Book Tour ~ Main Street Fringe by Matthew Lavoie

 

MAIN STREET FRINGE

by Matthew Lavoie

August 31 - September 25, 2026 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

Detective Theo Barnes thinks he has the world figured out, though he knows it's a fixed game. Do your job well. Protect your family. Steer clear of the system.

Until his sting operation brings down a powerful state Senator. Doing the right thing thrusts him over a line that can't be crossed, and the system bites back, hard.

His career… over. Reputation… obliterated. The truth… beyond reach.

Amidst the rubble, a clandestine cabal of conspiracy fanatics hellbent on annihilating the “true power” behind America anoints Barnes as a symbol of their own plight. They think Barnes is one of them, abused by society and martyred by the Deep State.

The FBI is incapable of infiltrating these zealots and they turn to Barnes for help. Desperate for answers and redemption, he reluctantly agrees to go undercover, using the most dangerous identity possible... his own.

As real life and the investigation blur, Barnes’ impossible choices drag his family into the crosshairs. Every move, every word, contains unspeakable danger. As the cabal’s atrocities collide with the conspiracy that destroyed him, he must separate lies from truth, or he won't survive.

His quest for salvation rests on one question. Is there enough of his soul left intact to save not only his family, but the country?

Praise for Main Street Fringe:

"MAIN STREET FRINGE had me in its grip from the opening pages and never let go. A timely take on political culture in this country, Lavoie has used his D.C. background to write a twisty thriller that crackles with authenticity. Don’t miss this stellar debut."
~ Joshua Moehling, USA TODAY bestselling author of AND THERE HE KEPT HER and A LONG TIME GONE

"Embroiled in conspiracy and betrayal, this sharp paced thriller climaxes when brotherhood reaches a bitter and fatal flashpoint and two worlds collide into one. Engrossing and timely."
~ David Swinson, author of The Second Girl

"MAIN STREET FRINGE is a deep and thrilling dive into the dark heart of the current political climate—made all the more terrifying by Matthew Lavoie's experience in Washington. This guy knows what he's talking about, he knows where the bodies are buried... and that makes this a must-read."
~ Rob Hart, USA TODAY bestselling author of The Warehouse and the Assassins Anonymous series

"MAIN STREET FRINGE serves up a sumptuous and scintillating smorgasbord of action and intrigue set against a conspiracy-fueled landscape populated by villains for whom reality is a relative term. Matthew Lavoie has crafted one of those rare thrillers that challenges our sensibilities and makes us think at the same time, shading his tapestry in gray tones in which even the good guys wade in and out of their own moral quagmires. A blistering, bracing bombshell of a tale and major debut in the thriller genre."
~ Jon Land, New York Times and USA Today bestselling author

"One man’s patriot is another’s radical, and the line between the two blur in Matthew Lavoie’s crackling debut thriller. MAIN STREET FRINGE is an adrenaline-fueled joyride that won’t let you loose until the gut-check of a conclusion."
~ James L’Etoile, award-winning author of RIVER OF LIES and the Detective Nathan Parker series

Book Details:

Genre: Political Thriller
Published by: Level Best Books
Publication Date: September 1, 2026
Number of Pages: 381
ISBN: 979-8898203351
Book Links: Amazon | Kindle | Goodreads | BookBub

Read an excerpt:

Chapter Two

Detective Theo Barnes lit a smoke, a rare allowance to tamp down the adrenaline. His brain buzzed as the nicotine hit all the right spots while watching a squad car containing Andrews drive away. He texted his wife, reminding her today would run long. A few cases ago he’d forgotten and caught hell for missing dinner. Rayna was sexy when she was angry, but it wasn’t worth missing sleep to stay up arguing.

Once he hit the filter, he’d oversee the bag and tag efforts at the scene and head to the Charlottesville county jail for the interrogation. Raids of Andrews’ home and Senate office were executed simultaneously. The limitations of being in one place at a time drove him nuts. He inherently trusted his team of Virginia State Troopers. Just not as much as himself.

He had always been this way. Those aware of his origins don’t blame him. His unyielding dedication compounded as he aged, particularly in the four years since he’d taken over the Internet Sex Crimes Division. Convictions hang on the smallest detail. Considering how far he’d stuck his neck out, he’d be hip deep in every aspect of the investigation until prison doors slammed shut on Senator Andrews.

“You ever think about the irony of a sex crimes investigator who needs a cigarette after every bust?” said the blonde as she approached. Among many contributions, Shannon Williamson served as Barnes’ lure for the stings.

“Funny. Here I was concerned about Rayna raking me over the coals and you gotta toss in some Freudian shit to boot.” Defiantly, Barnes took one last deep drag and flicked the butt into the motel parking lot.

Barnes knew he’d hit the jackpot having her on the squad. A rising star at the FBI out of college, promoted early and often, she’d made it as a profiler. Then came her father’s stroke. Her mom passed on when she was in elementary school. With no caregiver, she came home to Charlottesville, signing on with the Troopers once he’d recovered.

“Deep psychological analysis of your soul is why you pay me so large.” She glanced up at him. “No matter how many times we do this, I’m always surprised at how much they cry. Between you and me, it’s my favorite part with these scumbags.”

“He thought you were fourteen and he got me instead. Your pigtails in those pictures sold it. Sorry you’re always the worm on the hook for these, but, well—” He shrugged.

“I’m thirty-five but look like jailbait. I don’t mind. I like the field action. But you’ll need to recruit a new carrot for these sickos. I won’t fit what they’re looking for much longer.”

Her hand rested on her stomach as she exaggerated a baby bump.

“Really? That’s great! You and Rick must be over the moon.”

“It’s a seesaw between thrilled and freaking out. Need you to keep me

level since you’re the parenting expert. I do wonder about the world I’m bringing the kid into.”

“One with another predator off the street. And as far as parenting goes, Rayna does the heavy lifting with the boys. I come off the bench to give her a breather. When are you due?”

“Thanksgiving. You’ve got me six more months, but don’t go giving my job away. I’m coming back.”

“Don’t know what I’d do without you anyways. Let’s make sure everything is tight as a drum. I can’t wait to sit across the table from this asshole.”

* * *

Barnes, having shed motel customer garb for a shave, suit, and tie, watched the shackled State Senator Andrews shuffle into interrogation. Of all the post-sting grillings, he can’t recall a suspect this calm. Andrews’ light, self-satisfied smile suggested a guy up for a promotion inside The tears he’d shed were a distant memory.

“You’re wasting your time. I’m not talking without my lawyer,” Andrews said.

Barnes reflexively clenched his fist. He paused before plowing ahead with the time-tested approach. “I understand why you’d want your lawyer. This is the worst day of your life. We’ve got you dead to rights. I’ll even allow that you’re sorry. I know you’re scared. We have chat transcripts of your conversations with the girl, the way you groomed her. All of it directly traceable to you.”

Despite his previous statement, Andrews can’t allow the challenge. “Maybe I don’t even need a lawyer. This is a set-up. It’s fake news. Nothing happened. In fact, she’s the one who led me on.”

Barnes shook his head and smiled. This revelation was his favorite part. “Actually, Senator, I was the one leading you on. But we both know you did the grooming.”

The initial review of Andrew’s home and office computers had returned zilch. Andrews couldn’t possibly know this. His slimy bullshit sourced elsewhere.

“I can prove that you thought she was fourteen and intended to have sex with her. When we parade the things you brought to the motel in front of a jury, the sex toys, the lube, and most damning, your secret video camera, they won’t buy your excuses. You know, people like you tend to have a rough go in prison.”

Andrews’ breathing hitched. Some of his cocky attitude faded. His head shook involuntarily. Barnes stood and put a hand on his shoulder. “Calm down, you’ll be ok. Can we get him something to drink here?” The guard brought a bottle of water.

Andrews drank and tried breathing deep. Barnes returned to his seat. “There’s no turning back the clock here. But if you help me, you’ll make things easier for yourself when you go before judge and jury. I can be a friend.”

Andrews snorted. “How kind. That was my first thought, this guy is my friend. Trust me, I’ve already got the right friends.”

Maintaining the good cop persona grew increasingly harder. “You’ve got one chance to help yourself and you’re blowing it. Confess, save us the trouble of a trial. How’d you locate those sites and chatrooms? They don’t pop up in a Google search. Come clean. Maybe we can close a loophole. You throw us that info and I’ll see that it earns points with the judge and the

District Attorney.”

“I have something to offer people much higher on the food chain than the local D.A. Prison isn’t in my future.” Andrews leaned back in his chair. “Lawyer, now.”

Now Andrews got the uncompromising Barnes, who’d walked through fire to get here. “Fine, lawyer up, but let me tell you this. There are a few ironclads in this life. Don’t mess with the church’s money, don’t piss off people who handle your food, and don’t ever, and I mean ever, threaten children. Even if you think prison’s not in your future, jail most definitely is.

You’re spending tonight in County’s general population and I swear every last inmate will know why. Sleep tight.”

Barnes trusted Andrews’ the worst visions were his best ally. He’d turned

the doorknob when he heard a sigh of resignation.

“Wait. I might know a few things. Maybe a couple of names. But then I want my lawyer. You swear to keep the animals away?”

“For the next few days,” Barnes pushed a pen and paper across the table.

* * *

Captain Butch Holland, Barnes’ commanding officer, stewed behind the two-way mirror. His bushy mustache resembled a walrus, matching his bulk. His police hat covered up his hair’s disappearing act. Vanity wasn’t quite enough to get him on a treadmill though. As Barnes entered the room, Holland’s face flushed, and he opened at peak volume.

“Happy? I ordered you, very clearly, not to pursue this. But you know better than everyone and look where we are. No confession, half a case, and a big pile of shit.”

Barnes eyed Holland with disdain. “I know better than you. We’ve got him because I do my job. You worry about kissing ass upstairs. I don’t give a shit if it’s a state Senator, an ambassador, or the goddamn President. He’s garbage and he’s going down.”

Holland had tabled his retirement, desperately hanging on to walk with a Major’s pension. He bristled at the accurate insinuation that he played the political game.

“You’ve got the Governor’s office breathing fire and I’m not taking heat for you.”

Sure, Barnes thought. The only thing you take is credit. He’d spent a lifetime internalizing beatings, verbal or otherwise, and spinning them out as motivation. It usually worked, as long as nobody undercut his integrity.

He balled his fist over and over. “You don’t have to take anything. We’re on our way. Sometimes it takes a minute, but they always break in the end.”

“Explain that to Colonel Prescott tomorrow. He’s coming down and bringing the Attorney General. Let’s see how Saint Barnes handles that.”

“Fine, Captain.” Barnes poured tabasco on the big man’s title. “I’ll promise you something. Nobody walks on my watch. See what happens to anyone standing in my way when I’m dragging someone to hell.”

Holland’s mustache twitched with the hint of a smile. “So, you say. Before the day’s out, I want the originals on all your paperwork and a full tick-tock. It’s going straight to the Colonel.”

The Captain’s smirk irritated him but frustration over the request took precedent. “Christ, let me do my job. I’ve got to get out to reinspect the house and office. Bureaucracy doesn’t close cases.”

The Captain pointed a pudgy finger. “Prescott demanded it. When the head of the State Police barks, you do it before he fucking bites.”

Holland stormed from the room, almost steamrolling Shannon. An agile spin kept her from becoming roadkill. She leaned against a filing cabinet, the only furniture in the spartan room beyond two steel folding chairs.

“Congrats on another successful interaction with the brass. Never thought I’d see a detective with the best closure rate universally hated by the higher ups.”

Barnes seethed. “Fuck him and fuck the rest of them too. I’m not playing their games, I’m doing the job.” He kicked a chair and it slammed into the wall with a satisfying bang.

“Easy, I’m not the enemy. The martyr act won’t get you anywhere. You might consider playing nice.”

Occasionally, Shannon glimpsed behind Barnes’ carefully constructed wall. While he was certain it unnerved her, she still spoke her mind. “Sorry. Someone’s always gunning for me. Being the best doesn’t allow time for anyone else’s agenda. I’m not about to change.”

“Fine,” passing on a losing battle. “What’s our next move? I only heard Holland’s side. You solid on what we did today?”

“Andrews is a pervert. We’ve got enough, but tonight’s a paper night. Prescott’s coming and we make sure it’s watertight.”

Shannon frowned and rubbed her temples. “Holland wants to show everyone he’s got his thumb on us. I don’t care that he takes credit sometimes, but this is taking away from the real work. Damn him.”

A sly smile materialized. “Now who needs to play nice?”

“Shut up. I’m not the one with four reprimands for insubordination. You think Andrews will spill? It’s a long time since you didn’t get the confession right away.”

“It’s not insubordination when I’m right. Andrews dropped a few names, but I think they’re bullshit. He’d stick his hand in a pit of rattlesnakes to draw a get out of jail free card.” He paused. “A night or two in a cell will do it.”

But Barnes didn’t believe that. Three cigarettes and creeping concerns consumed his trip to the Barracks. He couldn’t shake the idea there was something rotten about this case, and not just around the edges. Andrews’ arrogance held court in his mind. What’s up your sleeve, you sick son of a bitch? What do you know about what’s coming my way I don’t?

***

Excerpt from Main Street Fringe by Matthew Lavoie. Copyright 2026 by Matthew Lavoie. Reproduced with permission from Matthew Lavoie. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

A policy expert and political operative for some of Washington’s most influential power brokers, Matthew Lavoie has spent his career evaluating the how and why of American political and cultural movements and observing some of the biggest shifts in American and geopolitical history. MAIN STREET FRINGE is his debut novel. He is a member of International Thriller Writers and Mystery Writers of America.

Catch Up With Matthew Lavoie:

MatthewPLavoie.com
Instagram - @matthewlavoie8181
Facebook - @MatthewLavoie8181
YouTube - @MatthewLavoie8181

 

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Book Tour ~ Darkness Falls - A Detective Nathan Parker Novel by James L'Etoile

 

DARKNESS FALLS

by James L'Etoile

September 7 - October 2, 2026 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

A DETECTIVE NATHAN PARKER NOVEL

 

Not all darkness flows into the Valley of the Sun from our southern borders.

Detective Nathan Parker discovers a double murder in a Phoenix drug lab, and all the evidence points at a connection to his son, Miguel. Was his adopted son swept up in a drug rip-off and murder? Did he play a role in the distribution of illicit designer drugs in the valley? As authorities close in on Miguel, Parker discovers a border militia group rushing to control the drug flow. The Night Watch militia leaves of trail of violence in their wake and local politicians use the shadow of the scourge of drug violence to influence an upcoming election. Who stands to gain while Parker and his family are caught in the crossfire? Who will betray them?

Book Details:

Genre: Thriller / Police Procedural
Published by: Level Best Books
Publication Date: August 25, 2026
Number of Pages: 350
ISBN: 978-889203313
Series: A Detective Nathan Parker Novel
Book Links: Amazon | Kindle | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | BookBub

The Detective Nathan Parker Novel Series

Dead Drop Amazon | Goodreads | BookBub

Devil Within Amazon | Goodreads | BookBub

Served Cold Amazon | Goodreads | BookBub

Sins of the Father Amazon | Goodreads | BookBub

Read an excerpt:

Chapter One

Sucking stale air through a respirator, John Thomas Mitchell finally found his niche. He dropped out of high school because it wasn’t his thing. The teachers said he wasn’t being challenged. Truth was, John Thomas left because he’d learned what he needed to make it on his own.

Most of the people he interacted with only knew him as the Birdman. If you wanted the best high, the Birdman was the source. He wasn’t a drug dealer; he was a connoisseur—a brand ambassador of pills.

“J.T., I got another five hundred bagged and ready,” a reedy voice said through his respirator.

John Thomas pulled the lever on his manual pressing machine, one of his own design, and twenty white, perfectly pressed pills dropped out, each embossed with his own logo—a Blackbird in flight.

“We need another thousand for the college this weekend. It’s pledge week, Cal.”

John Thomas tapped the plastic container, shaking loose the snow-colored powder residue from the sides, and monitored the loose material as it flowed onto the dimpled steel plate where it would be formed and pressed into the coveted Blackbird doses. The perfect blend of Ecstasy and opiate.

A hard knock on the trailer’s thick metal door reverberated through the old single-wide.

John Thomas and Cal exchanged a glance through drug powder dusted goggles.

“Cops?” Cal said.

John Thomas glanced at his watch. “Cops don’t knock. Must be our boy coming to pick up. He’s early. Get it would ya? I’m in the middle of setting up the next press.”

Cal scooted back from the workbench and placed the plastic-wrapped bundle of pills on the cheap folding table set up in the middle of the stripped-down trailer.

The knock at the door sounded again. This time, it came harder and rattled the heavy doorframe.

“All right, all right, I’m coming, dammit,” Cal said as he slid the two bolts that secured the door.

The moment he threw the door aside, a thundering blast echoed in the small space. Cal flew back against the far wall, a crimson blossom leaching through his t-shirt.

John Thomas fell out of his chair, and two gunmen, both dressed in black, wearing full-face respirators, stepped into the trailer. John Thomas crabbed backwards on the floor trying to distance himself from the gun-toting pair.

The closer of the two leveled a black shotgun at him.

John Thomas blanched. He looked away from the gunman. “Take it. Take what you want.” He held his hands up—submissive and cowering.

The gunman tipped his head to his partner, who stepped over Cal’s body and stuffed the bags of finished pills into a black nylon zippered duffle.

When the pills were tucked away in the duffel, the man backed away. The gunman didn’t lower the shotgun.

“You got what you came for. I won’t tell nothing,” John Thomas said. His voice thin and quivering.

Over his pounding heartbeat, John Thomas heard the gunman’s reply.

“I know you won’t.”

A flash from the muzzle and an ear-splitting roar filled the trailer. John Thomas lay sprawled on the floor. The gunman slung the shotgun over his shoulder and stepped around what was left of John Thomas’s head and grabbed the heavy pill press, dumping the powder that hadn’t been compressed on the floor.

He backed through the door and took a last look inside before his partner tossed in a plain blue backpack. They closed the metal door and jogged to where they’d parked their dark blue Ford F-150 pickup.

The pill-laden duffel went into a hardcover case. The gunman took less than a minute to strip down the pill press and remove the plates that formed the pills with their unique Blackbird signature logo. The two steel plates tucked into another hard case, and the mechanical parts of the press were tossed into a thick copse of creosote brush.

After the cases were secured in the back seat, the men got in, started the truck and backed away.

The gunman pulled his respirator off and tossed it into the back seat. His blue eyes fell on his cell phone he’d stashed on the console. He scanned it while driving on the rutted, washboard dirt road and dialed 911.

“911, what’s your emergency,” a voice sounded over the cellphone.

“Hey, I just spotted a pack of illegals busting into a trailer out near Vulture Mountain west of Wickenburg.”

“How do you know they were undocumented?”

“You can tell, and I heard gunshots.”

“What’s your name?”

The gunman hung up and handed the phone to the passenger, who slipped out the SIM card, snapped it in half and tossed the bits out the window.

“How long you figure it’ll take them to find the place?” the passenger said.

“Not long.”

The gunman pressed down on the accelerator toward Phoenix.

Chapter Two

Detective Sergeant Nathan Parker piloted his Maricopa County Sheriff’s Office SUV on the barely paved roads in the north part of the county known as Tweaker Heights. The largely undeveloped desert space wedged between Tonopah on interstate 10 and Wickenburg on the 60 was a prime location for operating a clandestine drug lab.

Parker glanced at detective Barry Johns in the passenger seat. Barry held a cellphone to his ear and held up two fingers. Two victims.

Drug ripoffs weren’t specifically listed in the fine print of the risk of doing business. There were rules. Usually, rivals understood that keeping the fragile peace meant hands off the production side of the operation. The street-level sales and distribution were another matter. In many ways, Maricopa County was the wild west, where intimidation and payoffs ruled. There was a fragile truce in the business when all sides followed the rules.

When a drug lab stiffed a supplier, bad things happened. This was not a business that cared about promises or referrals to human resources for mediation.

Barry disconnected the call. “Fire department from Buckeye station 70 responded to a report of a trailer fire south of the White Tanks. About the same time, we got the 911 call about shots fired and undocumented migrants at the location.”

“Fire and reported gunfire could mean a lab take down. If the lab was connected to any of the biker gangs up in the north county, could be reprisal coming.”

“We have a deputy on scene. Wilson. Said it looked like a pill mill. Some precursor chemicals there. Possible fentanyl set up.”

“Great,” Parker said. That would mean wearing protective gear and respirators while working the scene. And having Narcan on hand for accidental exposures.

“Did the 911 call mention the fire?” Parker asked Barry.

The big man shook his head. “No. Gunshots only.”

“But the fire department responded to a trailer fire.”

“That they did. We’ll have to find out how they got the call.” Barry pointed ahead. The red and white Buckeye fire engine near a dilapidated single-wide mobile home that looked as if it had been parked there since the Carter administration. “How you want to handle this?”

Parker mulled it over for a moment. Two dead in a drug rip-off. No neighbors to canvass, unlikely witnesses, and the fire may have consumed much of the useful evidence. “You tell me, Barry. You’re lead on this one.”

Barry Johns was a solid detective with slightly over five years in grade. Parker knew him to be smart and dogged when it came to chasing down leads. A former college football standout, Barry was looking at a pro career when his knee betrayed him, ending his athletic eligibility. He was recruited by two Black colleges for teaching positions but opted to come back home to the desert and join the Sheriff’s office. Parker knew he was capable and savvy enough to get this investigation off and running.

Barry was feeling a little disconnected after his partner, Pete Tully, retired over six months ago. Getting shot in the chest will make you rethink your priorities. While Barry and Parker worked well together, Parker sensed Barry needed a chance to take charge.

Barry glanced over. “I’d start by running down the origins of whatever chemical compounds we have in the trailer. By the looks of it, Buckeye Fire got here fast. We might have something to work with. Then the trailer itself. I want to know ownership records from the day it was dropped out here. Same with the land itself.”

Parker nodded. “Want me to run down the trailer registration and property records? I know you’ll get all geeked out over the chemical mumbo jumbo.”

Barry grinned. “Yeah, maybe.”

A cloud of red dust enveloped the SUV when Parker eased the vehicle behind the Maricopa County unit. He waited for the dust cloud to pass before he opened the door. “Let’s get the update from Wilson.”

Parker and Barry found deputy Wilson standing in front of the Fire engine, some fifty feet from the single-wide.

A pair of firefighters were pulling a hose from the doorway. Both wore full protective gear, including the air tank for the self-contained breathing apparatus.

Wilson turned as the detectives approached.

“Detectives,” the deputy said.

“What can you tell us, Wilson?” Parker said.

“Responded to the shots fired call and arrived just as the Buckeye Fire crew pulled up. Looked like the fire was small and contained mostly inside. Not much smoke. Don’t know who reported it.”

Barry nodded to the two firefighters. “They discover the bodies?”

“They did. Said it was laid out like a drug lab inside. A line of worktables down the center of it. Our two victims—one by the door and the second toward the rear.”

“Did you get a look?” Barry asked.

“I grabbed a mask and got a look from the door. Snapped a couple of photos before the fire jockeys destroyed everything.” He held his cell phone out to Barry.

“Good thinking,” Barry said as he took the phone and scrolled through the set of images. He handed the phone to Parker.

“Gonna be tough to get an ID on one of them. Most of his face is missing,” Wilson said.

“What I don’t see here is the product. Gives some credence to the idea someone took this pair down,” Barry said.

“I did find these,” Wilson handed a sealed plastic bag to Barry. Five pills lined the bottom of the bag. All white with a distinct Blackbird logo embossed on them.

“This is where Blackbird came from?” Parker said. “These pills have been all over the county, especially the colleges.”

“Blackbird has a whole upscale vibe going on with it. Users claim it’s a good safe high. I always thought the stuff came from a pristine lab somewhere in Cave Creek, or Fountain Hills,” Barry said.

“You take down Blackbird and assume their distribution, you’ve got a goldmine,” Parker said.

Parker glanced at the trailer hulk. Taking over a drug operation was one thing. But if the chemist behind the Blackbird pills was one of the two dead men inside, then there was another darker element in play here.

“You ask for the Medical Examiner?” Parker asked the deputy.

“No, sir. Watch Commander said you should make the call.”

Parker nodded. Barry picked up on the pause and reached for his cell phone. “On it.”

“Ask for Dr. White,” Parker said as Barry stepped aside to make the call.

The firefighters backed out of the trailer and shut off their hoses. The pumps on the engine whined down to a stop. A fire captain in a white helmet stepped away from the engine and unbuttoned his heavy turnout coat. Parker recognized the captain from a callout last year near the boundary of the Hummingbird Wilderness. Two bodies were found in an abandoned mining shack. His name tag read, Drucker.

“Detective, I can always count on you to keep us on our toes. Had to use all our hazmat protocols on this one with potential drug exposures and explosive materials in the place.”

“Explosives?” Parker said.

“Let me show you.” The fire captain started walking back to the trailer.

“Can’t you just tell me about it?”

“Just put on your big boy pants and come with me, detective,” Drucker said.

Barry had finished his call, and Parker gestured him over. “The captain has something to show you.”

Drucker grinned. “That’s how it’s gonna be, huh?”

“His case,” Parker said.

“What’s you got?” Barry asked once he arrived at the trailer.

The odor from the charred insulation, plastic, and rodent droppings was intense ten feet from the trailer door.

The fire captain brought up an image on a tablet device. “Check this out. Far right corner, on the floor. A ragged hole in the trailer’s thin metal skin shown in the picture.”

Parker’s eye drew to the four small cardboard boxes on the warped floorboard. The label on the containers in large red letters read, 12-gauge 00-Buckshot.

“Shotgun shells? That’s your explosive?” Parker said.

“One box cooked off a round. The fire started in the corner of the trailer—outside actually.”

Barry peered at the screen. “The fire didn’t start from inside with whatever they were cooking?”

Drucker shook his head. “Looks like someone tossed a couple road flares under the trailer chassis and ignited the scrub, trash, and some loose flooring material.”

“Safe to go in?” Barry asked.

“It is. We put an ion detection beacon inside and it’s reading no residual meth precursor chemicals, no fentanyl, but we did get a hit on other known opiates. I’d wear a M-95 mask to be safe.”

“Not much chemical residue. Doesn’t that strike you as a little off, if Blackbird was being made here? Labs are usually covered in the stuff.” Parker asked.

Barry donned an M-95 mask. “The Medical Examiner will be here in twenty minutes. Our crime scene techs should be here before then. They were finishing up a robbery call out in Carefree.”

As Parker and Barry entered, the trailer listed under their weight. As Captain Drucker explained the fire damage inside was rather minimal. The heat melted a few plastic tarps in the corner, but the bodies were untouched by the flames. Unusual if the fire was started to get rid of the evidence inside, Parker thought.

The dead man nearest the door leaned against the back wall. A pattern of gunshot wounds, eight that he could see, tore through the man’s chest and abdomen.

To the left, inside, partially under a long worktable, the second body lay sprawled on its back. The man’s face was missing, or most of it. Bone, brain tissue, and teeth were visible at a glance. Round holes behind the dead man meant he was gunned down at close range while his assailant stood over him.

Barry began shooting photos with his cell phone. While he was occupied, Parker spotted a blue backpack a few feet from the first dead man. There was something familiar in this plain blue model.

Parker took his cell phone and snapped a photo of the backpack as it lay in the blood spatter of the first victim. The backpack didn’t have spatter on it, which meant it landed thereafter the drug dealer was shot.

Turning the backpack with a glove-covered hand, Parker noticed a tag on one of the shoulder straps. He didn’t need to read it to know where it came from. It belonged to his son, Miguel.

***

Excerpt from Darkness Falls by James L'Etoile. Copyright 2026 by James L'Etoile. Reproduced with permission from James L'Etoile. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

James L’Etoile uses his twenty-nine years behind bars as an influence in his award-winning novels, short stories, and screenplays. He is a former associate warden in a maximum-security prison, a hostage negotiator, and director of California’s state parole system. His novels have been shortlisted or awarded the Lefty, Anthony, Silver Falchion, Macavity, and the Public Safety Writers Award. Illusion of Truth, Sins of the Father, and Darkness Falls are his most recent novels. James also serves as the Executive Vice President of Mystery Writers of America.

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Book Blitz ~ The Earth is Her Own - The Fourth Book of The Riven Country Quartet by Renee Carrier

 

Speculative Fiction

Date Published: May 21, 2026

Continuing from THE SIMPLER, Senga Munro’s disappearance prompts discussion as to -what- she may be. Her herbal notebook has been discovered in an old man’s medicine bundle from the 1800s, wherein Senga details her captivity in an underground cave. One morning, she awakes in a Cheyenne camp, believing she is part of a living history project. Upon her extraordinary return, she discovers a world altered and transformed by “The Phenomenon,” an evolutionary leap in consciousness that has reshaped global values and circumstances.

Through its rich tapestry of characters, historical elements, and philosophical musings, the series explores the complexities of human experience, the sacredness of the Earth, and the transformative power of compassion and understanding. It is a meditation on the struggles and triumphs that define both individual lives and collective humanity.

About the Author

Renée Carrier and her husband, a retired school superintendent, tend a small apple orchard, two gardens, and raise garlic and herbs—medicinal and culinary. Renée is a past recipient of the Frank Neilson Doubleday Writing Award by the Wyoming Arts Council. She continues to sing and play the odd musical performance and practice family herbalism, which wends its way into her writing "like a possessed vine." She enjoys knitting, walking, reading, viewing good films, and traveling.

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Book Blitz ~ When Frist was Spectre Grey - Historical Mystery by Nicola Italia

 

When Frost Was Spectre Grey
Nicola Italia
Publication date: August 30th 2026
Genres: Adult, Historical, Mystery

Yorkshire, 1881. Imogene York has one job: authenticate a dead man’s signature and witness the reading of his will. It should take an afternoon.

But the moment she arrives at Trelawney Grange, she can tell the people gathered to hear Lord Alaric Trelawney’s final wishes aren’t waiting on an inheritance. They’re waiting on something they’ve spent fifteen years hoping would stay buried.

Every person in that house-the doctor, the solicitor, the reverend, the aristocrat, the household staff who move through it like they were never there at all-is bound together by a secret from one terrible summer years before, and no one will say what it is. As the snow closes in and the will’s true purpose comes to light, Imogene realizes she wasn’t hired to verify a signature. She was hired to witness a reckoning fifteen years in the making, and there is no walking away from the past.

A gripping Victorian mystery about the debts the past never stops collecting, and the lengths people will go to keep a secret buried or to finally bring it to light.

Goodreads / Amazon

—

EXCERPT:

1866
London England
Prologue

He shivered as a draft moved through the room. He sorted through documents spread out before him, organizing them into careful piles. He thought about the conversation that had occurred and anger exploded inside his head. The upstart!

What did he know about anything? He, who had studied with Dr. John Snow, so renowned in his field. His throat was dry. He pulled the decanter of whiskey toward him and poured. The amber liquid splashed on a piece of paper but he brushed at it dismissively.

He drank it quickly and it seared his throat but he poured himself another. He contemplated the glass this time before drinking. He should have known. Those do-gooder types didn’t understand the true sacrifice he was making. They couldn’t see the big picture. They couldn’t see what was really happening. What he was trying to do. He set the glass back down without taking a sip and saw that his hand was shaking. Blast it! It had all been going so well. Why couldn’t they leave him alone? Now what.

He looked about the room. The draft no longer bothered him and he felt a sweat break out on his brow. There was much to do. But most importantly, he must find his medical notes. They had been right here on his desk. He was certain. It was a necessity. No one would have come into his room and removed them, had they? No. They wouldn’t dare.

He pondered it. Perhaps his assistant, the new fellow fresh from school, had simply moved them. No. He wouldn’t. He had expressly told him not to meddle with his things. He didn’t like it and he had everything just as he liked it. So where were they, dammit!

A knock sounded at the door and almost caused him to jump. The hour was late. Who could it be?

“It’s me,” the familiar male voice called out.

His benefactor. The one with all the purse strings. He must play the part at least for him.

“Just a moment,” he called back.

He looked at his reflection in the window and saw that his hair was disheveled. He took out a comb and quickly brushed his wavy hair in place. The desk was in disarray and he quickly placed the papers in neat stacks to show the appearance of order.

Jesus, what awful timing. He called the man to enter and the visitor did, looking about the room.

“Am I interrupting you?” the older man asked.

“Certainly not,” he replied. “I was looking for some misplaced medical notes. That blasted assistant must have moved them. I told him not to meddle.”

The older man settled himself into the red leather chair. “I wanted to speak with you privately. It’s important.” He swallowed visibly and appeared to be trying to find the words.

“The hour is quite late.”

“It is. You’ll forgive me.” The older man nodded. “I would have waited but—” He almost stumbled over his words.

“It must be something of great importance to bring you here at this late hour,” he noted.

His benefactor seemed to take in the words and almost seemed dazed. “Yes,” he said in agreement. “Something most concerning has reached my ears, most concerning,” he repeated for emphasis.

The man had no time for this. What’s more, he didn’t want to hear anything he had to say. It was irritating that in all of his important work, he had to give the man anything. For Christ’s sake! Didn’t this feather-head realize what was at stake? But he steeled himself and responded as he should.

“What is this concern?”

But instead of answering outright, his benefactor merely looked about the room. “I scarcely know where to begin.”

In a flash of blinding anger, he resisted the urge to stand up and reach over the table to slap the man’s face. Who did he think he was? How dare he presume anything? The man might have status and money but little else. Just because he had been born into the right family, what else did he have? Brains? Certainly not. If he had been born a common person, he would be selling fish at the docks.

But he calmed himself. He knew who he was. He was the one with brilliance and brains, decidedly so. He was the one who had risen and become the man he was today. He was the shining star. But he needed the older man’s patronage. He knew that. He would have to play the game, then, and pretend to care about whatever was preying on the man’s mind.

If the man told him something stupid like they had not enough places set at the dinner table or the china was mismatched, he might strangle him.

Instead, his expression stayed mild, untroubled. “Tell me the concern. Perhaps together we can alleviate the issue.”

Relief eased across his benefactor’s face. “Yes. This must be a mistake. It can’t be what I’ve been told. I heard something from my sister, but she can ramble. But then the vicar came to me—”

“Oh yes?”

“And the family solicitor—”

“Him as well? My, my,” he said, trying to pretend to care. “What is it they are saying? Tell me quick.”

He only hoped he would tell the story quickly so he could be on his way.

Then without preamble, his benefactor began to speak. He laid out the whole issue, the concerns, the rumors and the whispers that were being spoken about and how grave the matter was. He mentioned his sister’s concerns and a young man who had spoken to the solicitor’s son and on and on the man babbled. He thought if the man was a tenor opera singer, his aria would last thirty minutes. It was exhausting and supremely irritating.

“It’s fantastic – is it not?” His benefactor said. “Most fantastic. I can hardly fathom it myself. I told Delly she was ridiculous. She should know better than to pass on rumors.”

“That is – quite a story,” he agreed as he pulled the decanter to him once more. “Quite a story.”

He poured the man a drink and pushed it across the desk to him. He took up his glass from earlier and took a long sip. “What proof is there of these allegations?”

His benefactor’s shoulders dropped. “That’s just it. Some rumors and whispers. But as it’s reached my ears, as your benefactor, we must discuss it.”

“My, my.” He set his glass down. “And what are you prepared to do?”

“Get to the bottom of it!” His patron said passionately. “Good God, man! These are lies, slander! I’ll not have you slandered! You could sue in court. I’ll be your witness,” the older man’s face grew red with exertion.

“Very decent of you,” he murmured. He swirled the amber liquid in the glass absently. “Very decent of you indeed.”

“Of course, my dear chap,” the older man looked relieved. “Least I could do.”

The mantel clock chimed the half hour.

“That’s of course assuming these rumors are false,” he said quietly, taking another sip. “What if they are true?”

His benefactor looked slightly irritated. “This is no time for jests, old boy,” the older man said curtly. “The rumors are grave. I might even say macabre.”

“Macabre?” he echoed.

“Yes!”

But he just continued to stare at his patron while swirling the liquor in the glass.

“Wait. What are you – what are you saying?” His benefactor suddenly straightened up in his chair. “In plain English. Gentleman to gentleman. I demand you tell me what is happening.”

“Your witnesses speak the truth.”

The silence between the two men was deafening.

“No. No, that can’t be.” His patron grew pale.

“I assure you, it is,” he said, his mouth curving.

His benefactor suddenly looked sick in the low gas lights. “No. I- I don’t believe it,” he whispered.

“Well, you certainly don’t need to believe it.”

“But if the witnesses are correct, and the rumors are true,” he visibly swallowed, “you’re a—” He shook his head.

“Yes? Go on.” He was amused at the turn of conversation. The man was an idiot.

“You’re a monster.”

He sat back in his chair and surveyed his patron. “Come now. There’s no need for dramatics.”

But his benefactor stood up then. He looked flushed now.

“I demand you refute these rumors laid at your door! I demand it!”

Calmly without saying a word, he pulled a cigarette from his silver case and lit it. He took a long drag before responding. “The rumors are not rumors,” he said steadily. “Your witnesses are correct.”

The man’s face drained of color.

“I’m leaving tonight,” he told him. “There need not be any fuss or theatrics. I will leave quietly and continue my work in India. The matter will end and you will squash the rumors.”

“The hell I will!” His face was now mottled with anger. “The hell I will!”

He took another sip of whiskey completely unbothered by the man’s outburst.

“If these things are true, you should be imprisoned! Hanged even!”

“No, sir. I won’t be.”

“Why won’t you be?” The patron demanded.

“For the simple reason that you helped me. Your family helped me, your vicar helped me. You are complicit. Whether you like it or not,” he told him.

“No,” he whispered and fell into the chair. “I’m not. That’s not what I did. I thought – I thought you were helping. I thought you were a savior. We all thought that.”

“Hmph! Did you really? Or did you also want to be involved with the discovery of a lifetime?” he said coolly. “Perhaps you wanted to even take a bit of credit as my benefactor.”

His benefactor sputtered out several words but nothing made sense until he finally whispered, “How dare you?”

He poured himself another glass enjoying himself and the interaction. “So. As I said. I will leave quietly. You will let everyone know that I was called to India of the utmost importance, and nothing else will be said.”

“You can’t get away with this,” he said weakly. “You can’t.”

“My dear chap,” he said, his face showing no emotion. “I already have.”

Author Bio:

Nicola is a Los Angeles native. Early in elementary school, Nicola had a great fondness for reading and began to write creatively. She graduated from university with a degree in communications and has held a variety of positions in journalism, education, government and non profit.

Nicola has traveled extensively throughout Europe, China, Central America and Egypt and loves all things historical.

She has nineteen historical romance and mystery novels on Amazon.

https://linktr.ee/authornicolaitalia

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GIVEAWAY!

When Frost Was Spectre Grey Blitz

—

Book Tour ~ Hello Peace by Beth McCall

 

Finding Freedom from Body Image Struggles Through Faith, Motherhood, and Surrender

 

Religion / Christian Living

Date Published: July 28, 2026

Publisher: Lucid Books Publishing

 

Hello Peace is a faith-filled journey for women navigating body image struggles, identity, and the physical and emotional changes of pregnancy and motherhood. Through a raw and honest personal story, this book invites readers to move from fear, comparison, and control into surrender, renewal, and lasting peace in Christ.

Blending Scripture, reflection, and practical journaling prompts, it equips women to break free from shame, rediscover their worth, and anchor their identity in God—not in appearance or performance.

For any woman who has ever felt at war with her body, this book offers hope, healing, and a reminder that God is not calling her back to who she was—but forward into who she is becoming.

 I was fourteen years old when my eating disorder began. I can’t point to one single moment or trigger — it was a slow unraveling, a quiet shift, one that started in my mind long before it ever showed up in my body.

What I can say is this: it came on with stealth, dressed in discipline, perfectionism, and control. At first, it looked like I was just trying to be healthy and gain better athleticism as I headed into high school sports. But without even realizing it, it turned into a desire to be smaller, better, and more in control.

Under the surface, it was never about food. It was about fear — fear of being too much, and fear of not being enough. Fear of being unseen, and fear of being fully known. And so I tried to control the one thing I thought I could: my body.

Looking back, it’s hard to put words to how trapped I felt. On the outside, I appeared strong, high-achieving, healthy. But on the inside, I was exhausted and empty. Every decision — every bite, every mirror glance, every scale reading — became a judgment of my worth. I was considered one of the lucky ones and technically “healed” by the time I was fifteen, but the truth is, I had only learned how to function with the demon still inside. I hadn’t dealt with the root. I hadn’t let Jesus in. And because of that, the chains remained — not always visible, but always lingering.

Over the years, those chains looked different. In college, they showed up again — quieter, more sophisticated, harder to identify. They hid under my collegiate athlete training schedule,

calorie-counting apps, and fitness goals. And even when I became a registered dietitian and began helping others overcome their own eating disorders, I still had moments when I felt like a fraud. I was guiding others toward freedom while secretly battling my own thoughts. I could tell them the truth, but I wasn’t always walking in it myself.

Fast forward several years of wrestling with confidence — and along came the moment I had longed for yet feared the most: marriage and the discussion of starting a family.

I had always wanted to be a mom. But I also feared what pregnancy would do to my body. I feared the weight gain, the stretch marks, the postpartum unknowns. I feared the loss of control. And maybe most of all, I feared that the eating disorder — the one I thought I had buried nearly two decades ago — would find its way back in.

But here’s what I’ve learned: God does not waste our wounds. He doesn’t ignore the brokenness. He redeems it. And pregnancy, the very thing I feared would destroy me, became the very thing God used to set me free.

The freedom didn’t come all at once. It wasn’t clean or easy. It came in layers — in whispers of truth louder than the lies. It came in Scriptures I had read a hundred times before, suddenly coming alive. It came in moments of surrender, one small choice at a time. It came when I finally stopped relying on my own strength and started relying fully on His.

And it started here — with recognizing that the chains still existed.

 

The Bible tells us that all Scripture is God-breathed — and that it equips us for every good work. Not just the work of motherhood or ministry, but the work of healing, of transformation, of confronting strongholds. If we want to walk in freedom, we cannot rely on our own willpower or discipline.

We must rely on the Word. Because it is Truth that breaks the chains.

 

About the Author

 

 Beth McCall is a registered dietitian, sports nutrition specialist, and founder of Purposeful Fueling, where she helps individuals fuel their body, mind, and life with purpose. With over a decade of experience working with high school, collegiate, and professional athletes, Beth is passionate about supporting both performance and whole-person wellness.

A devoted follower of Christ, her work is deeply shaped by her personal journey of healing from an eating disorder and finding freedom through God’s truth. Hello Peace is her debut book, inspired by her experiences in pregnancy and motherhood and her desire to help women anchor their identity in Christ.

Beth lives with her husband, son, and daughter, and enjoys running, hiking, and spending time with her family.

Contact Links

Website

Instagram: @bethmiller_7 @purposefulfueling

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Book Blitz ~ Amaya's Welcome to Kindergarten by Nathaniel and Amaya McDaniel

 

 

Children's Book

Date Published: August 26, 2026

Calm the first-day jitters and celebrate an exciting milestone with Amaya!

Is your little one feeling a mix of big excitement and nervous tummy butterflies about starting school? You are not alone. Turning the page to a new school year is a massive step, but a smooth transition is completely possible.

Amaya’s Welcome to Kindergarten is a warm, beautifully illustrated children's picture book designed to transform back-to-school anxiety into pure joy and confidence.

Join sweet and relatable Amaya as she takes her very first steps into her new classroom. Through her eyes, young readers get an encouraging sneak peek at the wonderful adventures waiting for them, including:

Circle Time & Fun Activities: Discovering how joyful learning can be.

Making New Friends: Easing social anxieties and learning how to share.

Meeting the Teacher: Realizing that the classroom is a safe, loving, and supportive place.

Classroom Rules Made Easy: Learning what to expect from routines down the hall.

 

Why Parents and Educators Love This Book:

Perfect Read-Aloud: Ideal for cozy bedtime reading before the big day or as an early childhood classroom read-aloud.

Diverse & Inclusive: Features multicultural characters that celebrate early childhood representation and emotional readiness.

The Ultimate Milestone Gift: A wonderful pre-K graduation keepsake or summer bridge book to prepare children emotionally for the transition.

 

Help your child step onto the school bus with a brave smile and an excited heart.

About the Author

Nathaniel McDaniel is a passionate storyteller and advocate for early childhood confidence. Inspired by the everyday milestones, big dreams, and nervous butterflies of young learners, Nathaniel writes stories that help children navigate major life transitions with bravery and a smile. When he isn't crafting comforting tales to calm first-day-of-school jitters, he enjoys spending time with family and working on community projects that empower the next generation. Amaya’s Welcome to Kindergarten is his heartfelt ode to every little learner stepping into the classroom for the very first time.

 

Purchase Link

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Teaser ~ Space Opera Duet by Stephanie Burke

 

LGBTQ+ MPreg Sci-Fi Action Romance

Date Published: September 25, 2026

Publisher: Changeling Press

Bred to be the perfect soldiers, Javen and Gara are running from the the very people they were created to protect.

Javen and Gara were bred to be the perfect soldiers, protecting New Earth from the scourge from above. As lovers, they were created to resonate in perfect harmony with each other, their lives the stuff of legends. But they proved to be evolution's darlings, developing beyond anything the scientists had ever dreamed of, their advancement eclipsing that of their creators.

Now their only hope is a planet of their own, where they can live free -- free to construct a new society based on the ideals of justice and honor. But with dangerous factions at work, a mysterious prophesy, and an old enemy amassing, this stunning melody may ring out with the perfect notes to save the worthy and unworthy alike.

Freedom demands an awful price.

Publisher's Note: Space Opera Duet originally released as two separate novellas.

Excerpt

Copyright ©2026 Stephanie Burke

 

"Bonded, let down my braid?" The silver-haired man asked the question politely as he gracefully dropped to his knees beside his beloved.

Javen looked up at his tora through silver lashes, his purple eyes gleaming in anticipation as he licked full, pouty lips. His lithe body was covered in an odd type of silk wrap, the weave plainly visible, but the material soft as air. Several colorful strands of blue and purple, strands of hair from fallen comrades, made up a pattern in the cloth. His long, pale fingers rested on his slim thighs, his poise perfect as he awaited the response.

"Shall I unbind you, my mate?" The question was asked in a low, gravelly voice, the desire and intent clear. Gara the Red, High Lord Chancellor of this particular space station far above New Earth Sphere, observed his mate, his cock swelling, his blood running hot. "Shall I release you to take what pleasures I can off that pale body of yours?"

Javen seemed to shiver, though his body remained perfectly still. He inhaled deeply, breathing in the scent of his bonded, trilling a soft, vibrating song of desire as he felt his own erection grow. "Unbind me, bonded, if you dare… if you have a need of the pleasures this pale flesh can bring you."

Javen tilted his head to the side, shifted his shoulders, and allowed his robe to slide from one shoulder, exposing a chest decorated with what appeared to be elaborate, pale purple tattoos.

Javen's scales were beautiful, strong, soft and iridescent against his pale skin. They outlined his hairline at his forehead, trailed down along his neck to the backs of each arm. They overran the backs of his hands, giving him the look of an exotic jeweled statue. They continued around his chest, across his lower abdomen, and down his outer thighs.

Naked, he was a thing of grace and style, of beauty that no human being could dare possess. But… he was not human. He wiggled his talon-tipped toes in excitement, his eyes burning with desire.

"Oh, I have a need," Gara chuckled, reaching down and cupping his cock, running the flat of his hand along its hardness. Javen could almost feel the heat wafting off his beloved's body, and thrummed louder.

Gara threw back his head and moaned, his own touch stoking his desires higher as he observed the signs of need in his usually reserved mate. Javen was one of the most polite, perfectly poised ryuujin who had ever been created. To see him react so wildly to his own heat cycle… Magnificent.

Gara ripped his tunic from his body, ruffling his wild mane of red hair and exposing his broad, scarred chest in the process, tossing the shreds of material aside.

"Come," he purred, reaching out with both hands, tangling his fingers in his mate's hair. "Come ease my need."

He gripped the bands of ribbons that liberally twined through his mate's braid, a braid he himself had placed in Javen's hair earlier that morning. Javen tossed his head back, his trill growing deeper in his throat as he exposed his neck, his most vulnerable point, to his beloved.

Gara wasted no time in bending over and running his clawed fingers over Javen's neck, caressing the soft, firm skin and the raised scales that he so loved to touch, to lick, to nibble and suck.

Javen nestled into his mate's palm, his trill softening as Gara's hands -- his strong, scarred hands -- pushed the robe from his body, allowing it to fall around his waist.

"Do you have any idea how hard you make me?" Gara growled. He moved closer, closing his eyes and pulling in the spicy scent of his mate's neck, the heat of his desire so at odds with his cool skin.

"I can --" Javen reached up, pressing his hands to the heat between his bonded's thighs, feeling the rigid column of flesh that throbbed at his caress. "-- feel." His other hand joined the first, tugging at the tie at the waist, wanting the material gone that separated him from what he wanted.

He lifted his head again, leaning forward to nuzzle into his bonded's groin, bathing the head of his mate's cock with his cool breath. Throwing back his head, Gara purred and gripped his beloved's head, pushing him deeper against his crotch.

"That is what you want?" Gara demanded.

"Yes," Javen snarled, his eyes near glowing as he rose up to his full height, towering over his lover by more than a few inches.

"Then come and take it."

 

About the Author

Stephanie is a USA Today Best Selling, multi published, multi award-winning author, Master Costumer, handicapped, wife and mother of two.

From sex-shifting, shape-shifting dragons to undersea worlds, sexually confused elemental Fey and homo-erotic mysteries, all the way to pastel-challenged urban sprites, Stephanie has done it all, and hopes to do more.

Stephanie is an orator on her favorite subjects of writing and world-building, a sometime teacher when you feed her enough tea and donuts, an anime nut, a costumer, and a frequent guest of various sci-fi and writing cons where she can be found leading panel discussions or researching varied legends and theories to improve her writing skills.

Stephanie is known for her love of the outrageous, strong female characters, believable worlds, male characters filled with depth, and multi-cultural stories that make the reader sit up and take notice.

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Publisher on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and TikTok: @changelingpress

 

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