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Excerpt

“Why are you telling me this now?” Peter demanded. “Why didn’t you tell me this back then, if it’s so important to you? I’m no longer in the army and I’m not going back. What does it matter anymore?”

“Would it have made a difference if I’d told you this twenty-two years ago when you enlisted? Would you have stayed in the army longer with this information? Would you have still married? Would you still have become an architect? Would Mary still have died in an auto accident?”

All these questions floated through the air, but Peter flinched at the mention of Mary. Mary was his wife’s given name, and anyone that knew her called her Minnie. Hearing her name spoken out loud felt like an ice pick in the heart.

Peter was confused and irritated. “What’s the point of all this?” he asked, angrily.

“Peter, I clearly have more knowledge about you than just the basics. I know you are about to lose this house. I know your kids are barely passing their classes. I know you were laid off, and are currently looking for work. What if I told you that I could drastically change your circumstances, almost instantly?”

Peter was a proud man. To hear a stranger plainly spell out everything that he was struggling with almost brought him to tears. He had failed, and he was embarrassed. He was far too ashamed to ask for help from anyone.

“Are you sure I can’t get you something to drink? I’m going to get myself a scotch.” Peter stood without waiting for the general to reply and walked to the bar cabinet. He pulled out the bottle of Glenfiddich and two glasses. He returned to his seat and poured out two fingers each.

“Peter, this is not the answer to your problems,” said the general as he took the glass from Peter.

“It might not be the answer, but it might help ease the process.”

Peter brought the glass to his lips and tilted it back until the glass was again empty. The general sipped at his glass and returned it to the table. Peter poured himself another and leaned back, glass in hand.

“So, what do I have to do to get this ‘help’ that you’re offering?”

“Before I can really tell you more about that, I have to have your word that you will not divulge any of the information that we are to discuss to anyone. Not even your children—although I don’t think they would believe any of it. I have to be clear here: no one. No one at all.”

Peter held up his hand, his pinky finger pressed against his thumb and said with mock solemnity, “Scout’s honor.”

“I’m sorry Peter, but I’ll need more than that. I have a confidentiality agreement that you would need to sign. What I am about to tell you is beyond top-secret-level clearance.” The general opened his attaché case and removed a file folder with the words “EYES ONLY” on the cover. From it, he slid out two sheets of finely typed paper. He handed one of them to Peter, then sat back in his chair and again sipped his scotch. As Peter read over the forms, the general finally took his eyes off of Peter and scanned the living room. He was quite surprised to find the house in good order, considering all of Peter’s troubles, including raising two teenage children alone.

After several minutes of silent reading, Peter looked up at the general and said, “This must be seriously top secret if the army would go to these extremes, were I to talk. Do you have a pen?”

The general produced a blue-marbled Mont Blanc pen and Peter signed the document before returning it to the general.

“Actually, Peter, this isn’t an army operation. It’s an unclassified branch of the government that only a very select few even know exists. It’s so clandestine that I’m currently not at liberty to inform you of its call sign. The document that you just signed will only afford you just enough information to make a rational decision whether or not to assist us; no more than that. If you agree, there will be several more documents that will need to be signed along the way. Do you understand?”

Peter nodded.

“Good. Now that we have an understanding, and your signature, we are inviting you to join a small team of exclusively selected civilians, others such as yourself, to travel back in time. Back to 1942, France to be precise.”

Learn more about Paul on his website, Twitter and Facebook.

His family caught in the web of political intrigues, his father made a scapegoat for the machinations of greedy men, Azerick Giles finds himself torn from a life of wealth and privilege and cast out onto the streets of Southport. Just on the cusp of manhood, Azerick struggles to survive by any means, often just barely able to do so. Driven by his anger and desire to seek vengeance upon those who took everything from him, Azerick discovers a power deep inside him that could be the tool he needs get what he wants…if it does not destroy him first.

The Sorcerer’s Ascension is currently $.99 on Amazon and available for borrowing if you have Amazon Prime. All other titles in the series are available on Amazon, Smashwords, and Barnes and Noble.

EXCERPT

When his stomach rumbled powerfully once again, he decided that he was going to just have to do a snatch and run, hoping the proprietor would not see him or care enough to raise too much of a fuss. His luck was off today, he could feel it. The way things were going, the crowd would resume their normal pressing mass the moment he struck and a watchman or the baker would grab and beat him.

Azerick’s stomach ordered him to stop whining and get down to business. He moved casually toward the stand where numerous, fresh baked loaves of bread were stacked on the table and sticking out of baskets, filling the air of the market with their mouth-watering aromas. His stomach ordered him to move with haste.

Azerick sidled up to the table, ready to grab a large, round loaf of black bread when the baker looked right at him. “What are you doing here? Why did you have to pick my booth? Go on, take the bread and be gone with you. Nobody’s going to want to come to my stand now, defiler.”

The street rat looked at the baker in confusion then glanced over his shoulder as the crowd moved away, watching him warily and muttering.

“Beware death’s shadow.”

“Do not let his shadow be cast upon you or you will die”.

“All die who get near him. We may all die now.”

“What are you people talking about?” Azerick demanded.

“Cursed! He is cursed to lose everyone he befriends.”

“I am not cursed! What are you talking about?”

“His family is all dead. Friends all dead. He is cursed, cursed by the hand of Sharrellan.”

“He is the hand of Sharrellan, delivering her touch of death to all who comes near.”

“I am not cursed! I am not the hand of death!” he shouted, but the crowd drew away from him and continued their droning.

Azerick grabbed the loaf of bread from the table, casting a glare at the baker and everyone around him. He half expected the baker to change his mind and demand that Azerick pay for the bread, but his face had gone purple, black splotches stood out against the plum-colored flesh, and his tongue protruded, swollen and blackened like a plague victim.

The street rat threw down the loaf and ran. The street-clogging populace parted like the water at the bow of a swift-moving ship to let him pass.

“Beware death’s shadow, beware the hand of Sharrellan,” the people’s mantra continued as it followed him, chasing him away like a swarm of relentless bees trying to drive him from their hive, the chanting sounding like mimicry of the bees’ angry buzzing.

Azerick found himself near the docks and burst into Peg’s shop, not knowing where else to go. “Peg, what is going on around here?” Azerick asked as he approached the long counter where the old sailor sat minding his store and watching for customers.

“Now why did ya have to come back here, lad?” Peg asked as his face purpled and black splotches began spreading across his visage. “Hasn’t old Peg treated ya right since he met ya? Ain’t he done nothin’ but help ya?”

“Of course, Peg, I know you have. What’s wrong?”

“Then why’d ya come back and kill me? Look at me, boy. Already your foul curse is on me. Ya killed me, boy. Ya killed me sure as sure. Go on now and let me die in peace.”

“No, Peg,” Azerick wailed, “I did not want you to die, I did not mean to!”

“Meaning don’t mean nothin’ when you’re dead. Go on now, I can’t hardly talk no more,” Peg slurred around his swollen, blackened tongue.

Azerick ran from the store, sprinted down the harbor front past the long piers and moored ships until he saw a ship with someone he recognized shuffling about on the deck.

“Bran!” Azerick called out as he ran the length of the long dock. “Bran, you have not left yet. I don’t know what is going on. Everyone is acting strange and dying. I think the plague has come to Southport. We need to get out of here.”

His friend turned toward him, his face already showing the signs of death. “It’s no plague, Az. It’s you, you are the plague. I was too slow. Everyone on the ship is dead already. I suppose it doesn’t matter now anyway. Andrea is long dead, killed by your curse when she met you, just like the rest of us.”

“No! I did not kill her! It is not my fault!”

“Yes it is. Do you know why she was out the night the slavers took her?”

Azerick shook his head.

“Her father put his hands on her again. He did that sometimes when he was really drunk. Just his hands. They fought and she ran off even though she knew it was dangerous.”

“No, no, no,” Azerick moaned, not wanting to hear it.

“You could have kept her safe, Az. You knew what it was like for her, but you kept your nice, safe little haven all to yourself. You were safe from the depredations of the city above. You let her die. Your selfishness let her die,” Bran accused him.

“It is not my fault!” Azerick vehemently denied. “I could not keep her safe! I could never keep those around me safe! They all died: mother, father, Jon and the others, they all died.”

“Now you begin to see,” Bran told him. “Everyone around you dies. Your family died because you are cursed, and Andrea died because you were a coward, because you were too much of a coward to try to keep her safe. Better to let others take her. That way you would not feel the weight of responsibility. Your conscience could be clear. She would be dead, but you could deny culpability. But you know the truth. You know it was your fault.”

Azerick barely heard Bran’s last words. His own thoughts were echoing inside his head too loud for him to focus upon his friend. I could not keep her safe! I could never keep those around me safe! They all died: mother, father, Jon and the others, they all died.

“They all died because I did not keep them safe. I may not have been able to save father, but I should have been there for mother, Jon and the others, and Andrea,” he said, talking to himself as he left Bran on the ship.

Azerick awoke in a cold sweat, somehow knowing it was not the nightmare that woke him. Someone was coming. He heard someone open the trapdoor hidden beneath the burned out timbers of the tanner’s shop followed by a sudden cry and thump of a body hitting the stone. He sprang out of bed, grabbed his knife, and prepared to defend his home. If the gods cursed him, then his enemies would suffer under the spell of his shadow as well. He would make certain of that.

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Brendan’s mind ran through all of the worst possible outcomes as they walked along the path in the Black Forest. The Black River and the bridge was behind them now and dark shadows and ominous, unforeseen dangers awaited them. The thought of the unknown was hard on Brendan. What would happen to Dorian, Rory, or Biddy if this strange illness-if it could be called that-overtook them? Would they end up like the Sidhes or the Merrows? Would it be worse than being controlled by Morna? Would they die?

After mulling around those disturbing thoughts for a while, Brendan started to focus on what would happen to him and to Lizzie. Without the help of the others how did they hope to complete the task? Gorogoch had already told them about the human slaves Morna had, and that was not a fate that Brendan wanted. A zombie-like monster at the will of a crazy old witch…no thanks. The locals called them Ruas for their glowing red eyes, a trademark of the poor devils. Not a fate that anyone would want to suffer.

They walked along in silence, listening intently to their surroundings. Any noise that was out of place-albeit in a cursed forest-drew their attention and made them ready their guard.

Brendan was getting tired of the on-edge feeling so he decided to probe Gorgoch‘s memory. “Are we there yet?”

“Not quite,” the ghost replied. “More obstacles await us.”

“Great. Like what?” inquired Lizzie. She had calmed herself considerably after the fight with the Kelpies, but the anticipation of the next foe was making her antsy.

Gorgoch tried to think back to when he was alive and stormed the gates as a vengeful youth. Losing his love had driven him to the edge of murder, only it wasn’t Dullahan or Morna that received his wrath, but the unsuspecting people that Morna had unleashed him upon. It was hard to remember anything but the hate he felt at the time. It was blind rage he supposed.

“Well, it’s hard to remember.”

“What do you mean?” asked Dorian.

“I came through here so fast and was fueled by so much hate that I’m having a hard time remembering anything other than that.” Gorgoch moved along in thought and a few memories floated to the surface of his consciousness.

“After the bridge there was…” he fought hard to pull the memory up. “Darkness.”

“Well that’s helpful,” derided Brendan.

Three more steps showed Brendan, Lizzie, Rory, and Dorian what Gorgoch had meant. The path had led them directly over a hole in the ground that was covered in overgrowth. Gravity won out and they plummeted into the unknown darkness with a scream.

Biddy flapped her wings and looked over at Gorgoch with great surprise. He shrugged. “Oh yeah, a cave.”

Biddy and Gorgoch floated down the entrance of the cave in time to see the rest of the group untangling themselves from one another. Lucky for Rory, he was laid out flat on top of the pile.

“Crickey!” the little man cried. “A little warning would have been nice there.”

“Sorry about that,” replied Gorgoch with a shimmering smile. “I forgot what the darkness was.” Gorgoch made his visceral self-glow a bit brighter and shed a modicum of light in the small room.

Brendan got to his feet first and offered his hands to Lizzie and Dorian. He pulled them up and they all glanced around the cavern.

“Wow, its cozy in here,” Brendan joked as he felt the dampness on his backside and tried in vain to wipe it off. He held his sword aloft and pointed it back up the entrance. The sword illuminated the smooth, steeply-pitched slide that they just tobogganed down. “Good thing it wasn’t just a straight fall.”

“That’s for sure,” agreed Biddy. “It was probably fifteen meters or so.”

“That would have left a mark,” chuckled Rory. Half way through his laugh a fit of coughs set in and made him struggle to breathe.

Brendan looked around the small cavern and took note of the few cave characteristics that he learned about in Earth Science. There were small stalagmites and stalactites that littered the ceiling and the floor. The walls glistened with small flecks of crystals that formed as water ran down carving out the cave over thousands of years. The cave opened up to a thin passage that was a dozen meters opposite the entrance. The floor’s gradient sloped in a subtle manner.

“Well, Gorgoch, do we go to the passage or back topside?”

Gorgoch thought back and he sighed. “We have to move forward, but I want to warn you that down these passages was where I was snatched up and taken to Morna.”

“I think the warning of danger goes without saying,” offered Dorian. “Let’s go.”

The next book in the Celtic Mythos series comes out later this month. For more from Brad, find him on his website, Twitter and Facebook.

Malcolm was always overweight and possibly the regular butt of jokes in the class throughout his childhood. When the zombie apocalypse descended on his town the entire community and Malcolm’s family suddenly found themselves under siege from a band of gypsies that had been slaughtered by an unknown force, but survived into a form of living dead, just two miles from Malcolm’s parents’ home where he also lived.Although the security forces and the police had been called they could find not a sign of the zombies, and nobody knew where they had gone. It was not until the authorities had given up and gone that the maggot-ridden undead came out of hiding and this was about to become a huge issue for 16-year old Malcolm.Malcolm and his three best friends, Roger, Pete and Dave decided to wander down to the derelict gypsy camp. Malcolm’s friends were slim and fit and regularly hounded him to keep up as they bounced with enthusiasm towards the former gypsy camp.

Coven is available on Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Kobo and iTunes.

Tears of War, Book 2 of Dragon’s Call, is available to download on Amazon.

You can find more from A.D. Trosper on her website, Facebook and Goodreads.