Two young American tourists, Carmen and Cubby, arrive at a mysterious church in present-day Austria. They meet Otto, their tour guide, who leads them to the Silver Chapel. There he weaves an enchanting story involving knights, intrigue, and true love. Otto takes their imaginations on a journey to twelfth-century Europe during the High Middle Ages, a decade after the end of the First Crusade. Princess Margarethe and Theo first meet as children when her father, King Johann, grants knighthood to Sir Josef, Theo’s father. The children are immediately drawn to each other despite the difference in social class. When Theo’s parents are tragically killed, Margarethe swears to love him forever—but is that true? Can their love survive even though they are destined to never marry? Carmen and Cubby have countless questions as the story unfolds, but Otto is always happy to explain and instruct. He tells tales of war, marriage, birth, death, and chivalry as Margarethe and Theo are constantly kept apart. Assassins abound, cultures collide, and the Knights Templar make their presence felt in sometimes surprising ways. Margarethe and Theo vow eternal loyalty, no matter the sacrifice. But will they get their happy ending or remain resigned to the duties of differing stations? Welcome to the new and timeless story of The Kingdom Queen.
Joseph T. Page Jr. has a doctoral degree in business management from Nova Southeastern University. He served as an officer in the U.S. Army for over twenty years, commanded military units on three continents, and is a combat veteran. He also worked as a Department of Defense contractor in Europe. He and his wife live in Hawaii.
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Title: STRAYED Author: KristaLyn Vetovich Publisher: Glass House Press Genre: YA/NA Fantasy
In the struggle between good and evil, humans don’t stand a chance—not on their own.
Which is why, for every living soul, there is a Firn: a spirit
assigned to guide and defend humans from demonic spirits like the
Aropfain. But earning a place in the fight is a process that requires
several lifetimes—of service, experience, and sacrifice.
Having just returned from her most recent life as an Ancient Roman
martyr, Anaya is only one step away from achieving that goal. And if she
succeeds, she might become the Firn with the most important mission:
guiding the human that will either save—or end—the world.
But when she’s paired with the notoriously difficult Jordin, her
chances of success suddenly start to slip. Because Jordin isn’t like
other souls. He’s strong, volatile—and a prime target for the Aropfain.
And he almost immediately falls for an Aropfain ploy that could not only
jeopardize his chances of becoming a Firn, but also endanger the entire
world.
As his partner, Anaya is the only one who can save him. But will she succeed? Or will she fail—and take the world down with her?
The bloodied sand of the colosseum shivers out of focus as my soul shakes
off its physical limitations in favor of a higher vibration. Instead of
centurions and weeping family, I’m now surrounded by snowy white noise and
quiet.
They came for me at dawn. I can still hear my mother’s sobs. I was only
twelve.
I blink the memories away just as a man bends and pulls into view before
me, then straightens with a blithe sort of smile. “Welcome back,” he says in an
excessively soothing tone. He wears glasses I know he doesn’t need, and behind
them, his unearthly blue eyes trace my face, looking for signs of stress.
And it comes back to me like the snap of fingers. An Advokat. Here to
help me adjust to the trauma of crossing over from life to death.
Suddenly I wonder how he sees me. Do I have blue eyes now? In
life, they were brown, but here in death I’ve always imagined others see me
with crystal blue. I guess it would depend on how much they like me. Appearance
is entirely based on impression here. We see what we feel. Feelings are real,
vision an illusion.
And this Advokat must be new, I realize a moment later. If he’d been
here for any length of time, he wouldn’t be using the sappy voice they put on
for the newer souls. The ones who don’t understand how it works. He’d know that
I’m something of a regular in the transition between life and death—that I’ve
lost count of how many of these interviews I’ve had to sit through. I’m sure I
know the process better than he does.
Because I’ve had his job before, mastered it long ago.
I skim him, searching the endless trove of memories trying to break
through the fog of earthly business still clouding my mind. I don’t remember
him. And I can see that he doesn’t know me.
Definitely new. Which means he’ll play the interview by the book. I
groan.
The Advokat reaches out as if to comfort me, like my groan was one of
anxiety and not disdain. “Try not to panic.”
I resist the urge to roll my eyes and flatten my gaze at him instead. I
understand it’s his job to help me recover from the shock of death, but
honestly, I’m fine. So I died—so what? There are many things worse than death,
and one of them, if anyone ever bothered to ask me, is living. I’m actually
thrilled to be back here—and I don’t need an Advokat to counsel me through the
transition.
Also, I’m in a bit of a hurry. I have important business to attend to,
even higher vibrations to achieve. I’m so close now, and he’s the only thing
standing in my way.
I tap my foot and glance around for someone—anyone who might recognize
me and give me an opportunity to walk away from this unnecessary formality.
“Everything will make sense soon.” The Advokat’s voice echoes through
the white expanse around us. Clearly, all other souls are keeping their
distance to allow me to transition without any added shock. Or—I narrow my eyes
at the Advokat—he’s followed protocol by requesting they give us space.
And do we ever have it. As far as the eye can see, there’s nothing but
static white. But I smile, and my shoulders relax—because this is my true home.
Just the way I remember it.
The Advokat leans into my line of sight. “Do you know your name?”
My smile drops.
In life, my name was Agnes. In this life, anyway.
There have been so many lives, so many names, but between them all, just
one feels like home.
When it comes, my voice sounds like a lost, cherished memory. “Anaya.”
My first word after death. The truest word I know.
The Advokat smiles and nods. He doesn’t take any notes or write anything
down, and I know about that, too. The answers are in his mind, ready when he
needs them, downloaded into his head from the source of all truth on the
highest plane of vibration there is: El Olam, our master and creator. He sits
so high none of us can reach him, above laws and structure. The world is as he
makes it, and we are simply stewards of his creation, here to serve.
And today I’ll go one step further in the process of becoming a defender
of creation. I’ll become a Firn.
The Advocat, who is becoming more annoying by the moment, interrupts my
thoughts with yet another question. “Good. And do you know where you are?”
Where I am? Well it’s a much better place than where I was…
I was in Rome, in the fourth century. I rejected a boy, and he sold me
out as a Christian. It took them forever to kill me—first with shame, then with
flames. But all I gave them was a blank stare through the numbness. They
couldn’t shame me. I wouldn’t burn when they strung me to the stake and lit the
fire—even the flames knew not to touch me. But the Roman officer’s sword
through my throat did the trick in the end. I was gone before I felt anything.
So I guess the joke’s on them. There was darkness, then a burst of light—
And now I’m home, where none of that matters anymore. I’m free here.
Because no one can shame or kill the dead. I’ll be safe as long as I stay.
“This is Lemayle,” I say quietly. “The afterlife. The real world.” And I
have no intention of ever living again.
He rocks back and grins. “Wonderful!” Then his face stiffens. He
swallows and his eyes shake as he looks me over for a second time, now scanning
for any truths beneath the surface, anything I’m hiding from him. If souls
could sweat, he’d be a mess as he prepares for the most important question of
the interview.
I used to have his job, so I know what comes next. My answers from here
on out will decide my final destination.
“All right.” He clears his throat. He doesn’t have to. It’s the nerves.
I will be his enemy if I answer poorly, but he has to remain objective. He’s a
professional, after all, and he doesn’t know whose side I’m on yet—what changes
this most recent lifetime might have made in me.
I was martyred, and not all martyrs come back home the way they should.
Martyrs go into life as warriors for El Olam’s cause … but don’t always return
feeling their suffering was justified. Some turn against him and defect to the
one who seeks to depose him.
And me? How do I feel about the suffering I was put through? Have
I changed my mind about who to serve? And how dangerous does that make me to
the fragile balance of the world? That’s what the Advokat needs to find out.
“Do the names El Olam and Narn mean anything to you?”
Good and evil. That’s what they mean. Free will and slavery. But which
is which? Is El Olam good … or is he evil? Are Narn’s plans for less service to
living souls and more dominion over them more appealing? Are they justified? No
soul chooses evil.
They simply choose what they believe is right.
I hide my laugh with a cough at the tension in the Advokat’s hunched
shoulders. If he’s new—and he wants to stay—he’ll need a stiffer a spine than
he’s got now. I might as well be the one to give it to him.
I level my gaze at him, eyes wide open to appear just a little less
threatening. “Yes. I know them.”
He nods, more rigidly this time, and rubs the back of his neck as he
braces for my response to his final question.
“And … your allegiance?”
I stare at him for a long moment, watching the anxiety build behind his
bright blue eyes. He doesn’t want any trouble, but his other hand twitches at
his side, ready to summon the support of a slightly higher power—just in case I
came back tainted.
Just in case I’ve decided I hate the way the world works … and want to
serve the one trying to turn it upside down.
“Oh calm down,” I finally chide him. This has gone on long enough to
bore me. I have business to attend to, and honestly, after fifty lifetimes, a
soul should be able to just skip this process. “I chose El Olam lifetimes ago.
I’m bound to be a Firn. This was my last run.”
His whole body wilts as the tension releases. Had I said Narn, the
Advokat and I would have had a few issues. Because it would have meant I was a
soul with eyes toward flipping the script, turning the world upside down—force
living souls to do as we say, and ruling over them as gods.
He’d have had to immediately summon one of Lemayle’s second-highest
authorities—a Malekh, El Olam’s archangels—to deal with me. And it wouldn’t
have been pleasant. The Malekh don’t like jokes. Most of them, anyway.
“Well that is a relief.” The Advokat’s hand slides from the back of his
neck to clutch his chest, steadying the phantom sensation of a palpitating
heart.
And I grin, even though I shouldn’t. But what’s the fun in seniority if
you can’t mess with the rookies?
“We need as many Firns as we can get,” he admits, “events accelerating
as they are.” I perk up at that. Accelerating events is much more my
speed—though it gives me less time to meet the final criteria for joining the
Firns’ ranks. “The living souls need all the protection we can give them,” he
finishes.
I couldn’t agree more. And that’s where I come in—where all the Firns stand
and serve El Olam. Without Firns to guide living souls and protect them from
temptation and harm, Narn would flip the script. And humans would walk
right into their own slavery.
But El Olam won’t allow it.
So neither will I. I’m so close now. Just one step left, and if I
impress the Malekh and El Olam enough in my next job as a soul collector, then
I’ll become a Firn, and one day I’ll be even more than that. If I perform well
enough, I’ll be chosen as the Firn who oversees El Olam’s plan to defeat Narn
once and for all. It has to be one of us, so it might as well be me. And I
won’t stop until I see it happen.
Meanwhile, the Advokat extends his hand to me. “Best of luck to you. I
hope you make the cut.”
I glance at his hand and back up to him. So he really hasn’t
heard of me, then. I may not be a Firn yet, but I have made a name for
myself as the one to watch for earning the coveted position in El Olam’s plan.
Well, if he hasn’t heard of me yet, he will soon enough.
“Thanks.” With a smirk, I grip his hand and shake it firmly enough to
knock him off balance. “But I really don’t need luck.”
KristaLyn A. Vetovich is giving away
a $25 Amazon Gift Card!
Terms & Conditions:
By entering
the giveaway, you are confirming you are at least 18 years old
KristaLyn is the internationally published author of seven books and one short story, including the upcoming Prelude of the Reyn Gayst series
releasing in 2018 from Glass House Press. She graduated in 2011 from
Susquehanna University with a degree in English Literature and began
traditionally publishing her novels the next year. KristaLyn is also a
certified health and life coach and enjoys infusing her stories with
motivational themes and characters from all walks of life.
KristaLyn lives in Pennsylvania with her husband and their corgi, Jack.
WHITE WITCH by Larry D. Thompson, Thriller, 291 pp., $14.95 (Paperback) $5.95
(Kindle edition)
Title: WHITE WITCH
Author: Larry D. Thompson Publisher: Story Merchant Books Pages: 291 Genre: Thriller
Jamaica is a place where the surreal is simply everyday reality. When
a ruthless American aluminum company plans to strip mine the Jamaican
rainforest, they send former Navy SEAL Will Taylor to Montego Bay to
deal with local resistance on their behalf. But he’s unaware that the
British had signed a treaty deeding the rainforest to the Jamaican
Maroons, descendants of escaped slaves, over 300 years ago. The Maroons
fought and died for their land then, and are more than willing to do so
now, whether it’s the British or the Americans who threaten them this
time around.
Upon Will’s arrival, a series of inexplicable murders begin, some
carried out with deadly snake daggers that were owned and used by Annie
Palmer, a voodoo priestess better known as the White Witch. She was
killed 200 years prior, but is said to still haunt the island at night,
and the local Jamaicans are certain she’s responsible for the gruesome
murders, her form of retaliation against the new turmoil taking place in
the rainforest.
And Will has been forced directly into the middle of it. After a few
close calls, he’s finally convinced to leave his company and join forces
with the Maroons, headed by Vertise Broderick, a Maroon who resigned
from her position at the New York Times to return to Jamaica to
stop the mining. Together they hire a Jamaican attorney to prove that
the Maroon/British treaty is still valid to stop the mining, and they
take it upon themselves to solve the White Witch murders, because the
legend of the White Witch can’t possibly be true…
Order Your Copy!
Will returned to his room, too wound up
to sleep. He stripped to his
underwear and flipped channels on a
large screen HD television until he ran
across First Blood with
Sylvester Stallone. Having lived that life for a few years,
he never passed up the opportunity to
watch it again. He settled back and had
drifted off to sleep when his cell
chimed. He glanced at the television to make
sure it was not coming from there and
found Fred Astaire waltzing Ginger
Rogers around a ballroom. He turned off the
television and reached for his
phone.
“Taylor.”
“Will, Alexa here.” It was nearly three
in the morning and Alexa was still at
her desk. Smoke drifted from a
cigarette in her ash tray while she sucked on a
Tootsie Pop. She was on the speaker
phone. When Will answered, she walked to
her window and stared at the lights of Baltimore.
Will turned on the nightstand light,
glanced at the clock, and swung his feet
into a sitting position on the side of
the bed. “Yes, ma’am. Little late for a booty
call.”
“Cut the crap. Kaven was just found at
Rose Hall. He’s dead.”
“What? Are you sure? I just saw him a
few hours ago.” Will got to his feet
and began pacing the room. “Shit.”
“Must be those goddamn Maroons. He
called me last night once he got
back from Accompong. He told me about
what happened up there. By the way,
they let the pilot go. They said they
had no beef with him.”
“So I heard. What was Kaven doing at
Rose Hall? When I saw him, he was
going to his room.”
“How the hell should I know? I got a
call from some local detective. They
found his employee identification in
his wallet. When the detective called here,
the operator knew I was still in my
office and put the call through to me. You need to get to Rose Hall now.
“Yes, ma’am,” Will agreed.
“And I’m flying down there tomorrow
before this gets any more out of
hand. See if you can keep anybody else
from being killed until I get there.”
Will’s cell went dead. He put it on the
nightstand and picked up the hotel
phone. Pleased to find it working, he
punched the key for valet parking.
“Good evening, Mr. Taylor. How can I be
of assistance?”
“Bring my company Land Rover to the
front as quickly as possible.”
Getting assurance that it would be
there when he got downstairs, Will hung
up and walked to the bathroom. Five
minutes later he was met at the hotel
entrance by a valet.
“Can I give you directions, Mr. Taylor?
It’s a little late at night.”
“No thanks. I know exactly where I’m
going.” Will got in the car, fastened
his seat belt, and left the hotel.
When Will got to Rose Hall, he turned
onto the road they had just come
down the evening before. At the top of
the hill he could see the mansion, now
well lighted. He dodged tree limbs and
utility wires and parked among several
other vehicles. Police cars were
positioned so that their headlights focused on the
steps of the mansion where Will could
see the yellow police crime scene tape. He
walked up a path from the parking lot
between the police cars that faced the
mansion to the yellow tape where an
officer stood watch. The officer came to
attention as Will approached.
“Sorry, mon. I can’t let you past here.
We’re investigating a murder.”
Will kept his voice even but
controlling. “I know, officer. That’s why I’m
here. Name’s William Taylor. I’m head
of security for Global American Metals.
Here’s my identification.” Will tried
to hand him an ID. The officer just shook
his head. “Officer, the dead man is one
of Global’s employees. Can you get
someone in authority to let me up
there?”
Before the officer could reply, Miles
Harper, the St. James Parish Chief of
Detectives, approached. Harper was a
lean, fit man with a shaved head and a no
nonsense manner. He was dressed in a
brown suit, yellow shirt, and matching
tie. He looked like he just stepped out
of GQ Magazine, even at three in the
morning.
“Mr. Taylor, I’m Miles Harper, Chief of
Detectives in this parish. I was
told by your company to expect you.”
Will extended his right hand. Harper
ignored it. Instead, he nodded at the
officer and motioned for Will to follow
him. Harper went up a dozen steps and
turned to Will as he stood beside
Kaven’s body, sprawled on his back with dagger in his chest. Will bent over for
a closer look and found that the handle of
the dagger was in the shape of a snake.
At the top of the handle was the snake’s
head. The snake’s eyes were two bright
rubies.
“Shit,” Will muttered, “He was almost
killed because of one snake on the
road today and now someone finished the
job with a, what would you call this, a
snake dagger?”
“That’s as good a name as any, Mr.
Taylor. My officers reported what went
on up in Accompong and the incident
with the boa.”
Will continued to study the body.
“Looks like he’s been dead a couple of
hours. I last saw him about ten last
night. Who found him?”
“The hotel has a security guard that
roams the mansion grounds and up to
the club house in a golf cart. He
spotted the body.”
“Where’s your coroner?”
“He’s a local Justice of the Peace, not
a medical doctor. He won’t set foot on
these steps until morning. My men here
won’t go past the tape either. They
believe the White Witch did it.”
Will shook his head in disbelief. “Come
on, Chief, this is the twenty-first
century.”
“Old beliefs die hard, Mr. Taylor. Come
on. Let me show you something.”
Harper stepped around the body and
climbed the steps with Will behind
him. Entering the ballroom, Will said,
“I was just in this room yesterday evening during the storm.”
Harper turned to study Will. “Would you
care to explain?”
Will covered the details of the
previous day and their time in the mansion
while they waited out the storm. “You
know a woman named Vertise?”
Harper nodded his head. “She’s a local.
Works for the paper and tends bar
for the hotel. Since you were in this
room a few hours ago, come over here.”
Harper led Will to a glass display
against one wall with pictures of two snake
daggers above it along with the history
of the daggers. The glass had been
broken and the daggers were gone.
“You see this case when you were up
here?”
Will studied it and thought back to the
day before. “Can’t say I did, Chief.
It was pretty dark in here, lit only by
candles since the storm knocked out
power. I wandered around the room but
never glanced toward this case. And I
don’t believe anyone else mentioned it.
Now that I think about it, Vertise told
us the legend of Annie Palmer and her
using a snake dagger to kill an overseer.
evening during the storm.”
Harper turned to study Will. “Would you
care to explain?”
Will covered the details of the
previous day and their time in the mansion
while they waited out the storm. “You
know a woman named Vertise?”
Harper nodded his head. “She’s a local.
Works for the paper and tends bar
for the hotel. Since you were in this
room a few hours ago, come over here.”
Harper led Will to a glass display
against one wall with pictures of two snake
daggers above it along with the history
of the daggers. The glass had been
broken and the daggers were gone.
“You see this case when you were up
here?”
Will studied it and thought back to the
day before. “Can’t say I did, Chief.
It was pretty dark in here, lit only by
candles since the storm knocked out
power. I wandered around the room but
never glanced toward this case. And I
don’t believe anyone else mentioned it.
Now that I think about it, Vertise told
us the legend of Annie Palmer and her
using a snake dagger to kill an overseer. Surprising that she didn’t show us
these daggers when she was telling the story.”
“Interesting,” mused Harper. “You have
any idea why your man would
come up here in the middle of the
night?”
“Not a clue. Have you checked his cell phone?
He always carried it.”
“Yeah. The last calls were with you
yesterday afternoon and one with Ms.
Pritchard later in the evening.”
Will nodded. “He called me from
Accompong, warning me of trouble up
there. I should have gone with him.”
Harper shook his head. “Whether you
were there or not wouldn’t have
made any difference. Just would have
been one more person that was in my
police car that rolled, assuming, of
course, you didn’t take a bullet up on the
mountain.”
“Understood.”
“How did you get in the mansion?”
“Vertise said she knew where a key was
hidden and let us in.”
“Strange that she could get into the
locked mansion. It was my
understanding that only the manager of
Rose Hall had a key. He locked it and
left when the storm was hitting. The hotel
spent a fortune on period pieces to
recreate how it looked two hundred
years ago. One of his jobs is to make sure
they are not stolen.”
“Any signs of a break-in?” Will asked.
“This is not for publication, you
understand, but when I got here the
mansion was locked and the lights were
off.”
“So, you’re saying that someone got
into the mansion, stole two daggers, let
themselves back out, killed Kaven, and
left no trace.” Will paused to absorb all
that he had just said. “Wait a minute.
If someone wanted to kill Kaven, why not
just use a gun? Why go to all the
trouble of getting that dagger to do it?”
“I’ve been wrestling with that very
question,” Harper said. “It’s illegal for a
private citizen to own a gun in Jamaica, but that doesn’t mean they are not
available if you know the right people.
My working hypothesis is that the killer
or killers wanted the public to think
voodoo was involved, or maybe even the
White Witch. The only other possibility
that comes to mind is that the Maroons
are trying to send a message to Global.
They tried to kill Tillman in Accompong
and failed. Maybe the message is that
they finish what they start. Either way,
someone is trying to make trouble for
your company. I have another problem
that may not be apparent.”
Will looked quizzically at the
detective.
“As you can see, there were two snake
daggers in this case. One’s accounted
for out on the steps. The other is
gone. Nearly everyone around here thinks that
they are voodoo daggers with magical
powers. They were found in an overseer’s
grave during the restoration of the
mansion thirty years ago.”
“Does ‘everyone’ include you? Looks to
me like the killer or killers are just
trying to mess with the minds of my
co-workers, maybe keep some locals from
hiring on with us.”
Harper stuck his hands in his pockets.
“Not up to me to decide if they’re
magic or not. I’ve got a murder with
one of those daggers. My job is to solve the
murder and along the way, find that
other dagger before someone uses it.”
Will’s eyes searched the room in a
futile effort to see any clues to the crime.
Then he focused on the chief. “Look,
I’m going to need a gun. My company is
obviously under attack. I’m licensed to
carry back home.”
“No way, Mr. Taylor,” Harper exploded.
“Foreigners are not permitted to
have guns in Jamaica. For that matter, as I just told you,
neither are Jamaicans.
And I want you to stay the hell out of
my investigation. We don’t need your
help. Understand?”
“Yeah, I understand. You know that each
of our mines on this island is
permitted a certain number of guns for
our guards. I’ll just get one of those.”
“The hell you will. Don’t you dare go
behind my back. Those guns never
leave mine property. I have an officer
that inventories them. If one turns up
missing, I’ll confiscate every damn
weapon that Global has and put you under
house arrest. Clear, Mr. Taylor?”
Will clinched his fists and tried to
hold back the anger that was apparent in
his face. Without another word, he
turned and stormed out of the mansion,
pausing only to gaze at Kaven and say a
prayer for him and his family. At the
bottom of the steps, he got in his car
and glanced toward the mansion. The
lights from his car somehow caught the
ruby eyes of the snake, making them
appear briefly to be alive. Will shook
his head, put the car in reverse, and
returned to the hotel.
Book Trailer:
After graduating from the University of Texas School of Law, Larry
spent the first half of his professional life as a trial lawyer. He
tried well over 300 cases and won more than 95% of them. Although he had
not taken a writing class since freshman English (back when they wrote
on stone tablets), he figured that he had read enough novels and knew
enough about trials, lawyers, judges, and courtrooms that he could do
it. Besides, his late, older brother, Thomas Thompson, was one of the
best true crime writers to ever set a pen to paper; so, just maybe,
there was something in the T hompson gene pool that would be guide him
into this new career. He started writing his first novel about a dozen
years ago and published it a couple of years thereafter. He has now
written five highly acclaimed legal thrillers. White Witch is number six with many more to come.
Larry is married to his wife, Vicki. He has three children scattered
from Colorado to Austin to Boca Raton, and four grandchildren. He has
been trying to retire from the law practice to devote full time to
writing. Hopefully, that will occur by the end of 2018. He still lives
in Houston, but spends his summers in Vail CO, high on a mountain where
he is inspired by the beauty of the Rocky Mountains.
His latest book is the captivating thriller, WHITE WITCH.
