When freshman year at the University of Alabama draws to a close, Sara Donovan finds herself grappling with the same old question—listen to her head or follow her heart. What she ends up doing is purchasing an Egyptian
souvenir funerary mask, and after a mysterious phone call, she’s certain a ring of antiquities smugglers are operating in Tuscaloosa.
With finals never far from her mind and her return to ‘Bama hanging in the balance, she should be studying. Instead she launches her own investigation to prove her mask is indeed a stolen artifact, and not a cheap trinket. When it comes time to snoop, Sara is more than ready, or at least she was until a hot new teaching assistant moves in next door.
Suddenly she learns things are never as they seem. Ever.
About the Author
After a long career as a business executive, B.T. Polcari tried to retire. Spoiler alert: he’s really bad at retirement. Bowling, tennis, and sailing can only keep you busy for so long, so B.T. is now pursuing his childhood dream of becoming a published author.
Forty-eight-year-old Corbett Thomas, a one-hit wonder of the 90s, now works as the lead sommelier at Napa Valley’s hippest restaurant. Set to become one of the few Master Sommeliers in the world, Corbett self-destructs during his final exam, ruining his last chance at capturing the stardom and adoration he got a taste for in his youth.
When billionaire game designer, Brogan Prescott, asks Corbett to consult on a major vineyard acquisition, Corbett sees it as a shot at redemption, until he learns of Brogan’s ridiculous vision of a virtual-reality, Woke Ant Colony Winery. Disgusted, Corbett decides to buy the vineyard himself and preserve its magic and history. Cashless, clueless, and with his reputation in tatters, Corbett enlists the help of his bass-player-turned-lawyer Seamus O’Flaherty, who may have finally lost his stomach for Corbett’s bad ideas; his uber-rational daughter Remy, who wants Corbett to uncork some family secrets he’d rather leave in the cellar; and Sydney Cameron, whose sudden appearance in Corbett’s life may repair his heart or shatter it forever.
With their help-and sometimes despite it-Corbett discovers what Brogan has known all along: a four-billion-dollar gold deposit lies beneath the vineyard. If Brogan acquires the property, the ensuing gold rush will destroy Napa Valley.
But if Corbett can get out of his own way long enough to purchase the vineyard first, he’ll be faced with the hardest decision of his life: take the fame and fortune he desperately craves, or save the soul of the valley he loves so much.
Excerpt
Let’s get one thing clear – I won that bet fair and square, even though I cheated.
I blame the whole thing on Rick Dornin, who was being particularly douchey that night. I used to be able to choose whichever party I wanted to serve without question. That is, until Dornin arrived at Appellation with his anal-retentive online calendar and industrial-grade Napoleon complex.
Yes, that Appellation. The most coveted dining experience in all of Napa Valley, and one of only nine restaurants in America awarded three Michelin stars. It took a DNA sample and a copy of your credit report to get a table, and then you’d better be ready to cash in your 401(k) when the bill came.
The evening started out normally enough. I arrived at the restaurant an hour before my shift to check reservations, talk to Chef Dan about the evening’s specials, and think of pairings for the prix fixe. Dornin was in his office—a modified broom closet next to the staff bathroom that looked like a hoarder’s den with one, tiny deer trail leading to his desk. In fact, he was always in his office, even when service was slammed, which drove me batshit crazy. I don’t care if you’re General Manager or General Patton—when it’s time to schlep a plate or buff a glass, you step up and do it.
Anyway, I poked my head through the doorway and said, “Hey, Rick,” trying to keep things light and cheery. “What do you know about this Harrison party at eight?”
“Whales,” he replied, not bothering to look up from his purchase orders. “Big whales, like Moby Dick whales.”
“Sweet!” Visions of stockbrokers trying to one-up each other with bottles of Screaming Eagle at five thousand bucks a pop danced in my head. Tips so big they come in a brown paper bag.
“Yes.” Dornin finally looked up at me and grinned like he learned how to do it from an infomercial. “They’ll be in the Veraison Room. With Andrew.”
“What?” I lunged into the tiny office, nearly tripping over a carton of water glasses. “You can’t give it to Andrew!”
“I can give it to whoever I want.” He went back to his purchase orders, feigning a nonchalance that made me want to smack him. “If I want to move Felipe off of bussing and let him pop some corks, I could do that, too.”
Time for a different tack—one that wouldn’t involve me going full-on Hannibal Lecter. “I’m just saying that a party like that comes to a restaurant like this to experience the highest level of service in the world. I’m the guy they’re coming for, not Andrew. I sit for my Master Somm next week, and—”
“You know what you are, Corbett? You’re an overpaid bartender.” Dornin had thin lips and an Adam’s apple the size of Detroit, and it bugged me. “You trained for twenty years to learn how to pull a cork from a bottle and tell people that red wine goes with steak. Whoop-tee-freaking-do. You’ll work the floor tonight, and you can have the Jansen party on the terrace at seven-thirty.”
My left eyebrow started twitching, which happens when I get stressed out. Apparently, no one can see it, but to me, it feels like a two-year-old is digging tiny fingers into my face and stretching it like saltwater taffy. I considered trying the No One Has Experience At Up-Selling Like I Do approach, but this was the third time in as many weeks I’d had such a run-in with Dornin.
I was done.
It was time to talk to Chef Dan.
Most people remember Chef Daniel Foyer from his five seasons on Elite Chef, The Food Channel’s number one show from 1998 to 2002. With a chin so chiseled it could slice a burnt chuck steak and blue eyes that screamed, “Come taste this gazpacho in my bedroom,” he was the prototype celebrity chef. But Father Time had been most inhospitable to Chef Dan, and for the past couple of years the poor soul tried to counteract a rapid aging process by dunking his scalp and Sam Elliott-sized mustache in a fifty-gallon drum of jet-black hair dye. The net effect was so incongruous with the rest of his wrinkled face that I could barely look at him without drowning in the shore break of cognitive dissonance.
Don’t get me wrong, I loved the guy. He was a loyal and trusted friend, and straight-up the most amazing culinary artist of my generation. But if I’d had any money, I would have bought stock in Just For Men and eventually retire on my Chef Dan profits alone.
About the Author
John Taylor has been writing about wine since 2012, but his meanderings on life began way before that. Born and raised in San Diego, California, John moved to Los Angeles in 1982 to pursue dreams of screenwriting and filmmaking. He attended the University of Southern California, where he majored in Shattered Dreams and False Hopes, with a minor in Getting Gut Punched By Reality. After being handed a degree in Journalism in 1987 as a consolation prize, John dove into a career in music. Because getting gut-punched just isn’t painful enough.
By 1996, John and his band, The Uninvited, had produced four independent albums and became one of the most popular acts in the western United States. This lead to a deal on Atlantic Records, which released the band’s self-titled debut album in 1997. The band had two Top 100 hits, and toured nationally with Dave Matthews, Blues Traveller, Third Eye Blind and many other acts. Their music appeared in the TV shows Beverly Hills 90210 and Party of Five, and in the motion pictures The Commandments and North Beach. The band can also be heard in several HBO Documentaries, video games and on that annoying “One Hit Wonders of The 90’s” station your co-worker always plays on Spotify.
In 2001, John’s vast experience in shattered dreams was once again called into play as the band hung up their touring shoes for good. After a brief but horrifying career in real estate, John got wise and made a career out of his favorite hobby – wine – and has held various sales & marketing positions in Napa Valley since 2011. John’s writing career started in earnest at this point, with blogs, essays and short stories appearing in various publications. John is the author of three novels, including the aptly-titled Pairs With: Life, which will be released by Hurn Publications in September 2020.
Stuttering Darby is never perfect enough for her mother. Justin’s been silent since his dad died. Naz is struggling to learn English. But after they meet at summer camp, mysterious calliope music from an abandoned warehouse grants them power to communicate without words. When they sneak inside, the dark, empty space bursts into a magical carnival. They’re greeted by the ghost of Leroy Usher, who asks for their help convincing his family to restore the carnival to its former glory. In return, he promises to teach the kids how to find their voices. As Darby, Justin, and Naz are swept off on a series of midnight adventures via Mr. Usher’s carnival rides, they discover they’re capable of more than they ever imagined. With each challenge, their confidence in communicating – and in themselves – grows. Meanwhile, they scheme to persuade the Usher family to revive the carnival. But when Darby’s bunkmates trick her into starring in the camp talent show, her budding confidence falters. Can she risk being less than perfect by performing in the show and speaking up to Mr. Usher’s resistant son? If not, she’ll put the carnival in danger and sabotage her most important quest: to believe in herself, stutter and all.
Excerpt
Chattering blackbirds and blue jays pulled her back to her surroundings. The scent of wintergreen berries, bluebells, and wild sassafras from the bushes restored her resolve to continue by herself. She walked a bit faster up a steep incline, removing her official Camp Inch Sweatshirt and tying it around her thin waist.
At the hilltop, one sign pointing left read CAMP INCH VIA WHITE FALLS HIGHWAY: 1/4 MILE EAST. Another pointed right, cautioning PRIVATE PROPERTY! Her pulse quickened. She followed it past bushes and trees.
Below her, an orange football-field-sized building, dressed up with castle-like turrets at each corner, rose several stories high. Darby smiled with glee. I found it! Massive green letters spelling out “L.U.C.K.” were painted on its side, glowing brighter than ever. A surrounding fieldstone wall led eastward toward camp.
She hurried down to a spot beside the immense wall where ten golden horseshoes sat lodged in concrete. Same as when Monica and I found them! The sun glinted on a colorless glass circle embedded above the horseshoes. Last time they’d rushed too much to notice the lines inscribed on it. Now, she knelt to read what they said.
All That We Give
Comes Back to Benefit Ourselves
With no time to figure that out, she placed her feet inside two of the horseshoes, like last year. Her heart pounding, she waited anxiously for the faint rumbling she and Monica had heard – or possibly imagined.
Will it even work without her?
The ground trembled ever so slightly beneath her.
She shivered with relief. Yes, I feel it!
Last year, their counselor came after them to end the adventure before it began. This time, the rumbling got louder. Darby ducked to avoid the small rocks and dust that fell from the stone wall looming above her head. Grating and creaking accompanied deep vibrations inside the fieldstone. A Darby-size section swung out on hinges, exposing a latch chain fastened to an old wooden door. She tried to remember to breathe. Or how to breathe. Overcoming the urge to back away, she yanked the chain, pushed the door open, and strained to see.
For a few seconds, semi-darkness that lay beyond kept her cemented in place. Finally, anticipation conquered her apprehension. I can’t stop now. Electrified, Darby squared her shoulders and stepped inside.
About the Author
Laura Segal Stegman grew up with parents who valued reading, and she still finds herself spellbound by middle grade fiction. Some of her favorites, then and now, are The Diamond in the Window, Ellen Tebbits, All of A Kind Family, Wonder, Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone and The Miraculous. As a writer, her non-fiction credits include collaboration on the travel book Only in New York, and her feature stories have appeared in Los Angeles Times and Westways Magazine, among others. A long-time publicist, she has represented numerous arts organizations. Summer of L.U.C.K. is her debut novel.
Steve Breiten is a college professor who has a long line of failed relationships behind him. All he wants is a long vacation in the mountains, free of drama and responsibilities, where he can relax, read, and maybe even start writing his book. He didn’t expect a mysterious woman to walk into his office – not that woman, the one who had been kidnapped all those years ago and rescued after a tip he’d left at the police station.
Now, his plans for the summer have taken a dramatic shift. Tara Murphy is determined to show her gratitude for his actions that fateful day, and she won’t take no for an answer. As the heat builds between them, Steve finds himself at a moral crossroads. He doesn’t want to take advantage of this young, damaged woman. But he finds his resistance to her sexual advances fading fast.
It’s only a matter of time before she leads him to the secret that lies behind the woods…
Don’t miss this thrilling, fast-paced tale of love, lust, and betrayal.
About the Author
Bradley Cornish is an up and coming romance and suspense author who is on a mission to offer people with affordable books that inspire them and give them unique worlds to escape to. As a young teen, he delved into the world of writing soon after finding out he had a brain tumor, which kept him from speaking for months on end. Writing became the go-to way for him to truly express his innermost musings. What started as crafting poems and lyrics, turned into ghostwriting, freelance writing and authoring books of his own. He went from writing dreams to writing reality. His work has been featured in Gecklon Press and many other news outlets. His forthcoming book is entitled “Lies Behind The Woods.”
Leah and Sasha are 17-year-old friends who had been close to one another since elementary school, but as the summer approaches they find their friendship tested in ways they never anticipated.
Following graduation, Sasha’s privileged life and perception of the world around her is suddenly altered when an old childhood friend persuades her to join in a campaign against an injustice after his best friend is killed by a cop.
But joining the protest has unforeseen consequences for Sasha, distancing her from Leah, who becomes jealous of Sasha’s new friends and finds herself on the opposing side, protesting alongside her group of new white friends.
As the tension mounts between the two bitterly opposed factions, a tragedy strikes and threatens to make Sasha and Leah enemies. Can they find a way to resolve their differences, putting them to the side and learn to accept each other’s viewpoints? Or is their long friendship finished for good?
Excerpt
“We ordered four large pizzas,” said Melissa.
“Seriously, pizza? No salad? I have to watch my amazing figure.”
I glimpsed out the window, people were still protesting. I had imagined that it would have all been over by now. There was Ricardo and some school friends marching in the streets holding signs.
“Chloe stay inside. I’ll be right back.”
“Where are you going?” asked Leah.
“I saw my neighbor, Ricardo. I just want to go talk to him.”
I must talk to him.
“Why?” Leah sighed.
“Because the guy killed by the police was his best friend.”
“There you go with that again.” Leah rolled her eyes. Alright, hurry and I will sit with Chloe until you get back.”
“Thanks, just make sure Chloe gets some pizza and save me a slice.”
I walked into the crowd, bumping into people, and apologizing. I started yelling for Ricardo. I found him but he was fading in the crowd. I focused my eyes on Ricardo’s red shirt and continued through the crowd like I was in a football game running between players holding the ball.
There was a soft tap on my shoulder, it was Ricardo. His eyes were red from screaming and chanting on the street while holding a sign. Protesting seemed like his career.
“What are you doing out here?”
“We won our volleyball championship game, so we went to the Fountain, but I wanted to tell you I am sorry for what happened to your friend.”
At first, I didn’t grasp that it happened to a boy at his school and a close friend of his, but now my heart desired to show sympathy.
“Yeah, he was my best friend, and we were on the basketball team together.”
“So, how did it happen?”
“They mistook him for a guy that robbed a gas station and the bad thing about the situation is they caught the real robber later that night.” As Ricardo was explaining what happened, his eyes began to turn red. “This is too dangerous; you shouldn’t be out here.
I became interested in more of the story. Wondering exactly what happened to Mitchell and who would tell the story better than his best friend. So, I built up enough guts to ask him how he died?
“The police shot him by mistake, and nothing happened to the cop that shot him; that’s why I’m out here fighting for justice.”
My heart fell below my stomach after listening to Ricardo alarm me of Mitchell’s death. I never met the boy, but I mourned for him like he was my friend too. That could’ve been anybody. It could’ve been Leo or Ricardo. Hell, I could’ve been me.
“I’m sorry for your friend because I saw your post last night, and I wanted to check on you.”
I must help in any way that I could but what could I do? What if something happens to me? I mean the police were deep in downtown St. Louis, on every corner. What if they shoot me by mistake for helping the protesters?
As I turned to walk back to the ice cream parlor, Ricardo grabbed me by the arm.
“We have meetings in my basement every Saturday if you ever want to come to one.”
“I’ll think about it.”
Interesting, but I had too much to do with getting ready for prom and graduation. He kind of convinced me to go though. My skin started to crawl as my mind imagined such a tragedy happening at Chester Academy. We don’t have those problems, so we don’t worry about them. The kids at Chester should join in with the kids at their school to help protest. It would show them that other schools care. Although, it might not be a good idea because the kids at Chester are too rich and snobby to understand.
Leah was sitting with her arms folded, face wrinkled, and cheeks blushing red.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” I asked.
I know I’ve left her too long with Chloe, so I gave her a sorry smirk, pushing my lips out for her to forgive me.
Everyone left. She had to stay behind to babysit Chloe, while I chatted with Ricardo.
“What took you so long?”
“I wanted to ask Ricardo more questions about Mitchell, who went to school with them.”
“You shouldn’t be talking to him about that stuff or even be around him. You know how jealous Leo is.”
“I was just curious, and we were childhood friends. Leo has nothing to be jealous of and I won’t let him come between us because there’s nothing going on.”
Leah shoved the pizza in my chest and stormed out the door. Every time I brought up Ricardo, Leah’s face cheeks would flush and her lips would clench. So, why would Leo care if he’s not here? One thing is for sure, I’ve been Leah’s friend for so long that I know she can twist a story. So, I was making it a priority to rush home to call Leo.
When we got home, I ran upstairs to call Leo.
“I’m glad to hear your voice. I laid on my stomach in the bed with my feet in the air and crossed my legs.
About the Author
Kimberley B. Jones is a professional early childhood educator. She was born in the small town of Saint George, South Carolina, on September 12, 1982. She graduated from Woodland High School in 2000, Benedict College in 2004 with B.S., Child & Family Development, and Ashford University in 2013 with a Masters in Early Childhood Education.
After receiving her education and being a military spouse, she held several jobs as a preschool teacher and a preschool director, but she wanted to use her education by writing children’s books. She wrote her first book in college for a children’s literature course. She has since self-published several books that can be found on Amazon.
Currently, she is branching off into writing fiction YA, NA, and A novels on issues in society. She loves writing and would change it for nothing in this world. She is now representing Rhetoric Askew, a great publishing company. Kimberley is the author of “Our Friendship Matters,” soon to be released October 5, 2020 and so much more coming soon.
Amid the power struggle for a vast Empire, a young boy is swept along with a Tribe of fearless warriors on their Quest to the Mystical uncharted Crimson World!
As young gods fall to the Worlds from the stars they are born in, appearing as comets streaking across the sky; sentient magical artifacts call to the minds of men: calling with images and promises of power from Wild Worlds. Massive and strange they hold gigantic monsters and wonders that are beyond the scope of the imaginations of the fearless Tribe of warriors that dare to magically travel to them!
About the Author
C.W. Holcomb’s works are based on Ancient Myths and folklore. His first series is heavily based on Scottish Folklore of werebeasts that prowl the primordial forests in the distant past! The first novel of his newest series, Chaos: Worlds Beyond is inspired heavily by Greek Mythology; as well as works by well known authors such as C.S. Lewis, J.R.R Tolkien and Raymond E. Feist. The works are filled with passion and adventure on an epic scale where the lure of magical treasures incites the characters into traveling to strange and dangerous magical Worlds filled with Nightmarish monsters and sentient arcane artifacts!
Primus Croatius! The men request your presence in the anteroom immediately! His First said, gasping in excitement. The young soldier spun around, his obsidian armor gleaming as he threw his arms out toward the door and the winding hall beyond, before turning and staring at his Primus, who also happened to be his hero coming up through the ranks, saying with a glint in his gray eyes: “my Leader, surely you have heard! The Emperor is DEAD!”
Primus Croatius slowly turned around to look at his underling, shaking his head with a deep sigh, his hazel eyes glancing down at the ground in demur melancholy, his Premerian obsidian armor clinking at the hinges over his large frame: softened slightly with Palace living in the past few weeks. Overall he thought he looked pretty good for a man of thirty eight sunstrokes, with not one single touch of gray in his thick wavy black hair.
“Why are you so enthused? Our Emperor died today.” He said getting up to walk with the First toward the door anyway. “My Leader, the chamberlains plan to place a mere child on the throne as an heir! Surely, you know what must be done my liege!” Primus Croatius stopped in his tracks, staring over at the man in consternation, narrowing his hazel eyes as he asked: “did you speak of this to the men?” The First looked away from his gaze, his face going red as he stuttered: “y-yes I spoke to them, and they are all behind you my Leader! He said, his deep set brown eyes pleading above his angular clean shaven face.
“Come now Lincian. You know as well as I that the imperial chamberlains will appoint one of their faction to sit the Obsidian Throne as Regent.” Croatius muttered bitterly, addressing the First by his name as the man pulled him insistently on down the ornate winding Kalemian shale corridors, the violet light streaming in from the windows from the bright blue midday sun, hanging in the bright green sky above, gleaming over the shale walls in all the shades of the rainbow.
As they approached the massive double doors to the assembly yard beyond, the air began to thrum with thousands of voices chanting as one beyond. Croatius stumbled to a stop suddenly, as he was finally able to make out what the assembled armies of the Empire were yelling through the door beyond. “I cannot do this Lincian! I cannot be the emperor all of you need!” He yelled running his hands down his face in anxiety as thousands of voices screamed out beyond, over and over again: “Croatius! Croatius! Croatius!” 3
He sat down with a huff leaning back against the doors in indecision with his head resting against the thick wooden doors, the vibrations from the chanting men rattling his skull as his First sank to one knee before him, reaching out to grasp his shoulder; squeezing it reassuringly as he said softly: “The men have chosen you my liege!” Primus Croatius looked up to meet the man’s intense gaze, his hazel eyes hardening in resolve.
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