes of men shuffling around the barrels, which as best he could tell were a couple of feet from the door. They scraped loudly across the gravel. To his left, Molloy saw the two privates returning with a pair of water buckets each. They hunkered low behind the parapet, near Corporal Lewis. The young NCO held his musket ready as he saw the sparks coming from the enemy’s flint and steel. A small fire soon started. It quickly grew, taking hold of some dry straw and kindling.

“Now,” the corporal said calmly as he shouldered his weapon.

As eight muskets unleashed a close range salvo, they could only clearly see the man who’d sparked the flames. The dense smoke clouded the vision of the Redcoats, who hastily began to reload. From his position, Sergeant Molloy could see the effects. The Jacobite visible in the burning light was struck at least three times, through the guts and neck. Doubling over, he pitched forward, nearly upsetting the other barrel. Molloy saw the shape of another man clutching at his shoulder before stumbling away.

The sounds of musketry from at least two score of enemy fighters flashed and echoed in the dark, peppering the ramparts.

“Easy, lads,” Molloy said. “They can’t hit a fucking thing so long as you use the firing ports, and only when ready to fire.”

At Corporal Lewis’ command, all but one of the Redcoats loosed another volley. This man complained about not being able to see a thing and thus stood to peer over the rampart.

“God damn it, Private Thomas!” Sergeant Molloy snapped. “Get your fucking head down—”

He was interrupted by an even more intense return of musket fire from their enemies. Most shots smacked harmlessly into the wall or sailed over the ramparts. One, however, struck the errant private in the head. He stood rigid for a moment before his convulsing body tumbled into the courtyard below.

“Tommy!” one of his mates cried out, starting to stand.

“Get back to your post!” Molloy snapped, rushing over to the young man at a low crouch and cuffing him across the head. “There’s nothing you can do for him. He’s dead because of his stupid negligence. Now keep your fucking head down and reload your damn firelock!”

As the barrels started to blaze, the two privates bearing water buckets upended these over the rampart, all the while keeping low behind the defences. Within seconds, the fire was completely extinguished and the Redcoats let out a cheer.

Molloy crept over to Corporal Lewis, who’d just finished reloading his musket.

“You have this situation under control,” the sergeant said. He nodded to the water bearers. “I’ll take these two and head for the south wall.”

In the distance, the Jacobite musketry continued, albeit in diminished numbers, with no coordination.

“They won’t be getting in this way,” Lewis confirmed before issuing the command for his men to fire once more.

He knew their chances of hitting their enemy in the dark were slim. Still, this gave his soldiers, especially the newest ones who’d only been with the army a few months, a chance to practice their musketry drills while under fire.

Sergeant Molloy ordered the water bearers to follow him, along with two more privates, before descending the steps and crossing over to the south rampart at a brisk walk. This left Corporal Lewis with five men to hold the rear entrance. Their enemy may have numbered in the hundreds, yet their one attempt at breaching the rear entrance had proven as pathetic as it was foolish.

The crack of musket shots came from the three men dispersed along the south rampart. Upon ascending the steps, Molloy could just make out an enemy combatant lying face down along the steep path leading into the fort.

“They’re trying to bring up a ladder, Sergeant,” one of the men explained. This was an older private in his late twenties, who Molloy trusted to keep his mates from shooting at mere shadows.

“Only one ladder,” the sergeant replied, shaking his head in amusement.

“What’s more, the path is too steep,” the private said. “They can’t even carry the damn thing up to the wall! And with the rain soaking the grassy slopes on the flanks, it’s too damned slippery. They won’t be coming up that way.”

“Splendid,” Molloy said.

His four accompanying soldiers took up positions at various firing ports. He then ordered them to reload but wait for his command to fire. He then checked his watch. It was nearly 3:30 in the morning. While the sun would not rise for nearlyan hour, the faint glow of predawn now made it easy to spot their enemy. He counted at least a hundred gathered in a column about a hundred yards away. It was they who bore the lone ladder. Pops of musket fire from frustrated Jacobites came from both these men and several clusters along the western base of the hill.

Molloy ordered a volley fired at the ladder group, as they were closest. While waiting for the smoke to clear, and his men to reload their muskets, he hastened over to the eastern wall, where he saw not a single enemy fighter. Returning to his men, they fired another pair of volleys. Several Jacobites had fallen, only to be abandoned by their companions, who fled back down the path to return to their camp.

It was then that the sergeant stood. He ordered his men to remain hidden, lest they give away their true strength to the enemy.

“Three cheers for His Majesty, King George!” Molloy shouted, removing his hat.






James Mace is an author, historian, and life-long storyteller. He began writing as a hobby in the early 2000s, penning physical fitness articles for a bodybuilding website and a magazine called Hardcore Muscle.

James wrote the initial draft of his first novel, Soldier of Rome: The Legionary, as a cathartic means of escapism while serving in Iraq from 2004 to 2005. He has since released thirty-seven books, including fifteen Ancient History best-sellers, and five South African History best-sellers. His works currently span his two favourite eras: Ancient Rome and the British Empire.

Outside of writing historical novels, James is a Research Historian and Script Writer for the channel, Redcoat History. He maintains a blog called The Buffed Historian, sharing random fitness articles and other tales from across history. His hobbies include weightlifting, road cycling, foothills hikes, travelling across the globe, live theatre, video games, and sitting down for a game of Dungeons & Dragons with friends.

 

Website * Facebook * Instagram * Bluesky * Bookbub * Amazon * Goodreads

 

Follow the tour HERE for special content and a giveaway!


Enter the Broadswords Over England Giveaway Here




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Sunday, April 19, 2026

The Magical Library - Charmed Love #4 - Contemporary Romance - and a Giveaway #Romance #ContemporaryRomance #Giveaway

Aimee O’Brian is here to tell us about The Magical Library, Charmed Love #4, a contemporary romance.

There's also a great giveaway.

_______________________

The Magical Library
Aimee O’Brian
(Charmed Love, #4)
Publication date: April 16th 2026
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance

In the small town of Hazard, the past never stays buried—and love may be the most powerful magic of all.

Whitney Hopewell, Hazard’s newly elected mayor and former librarian, is determined to protect the town she loves. When a smooth Boston developer offers a sleek solution to Hazard’s affordable housing crisis, she’s cautiously hopeful. Derrick Cross is charming, intelligent, and undeniably intriguing. Convincing the local innkeeper to rent him a room feels practical. Helping him with his historical research feels personal.

But Derrick hasn’t come to Hazard to help. He’s returned to settle a centuries-old score. His family’s downfall is tied to the town’s founding, and transforming Hazard’s quaint charm into soulless urban sprawl is his long-planned revenge. Falling for the woman fighting to save it threatens everything.

As Whitney and Derrick grow closer, sensing a deep connection neither can explain, secrets surface. A hidden tunnel, a looming hurricane, and a magical heritage quilt that reveals dreams of true love force them to confront history, heartbreak, and desire.

This enchanting small-town, enemies-to-lovers romance weaves family feuds, magical realism, and heartfelt emotion into a story about forgiveness, fate, and choosing love over vengeance.

Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo

EXCERPT:

Whitney looked up and up at the tall, dark-eyed man before her, and her heart beat just a tad faster…well, galloped actually, even as she sought to rein in her reaction. What was it about this man?

The man of her dreams.

She shook her head at the thought. Ridiculous! Obviously, she needed more sleep. She drew in a sharp breath and gripped her desk to pull herself together.

“Good afternoon, Mayor Whit.” The quick flash in his dark eyes told her he was mocking her. But to be fair, she had mixed feelings about the moniker she’d been gifted by the town.

She gave a small headshake. “Stop.” She motioned at the guest chair. “Have a seat, Mr. Cross.”

His eyes took in the vinyl-upholstered, armless chair. It wasn’t the most inviting, looking as if it was there by design to discourage lengthy visitations.

With a glance at her, he sat, leaned back, and steepled his fingers.

Aware of his penetrating gaze, Whitney looked down and arranged the papers scattered over her desk into neat little piles. “I haven’t finished studying the bids yet. Your visit is premature.” She swallowed, hard.

He raised a brow.

Whitney cleared her throat. “What I mean…”

“I know exactly what you mean.” He directed his attention on her now neat stacks of documentation. “Do you have any questions? Concerns I might…alleviate?”

Whitney caught her breath and stopped herself from leaning forward. He was being persuasive, cajoling, and for an instant, it had worked.

And that just irked her.

Oh, not that he’d employ tried-and-true sales techniques on her, but that such behavior was beneath him. She recognized in him a strength and a clarity of thought that rivalled her own. The man exuded decisiveness. This conciliatory manner didn’t suit, not at all, and worse, it chafed at her.

Fine…he wanted to play? She would take charge of the meeting. “Tell me why you believe H.A.S. Homes is our best option for the housing mandate?”

He raised a brow and launched, running down the superiority of the company over all others. This was better; biased, certainly, but a presentation of definitive ideas on what H.A.S. would bring to the community of Hazard.

And yet, even when he was outlining all the reasons she should choose his bid over all the others, something tickled the back of her mind until, in a flash, it became clear why it wasn’t quite right. Everything he said only highlighted what Mackenna had called his designs—cookie-cutter. “Your designs are unimaginative.” The words popped out at his pause before she could edit her thoughts. With the words flung out there, his pause lengthened, and Whitney held her breath. Would he fill the silence?

Or should she?

Before she could come up with something to say to lessen the impact of her last comment, he spoke. “Is that what you need? Imagination?” She heard the subtle teasing, as if she had missed entirely what she should have been focused on. “How about, instead,” and now his tone grew serious, “how about homes people can afford?” He had a point, and Whitney was willing to concede him that, but she missed the enthusiasm he had exhibited before, and his next words dampened his entire presentation, as recrimination hovered within them. “This town has imagination to spare. What you need is the practical.”

Did she? Because Whitney felt like she lived her life in the practical and what she craved was creativity. She released a slow sigh. She couldn’t help it. She tried to keep the disappointment off her face. Ah, well, balance then, she thought. What she said was, “Is that right?”

Silence stretched between them.

Whitney felt unbalanced suddenly, talking to him alone in her office. What had been businesslike before now felt intimate, just the two of them intent on each other. She found herself hyperaware of his masculinity, seated as he was, a mere three feet from her on the other side of her teakwood desk. She gave a tiny cough. “Well, I need more time, and the council hasn’t met to discuss the bids yet. We will vote.”

“At the next city council meeting.” His gaze on her was unwavering.

“Of course.”

“In a month.”

She nodded.

“So…”

He was watching her, waiting. She shifted in her chair. Suddenly, despite the air conditioning blasting out of the vents, the room was too warm, the heat of summer overwhelming. She had no idea now what she could give him. It wasn’t her place to make promises on how the council would vote. She…needed a moment. “I’m going to walk to the library and let everything you shared with me settle in. I’ll consider your points and study the bids again tonight.”

“Over dinner?”

Her eyes jerked back up to his, even as they both stood. She placed a hand on her desk to maintain her balance. “Dinner?”

Author Bio:

Having lived in both California and Texas, award-winning author Aimee O’Brian now resides in the beautiful wine country where she writes dark, sexy, funny romance. With her three children grown and experiencing their own adventures, she and her husband are free to explore the world. When she’s not reading, writing, or planting even more flowers in her garden, she can be found stomping through ancient ruins and getting lost in museums.

Website / Goodreads / Facebook / Instagram / X




GIVEAWAY!

The Magical Library Blitz



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Saturday, April 18, 2026

Royal Mayhem - New Adult Romance - and a Giveaway #Romance #NewAdult #NA #Giveaway

Samantha Jayne Grubey is here to tell us about Royal Mayhem, a New Adult romance.

There's also a great giveaway.

_______________________

Royal Mayhem
Samantha Jayne Grubey
Publication date: April 15th 2026
Genres: New Adult, Romance

Part one of a duet.

Melinda Brown doesn’t want much in life, graduate university and survive.

Prince Alexander has everything, surrounded be riches and spoilt to the core. Everything he’s ever wanted has been at the tip of his finger due to his prestigious status as future King of England.

Despite coming from two different worlds, they share the same university. One day everything changes when the two crash into each other’s lives, literally.

As they both enter each other’s worlds, they’re forced to make compromises for the sake of their growing attraction.

Will Melinda and Alexander be able to win people with their love, especially when it becomes clear that they both hide secrets? Or will Prince Alexander by denied for the first time by the first woman that he truly wants? Not everything is as it seems in Royal Mayhem.

Goodreads / Amazon

EXCERPT:

Rolling onto my side, I was met with thin air falling to the floor letting out a groan as I hit the floor.

How did I fall out of bed?

I opened my eyes seeing I was in the living room. The memories of last night finally came rushing back to me. We had been binge-watching my favourite reality television show and fell asleep.

Looking behind me, Alex was still fast asleep. He looked so peaceful. With him asleep, I had time to admire him without him knowing it. It had taken a bit for Alex to get comfortable after the incident again. I could tell he was fighting with himself. There must’ve been a huge part of him that wanted to run and hide, whilst the other part of him wanted to stay.

What scared me the most is that I wanted to know both of those parts of him. The good, the bad, and the ugly. I wanted to know it all. I wanted to know him.

Then, there’s the secret.

Could I cope with not knowing what his secret was?

It was obvious he had one, no adult had a grown babysitter without a reason. The security that had suddenly appeared around the campus, it all coincides with when Alex started at university.

I couldn’t figure out what the reason was.

Did he have a famous and important family?

Was he secretly a political figure?

Would I end up hurt?

I wanted to google him so bad. I reached for my phone, opening up the browser and stared at it.

Could I break my promise?

I told him I wouldn’t.

I let out a groan, throwing my phone back on the sofa.

I stood up, made my way to the bathroom, and showered quickly. I wrap the towel around me heading to the bedroom changing into some clean clothes. My body ached so much. Sleeping on a small sofa with someone else was not the best way to sleep.

After finishing getting ready, I made my way downstairs, Alex was still asleep on the sofa, and into the kitchen. I grabbed a can out of the fridge, opening it and taking a small sip.

Maybe I should prepare some breakfast.

I know Alex brought breakfast things I couldn’t believe he went shopping for me. I don’t think anyone would top what he did for me. I walked into the living room and saw he was sitting up looking confused.

“Hey.”

“Hi,” he said. “I was really confused about where I was then.”

“Do you often wake up at random houses not knowing who you’re with?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Not happened in a few years,” he admitted. “Do you have plans today?”

I shook my head.

“Do you want to go on that date?”

“I’d love to.” Butterflies filled my stomach, this was my first real date.

“Great,” he smiled. “I’m going to go home and then I’ll come pick you up” he looked at his phone “around midday if that’s alright with you?”

“Yeah, that sounds good,” I said. He stood up, stretching his arms out.

I made my way over to the door and let him out. “I’ll see you soon.”

“Yes, you will. Just so you know, I had fun last night,” he said.

“Me, too.”

He got into his car and drove off.

I headed into the living room, grabbing my phone.

Megan answered straight away. “If this isn’t life or death, I’m going to fucking kill you, Melinda,” she mumbled.

“Does Alex asking me on a date count?”

Author Bio:

Samantha Jayne Grubey is an author of new adult romance.

When she's not writing or reading, she will be playing sims or doing some diamond art and if she isn't doing any of that she could be pole dancing or most likely working.

Website / Goodreads / Facebook / Instagram / TikTok / X





GIVEAWAY!

Royal Mayhem Blitz




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Friday, April 17, 2026

Adverse Reactions - Dystopian Paranormal Suspense - and a Giveaway #Dystopian #Paranormal #Suspense #Giveaway

Deborah J. Lightfoot is here to tell us about Adverse Reactions, dystopian paranormal suspense.

There's also a great giveaway.

_____________________________


When your mind makes you the enemy, either your mind must die, or you will. 

Unless yours is the mind they can’t break.


Adverse Reactions

by Deborah J. Lightfoot

Genre: Dystopian Paranormal Suspense



Purity demands a bullet. Devin brings a reckoning.

Since she was six years old, Devin Perridin has been locked behind the walls of the family home to keep her hidden from those who would kill her. But at sixteen, she is exposed as a "Syke," one of an outlawed minority who possess extraordinary powers of mind over matter. Snatched from hiding, she escapes the firing squad, but only to be imprisoned in a house of horrors: the Peaceful Hills Sanatorium and Rehabilitation Center for the Treatment of Persistent Mental Disorders. After an unknown time of torture and "behavior modification," brutally designed to destroy her psychokinetic reflexes, she emerges from the asylum severely damaged in mind and spirit. Her salvation may lie in the series of crimes triggered by her release: first kidnapping, then attempted murder, and then a mustering of forbidden forces to assault the remote pseudo-psychiatric facility where she had been tortured into near-mindlessness.

Drawing upon a strength she had always known was hers but had never before been able to consciously control, Devin defies the authoritarian society with its unjust laws that demand her death. She pushes through pain, isolation, and moral quandaries to seek justice for not only herself, but all members of a maligned and cruelly persecuted minority. A post-apocalyptic, paranormal allegory for the times in which we live.

When your mind makes you the enemy, either your mind must die, or you will. Unless yours is the mind they can't break.

 

“This novel is immediately immersive, with an opening scene that sucks readers in with vivid sensory detail and a great sense of suspense.” —The Black List

“What a story! I was picked up from the first page and you never let me go thereafter. The premise is original … compelling … convincing.” —ARC Reader

“A very enjoyable read. Excellent pacing. Immersive language. Polished, effortless writing. I’d love to see a prequel (or three)!” —ARC Reader

“Relevant to the current situation in the world. Ostracizing others who are different out of fear and ignorance. Cruelty and inhumanity.” —ARC Reader

“Believable and relatable.” —The Black List

“Thematically rich, as Devin faces constant self-doubt but eventually comes to find empowerment in the unique abilities that have made her an outcast.” —The Black List

 

**Get it #OnSale for only $1.99 4/21 – 4/24!**

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Chapter 1

 

VAPORS BILLOWED INTO the chamber in thick masses of orange. Devin choked on the sickly sweet odor.

“Don’t fight it, child,” came the voice—equally cloying—from the darkness beyond the floodlit, glass-walled chamber. “Give yourself up to it.”

The gas surged into Devin’s face, blinding, gagging her. She made it go away. By force of will, a moment’s mental reflex, she flung it back.

Fresh air flooded her nostrils and drove out the syrupy stink. She sucked in a cool, clean breath.

“No!” snapped the voice, crackling with amplified static. “You must not.”

The therapist dropped her with two thousand volts. Devin collapsed to the chamber’s floor, her body jerking, her nerves on fire. The pain was beyond enduring. A pain this intense must be lethal. But she did not die. As she convulsed, her muscles knotted in spasms, she could not scream. No part of her, not even her voice, was under her voluntary control.

“Try it again, child.” Smooth and saccharine once more, her unseen therapist spoke from the concealing shadows as the shock ended and Devin’s pain faded. “Stand up,” the torturer ordered. “And this time, do not fight it. Or your punishment will be the same: swift, sure, and severe.”

Devin struggled upright. She had to brace against the curved glass wall of the gas chamber to keep on her feet. Her muscles had melted from knots into jelly.

An orange cloud flooded the chamber and filled her nose with the stink of rotting fruit.

“Breathe it,” her therapist instructed. “You must.”

But again, Devin reacted by instinct alone. No conscious thought interposed between stimulus and response. The cloud approached; she pushed it away. Pure reflex, action of mind: act of self-preservation. The gas held back, suspended in midair, blocked by the power of her impulse.

On the instant, thousands of volts knocked her to the floor. Pain engulfed Devin, such a pain as must be lethal but wouldn’t do her the service of killing her. She writhed, silent and barely conscious.

Her therapist withdrew the punishment. Devin remained on the floor of the isolation chamber, curled in the fetal position, her long brown hair covering her face. Her body was hers to command once more, but her muscles had no strength to obey.

“You give new meaning to the word persistent, don’t you, girl?” muttered the disembodied voice. Then, more forcefully: “The first step toward healing is to admit you are diseased, Miss Perridin. You have an illness. A mental disorder. I am offering you the cure—in a pleasant aerosol spray that you need only breathe. Once inhaled, the drug acts quickly, and its effects are lasting. But you must take the first step and acknowledge that you want to be cured.”

The voice grew soft, sugary. “Child, for as long as you hold to the notion—the mistaken notion—that your disorder is in some way a strength or a benefit to you, you will continue to fail. And you will suffer the consequences of that failure. We can’t have that, can we?”

Devin gathered the remnants of her strength and rolled onto her back. To stand was impossible; she could barely shape a word.

“No,” she whispered.

She wasn’t speaking to her tormentor.

But: “That’s the spirit!” the therapist responded, sounding genuinely enthused. “Now we try again. Take your medicine like a good girl.”

The orange stink flowed in at the top of the chamber. Devin, lying face up, watched through the curtain of her hair as the cloud descended. She had time to ward it off, to make it go away. But in the soul of her being, nothing sparked. Her reflexes, her instincts, failed to respond. What had been a spontaneous force of mind over matter could offer no resistance.

Devin’s mouth filled with the sickening taste of defeat. The orange cloud enveloped her, a sticky weight, and she choked down lungfuls.

“Wonderful!” her therapist exclaimed. “My dear, I couldn’t be more pleased. This is the tipping point. Your recovery will be much easier from now on, I promise.”

Devin breathed the sickly sweet drug and felt the core of her mind go dead.

Then came the retching. Her body contorted in gut-shredding paroxysms as the drug made her vomit—or attempt to vomit. Her keepers had starved her for so long, her stomach had nothing to bring up. The dry heaves racked her with such violence that she could not breathe. After long moments, unconsciousness brought relief.





Castles in the cornfield provided the setting for Deborah J. Lightfoot’s earliest flights of fancy. On her father’s farm in Texas, she grew up reading tales of adventure and reenacting them behind ramparts of sun-drenched grain. She left the farm to earn a degree in journalism and write award-winning books of history and biography. High on her bucket list was the desire to try her hand at the genre she most admired. The result is Waterspell, a multi-layered fantasy series about a girl and the wizard who suspects her of being so dangerous to his world, he believes he’ll have to kill her … which troubles him, since he’s fallen in love with her.

 

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