Book Blitz ~ One Night Bank Stand - Get What You Need Novel by Julia Kent

 

One Night Band Stand
Julia Kent
(Get What You Need, #2)
Publication date: September 30th 2026
Genres: Adult, Comedy, Contemporary, Romance

Who accidentally has a one-night stand with her alumni band director?

Yep. Me.

I know what you’re thinking. Whoops! I slipped on some valve oil and accidentally landed on his baton during a rousing chorus of Stars and Stripes Forever.

That’s not quite how it went.

But the alumni band director is really, really skilled with that baton, if you know what I mean.

So what am I supposed to do now, as I walk into the morning’s rehearsal — three feet from the podium because of course I play piccolo — and find the guy I ghosted on this morning … right there, smiling at me like he remembers exactly what tempo I prefer?

He’s perfect. Too perfect.

He’s a widowed dad of two adorable little kids that — oh, by the way — he forgot to mention.

But I also haven’t mentioned the seventeen-year-old I live with, either. He’s not my boyfriend. I’m his guardian. He’s autistic and non-speaking, and he’s been my whole world since I was nineteen.

I want Mr. Band Director. He wants me. Nothing — not the secrecy, not the awkwardness, not the 500 miles between his life and mine — will make this chemistry stop.

Except for three pesky little things: the secrets we’re hiding from each other. Three very human secrets.

I’ve never felt so seen before. He gets me. I get him. But we’re buried in responsibilities and loyalties that get in the way. When I’m with him, I can play. Really play.

And not just music.

He can’t quit his job and move his kids to be close to me. I can’t uproot a fragile teen who needs round-the-clock care and is still mourning his parents. The odds are stacked against us.

But who ever let that get in the way of love?

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EXCERPT:

There are naked boobies in my bed, and they are not my wife’s.

What have I done?

My body goes cold and hot, skin pulsing against the sheets, blood pooled in morning wood. Wood that rests against my not-wife’s thigh. My eyes widen. My beard itches around my lips, lips that feel raw, my tongue a bit overused at the tip, like I just had sex with –

I cheated on my wife.

I cheated on my wife.

My beautiful, amazing wife who tells me she loves me ten times a day. Who laughs at my stupid music jokes. Who smiles like she’s actually interested in my high school band stories. Who —

Told. Laughed. Smiled.

Past tense, Jared. Two years, two months, four days of past tense.

— is dead.

Stacey’s dead. Right. Damn it.

I close my eyes, jaw tight, inhaling slowly, my nose cold inside, the physicality of it breaking through panic. The unreality of her death still shatters my sleepy self every morning like a car alarm I can’t fully disable, one blissful second of not-knowing, then the loop of grief.

That sour taste. The shock. The anger. The pain, physical and emotional.

Stacey is dead.

Which means I’m not cheating. I’m just in a hotel room with a very naked, incredibly alluring woman who isn’t my wife.

So then who the hell is this in my arms?

She’s cute. Warm. Soft.

So soft.

The arm Ms. Not-Wife is sleeping on went numb in my sleep. I haven’t moved it one millimeter, shoulder locked, neck doing that isometric thing as her weight presses into my bicep. It should be uncomfortable. It isn’t, and somewhere in sleep my hand found her arm and started stroking it. I just realized it’s doing this. My hand likes her.

My cock sure does, too.

I really like the softness. Naked softness takes the liking up several notches.

Another clue this isn’t my wife: I’m on the bathroom side of the bed.

Ms. Not-Wife’s hair is blonde and straight, spread across my arm. Stacey’s was darker, curly, and Stacey had to pee constantly, especially after giving birth to our oldest, Molly. Every apartment, every house, every hotel, every guest room, every beach rental for nineteen years: Stacey got the bathroom side.

The woman in my bed is not Stacey.

The HVAC unit hums on an E-flat that’s four cents flat. Not concert E-flat. An E-flat that vibrates like it’s committing a felony against freon. It is the most passive-aggressive sound in Indiana, and that’s saying a lot, because have you ever gone to a church picnic in this state? Those ladies are lowkey brutal.

The print above the bed is a seashore painting, a Thomas Kincade knockoff, something a lifelong southern Indiana resident thought would evoke Cape Cod but instead makes me think Dungeons and Dragons on acid. It goes with the burnt-orange carpeting somehow. I half expect a Jello-O egg mold as part of the continental breakfast downstairs in the bar where I picked up… this woman.

I actually approached a woman at a hotel bar, and she chose to sleep with me.

Me.

Not-Wife’s hand is on my chest. She has short nails, no polish, the thumb hooked into the dip below my collarbone like she put it there on purpose. Her thumb knows what it’s doing, which is more than I can say for the rest of me. Her ribcage moves into my ribcage every four or five seconds and back out, long even breathing so constant I’ve started matching it without meaning to.

Waking her up means having to talk, and I don’t know what you say after you pick up a woman in a hotel bar and now you’re both naked under the sheets, vulnerable and freaking out a little, yet liking it.

A lot.

Not-Wife smells like vanilla and sex and the chemical-linen scent of every business hotel pillowcase put into circulation since 1994. The bar lighting was bad last night, so I’m seeing things this morning I couldn’t see then: a mole on her cheek. Long dark lashes against it. A dimple at the corner of her mouth that’s there even when she’s not smiling.

She’s gorgeous.

Morning-gorgeous, unadulterated. Her face was not-yet-defined last night, just a woman who was blonde and smiling under bad bar lighting. She has lips I kissed last night, a tongue that danced with mine and tasted so good, and her breasts are smashed against my side like little pets curled up, seeking warmth.

I have forgotten how nice this is.

A person breathing into your neck. A warm softness against your body. Your bare skin against theirs. I took this for granted for too many years, and once it was gone I felt the absence like a phantom limb.

Author Bio:

New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Julia Kent writes romantic comedy with an edge. Since 2013, she has sold more than 2.5 million books, with 5 New York Times bestsellers and more than 23 appearances on the USA Today bestseller list. Her books have been translated into French, German, Dutch, and Italian, with more titles releasing in the future.

From single dads to cinnamon roll heroes to new adult rock stars, Julia finds a sensual, goofy joy in every contemporary romance she writes. Unlike Shannon from Shopping for a Billionaire, she did not meet her husband after dropping her phone in a men's room toilet (and he isn't a billionaire she met in a romantic comedy).

She lives in New England with her husband, three children, and a Havanese dog named Walter. She is the only person in the household with the gene required to change empty toilet paper rolls (Walter gets a pass).

She loves to hear from her readers by email at julia@jkentauthor.com, on Twitter @jkentauthor, on Facebook at @jkentauthor, and on Instagram @jkentauthor. Visit her at http://jkentauthor.com

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One Night Band Stand Blitz

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Book Blitz ~ Haunted Holiday - The Holiday Chronicles by Lindsey Gray

 

Haunted Holiday
Lindsey Gray
(The Holiday Chronicles, #3)
Publication date: September 29th 2026
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Holiday, Romance, Supernatural

Everyone in Clarkstown believes they know who killed firefighter Zane Gravenhurst.

His girlfriend, Jillian, sits behind bars, accused of leaving him to die after a rainy night ended in tragedy. The case is all but closed.

Only Zane’s younger sister, Molly, knows the truth isn’t buried because she can communicate with his ghost.

Molly needs help to get justice for her brother.

Her shy neighbor, whom she’s crushed on since high school, Duncan, comes to her aid.

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EXCERPT:

Molly

“Molly! Wake up!”

Molly groaned and rolled over to check the red numbers on her bedside clock. She wanted to jump back into the dream she’d been having before the voice rudely awakened her. In that dream, her thoughts lingered on her neighbor, Duncan, the one with the scar etched across his ear. Something in the scene comforted her; she wished to slip back into that warm haze and forget all the chaos that surrounded her.

“It’s five am, Zane. I’m not making you breakfast this early.” Her older brother, Zane, tended to work odd hours as a firefighter, but Molly spent three days climbing out of the grip of the flu going around the high school where she taught theater. She had no desire to indulge her brother’s cravings.

“Molly Gravenhurst. Please wake up. We need to talk,” the new voice pleaded.

The voice of her grandmother, Dawn, reached her foggy brain. Her dead grandmother.

Molly jerked up in bed and focused on the two ghosts that stood at the end. The appearance of her grandmother didn’t surprise her. What her grandmother called her “second sight” made her capable of communication with earthbound spirits. Genuine shock and abject horror slammed into her when she saw her brother, Zane. The night before, he’d been alive and kicking.

“No,” Molly whispered in utter terror. A simple, horrifying truth struck her. If her brother were a ghost, then he was dead.

Molly could see ghosts, a gift she possessed since toddlerhood. Three years ago, when her grandmother died, she and Zane inherited her house and the care of their grandmother’s ghost. While he lived, Grandma Dawn’s ghost remained invisible to Zane. Now, a ghost himself, he could finally see her.

“I know this is a shock, Molly, but Zane needs you to pull yourself together.” Grandma Dawn’s tone snapped Molly out of her silence.

“Wha-wha-what happened, Zane?” Molly fisted her blanket while she tried to gather herself.

“Jillian dropped me off at Paddy’s. He wanted to continue the Halloween party back at his house. After Paddy and I walked into the garage, everything is blank. I appeared in the kitchen here, where I found Grandma.” Zane spoke with clinical precision, not an ounce of emotion. She understood the pain of death since she dealt with the pain ghosts experienced every day.

“Where’s Jillian?” Molly grabbed her cell phone from her bedside table. “I need to call her.”

“She’s asleep on the sofa.” Zane’s voice cracked at the end of his statement. “I just peeked for a second. I can’t go …I don’t …”

Grandma Dawn took Zane’s hand in hers in a gesture of comfort and compassion.

Molly struggled with what to do next. She’d barely adjusted to her grandmother’s death. How could she live without her brother’s hugs, his teasing slaps, or witnessing his love and devotion for Jillian?

“What do I need to do?” Grandma Dawn died in her sleep. She found her in the primary bedroom of the very house she lived in. Where was Zane’s body? If it were at Paddy’s house, Paddy would have called her by now? He was Zane’s best friend. He’d had her number since the day she got it thirteen years ago.

Before Zane or Grandma Dawn had a chance to answer, Jillian burst into Molly’s attic space.

“You’re awake. Thank God.” She burst into the room and threw herself onto Molly’s bed, her blonde hair pulled back into a crooked ponytail. “Zane hasn’t come home yet. It’s still pouring outside. Visibility is shit. What if he got in an accident? What if he and Paddy are in a ditch? What if he tried to walk home and got hit by a car? I’ve called him five times and texted him six times. He hasn’t responded.”

Jillian’s frantic questions made sense, but she couldn’t confirm anything because she didn’t know whether any of those possibilities were correct. Neither did either of the ghosts.

“Let’s think.” Molly pushed away the knowledge of her brother’s death and gathered her thoughts. “You all went to that big Halloween party downtown, right?”

“Yeah. Paddy invited a bunch of us over to his house, but I told Zane I needed sleep. My sinuses have been getting worse. I think I caught whatever you have.” Congestion clogged Jillian’s voice, and tears or illness left her eyes red and bloodshot. Molly’s heart sank. The same symptoms had stalked her for the past several days.

“You dropped him off at Paddy and Lucky’s house, then?”

Jillian nodded. “It started to rain a few minutes before I got here. Now it’s pouring.”

“Let’s call Paddy first. Who else came to the party?” Molly scrolled through her numbers in her contacts to find Paddy’s number.

“Barb Sterling and her husband, Rhett.” Jillian dialed the number on speaker. “Then Marty and Ellen Culver. Maybe Grant Hannah. I think Paddy’s little brothers and a bunch of their friends were in town and staying with him for a while.” Voicemail answered after five rings. “It’s Jillian and Molly. Zane isn’t home. Is he with you, or do you have any idea where he went? Call me.”

“I’ve got Barb’s number.” Molly dialed and placed it on speaker.

“Molly?” Barb answered with a yawn. “What’s going on? It’s the butt crack of dawn.”

“Zane never came home from Paddy’s last night. Did he stay over? We can’t contact Zane or Paddy.”

“Wait a minute.” The sound of sheets and blankets shifting came through the speaker. “Jillian’s car pulled up outside Paddy’s house, but neither of them came in. I tried calling and texting Zane after her car left, but I never got an answer. We left here around two.”

“We need to look for him. I dropped him off and came back to his house,” Jillian’s voice carried extreme anxiety, burgeoning into mania.

“Jillian?” Barb yawned again on her end.

“What’s going on?” Molly heard a sleepy Rhett ask on the other end of the line.

“Jillian said she dropped Zane off at Paddy’s. I never saw him, did you?” Barb asked her husband.

“No. I thought it was weird you said you saw Jillian’s car, but they didn’t come in. But I started singing karaoke with Marty and lost track of everything.” Molly imagined the sound of strangled cats coming from Marty. None of Zane’s friends had a lick of musical or theatrical talent as she did.

Every wasted second ratcheted up Molly’s anxiety. They were no closer to answers. She looked to Zane for any suggestions while Jillian threw out scenarios left and right. Zane shrugged as he watched his girlfriend torment herself with grim what-ifs.

Barb decided she would come pick up Jillian, and they would search around town. Molly agreed to stay home in case Zane made his way back.

Molly knew for an absolute fact that November 1^st would be the worst day of her life.

Author Bio:

Lindsey Gray is a writer, an over-thinker, and a chronic list-maker, but her passion for writing stories you'll love always tops the list. Her author journey began in 2010 with the publication of her first novel, and she has spent the last decade creating worlds for readers to play in. In addition to her own work, Gray uses her skills in novel formatting for other authors and hosts the weekly show Gray Matters on TMV Cafe Internet Radio. She lives and writes fueled by iced tea, her handsome hubby, and the beautiful chaos of mothering her children.

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Haunted Holiday Blitz

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Book Blitz ~ Truthful Lies & Bent Realities by Stephen Foehr

 

A Truly Believed Love Story

 

Mystery, Thriller, Crime

Date Published: April 30, 2026

 

In a time when mythology as propaganda shapes the systems of society and government, two unlikely souls come together to question the reality of it all—what’s going wrong in the world, whether anything’s right, and their own perceptions of honesty, dishonesty, and who they are.

Chillee and Gordie meet in Big Town, where their connection flourishes despite the recognition that they could each be fatal to the identities they’ve created for themselves. Chillee is a realistic idealist, a problem solver who puts her faith in the truth. Gordie, too, is an idealist, but he thrives on uncertainty, posing as a criminal to bring justice to white-collar crimes. They vow to hold one another accountable, to push each other through the steps to being a better person—the best person they’re capable of being.

In Chillee’s neighboring hometown, a county commissioner’s election will determine the fate of the rural community—and unknowingly put relationships to the test. When her best friend Willi asks Chillee to help her run against her ex-husband, she returns to Colton Center with Gordie…who has his own motives in mind.

As the couple continues to work with and against each other, Chillee and Gordie begin to see the deepening cracks in the perceived rights and wrongs of their world. No matter the outcome of the election, life as they knew it may not be the life they continue to lead.

Truthful Lies and Bent Realities is a thought-provoking ride into learning to understand the self and challenge the mind to keep asking the existential questions: Who are we? Who do we think we are? Who do we want to be? And do those identities intersect in the right places?

About the Author

Stephen Foehr, author of 14 fiction and nonfiction books, began his career as a police reporter in Chicago. His nonfiction books examines the relationship between music and culture, autobiography of the blues Taj Mahal, and travel. His fiction deals with submission and how to resist.

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Book Tour ~ The Human Language by Penny Newton-Hurley

 

Develop psychological safety, improve your relationships, transform your life. Launching The MECAnism, a practical framework

Non-Fiction, Self-Help, Business, Parenting, Mind/Body/Soul, Inspirational

Date Published: September 2026

Publisher: Serapis Bey Publishing

 

TRANSFORM YOUR LIFE WITH THE WAY YOU SPEAK

As human beings, we have a deep need for social connection, yet our primitive fight-or-flight response can be a major barrier to achieving it, leading to misunderstanding, conflict and disconnection.

Fortunately, there is a solution.

The Human Language delivers a compelling message. By replacing our habitual, learned patterns of communication we can experience greater understanding, empathy and connection in our relationships, transforming our lives.

Through easy-to-follow chapters, this book introduces The MECAnism, to calm your instinctive reactions, gain emotional clarity and develop psychological safety. It gives you the practical tools and techniques to listen, speak and act in your daily life with compassion, for yourself and others, enabling you to meet your needs with confidence.

"I will recommend using The Human Language 1000 times. It helps me verbalise my feelings and work through moments of overwhelm. There are applications across all areas of life.It can, and will be, a transformative book."

Pam Bryant, Oxford, UK

"Penny uses just enough science to help the reader understand why they behave the way they do while focusing on simple techniques to get to the heart of change.

The Human Language should be required reading for anybody who has to work or live with other people, which is most of us."

Diana D'Ascoli, Philadelphia, US

Changing the way we speak to other people is not an easy or quick

process. It has become deeply ingrained in us for various reasons—

our judgements, unconscious biases, unmet needs, and the

assumptions and reactions we make on a daily basis. However, and

it is a significant ‘however’, the crucial fact remains that … we hold

the power to change. It is entirely within our human capability to

break old habits and form new ones. The new type of

communication and connection we are discussing involves skills that

can be learned by any one of us at any point in our lives. We have

the ability to re-engineer our relationships so our daily lives no

longer resemble the examples mentioned above. Our daily existence

can transform into a state where we have greater control about how

we listen to and speak with others. We can experience the benefits

of genuine connection and understanding, both with other people

and with ourselves. This shift will bring about less conflict and

xvenable us to attract less of what we don't want and more of what we

truly want. Ultimately, it will lead us to a greater sense of inner

peace. To embark on this journey, we examine how we conduct our

conversations. In this book, we encourage you to shine a light on

your minds, to pay attention to the messages conveyed by your

emotions, to identify your underlying core needs, and to choose

actions that will best fulfil what you truly want underneath. First, we

must address the most significant conversation of all; the one we

have with ourselves.

 

About the Author

 

 Penny Newton-Hurley is the founder of CommPassion Ltd. She has worked with large private organisations in the UK and globally, and in the public sector across the areas of government, military, healthcare and education for more than 30 years. CommPassion provides training in interpersonal communication skills, resolving conflict between individuals and building psychological safety within teams for higher workplace and relationship performance.

In 2025, her company launched their first four online courses, taking their expertise and experience from the world of business directly to individuals in all areas of their lives. This book reveals the details behind her courses and supports the learning of improved communications skills.

Communication has been a fascination for Penny since childhood, when she spoke with her father in Morse Code! After a few exciting years spent working in International Marketing, Penny had an opportunity to be involved in the nascent field of Internal Communication where she began to understand the importance of humanto-human connection in the workplace. In 2005, she was introduced to the teachings of nonviolent communication. From that moment on, it became her purpose to spread this message as far as possible, a mission to change the way we talk and listen and communicate with each other; to change the way the world speaks.

Today, she is a trainer of compassionate communication techniques, Workplace Mediator, Certified Psychological Safety Facilitator with the Fearless Organisation; as well as a UK Samaritans Listening Volunteer. Penny holds a BA (Combined Honours) in Modern Languages (French/Spanish) with Politics, Economics and Linguistics.

 

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Book Tour ~ Turtle Lake by Robert Milne

 

 

Crime Thriller / Suspense

Date Published: 09-07-2026

Publisher: Mission Point Press

Turtle Lake is a gripping tale of revenge, survival, and the intricate interplay between human nature and the natural world. The story follows Jim Peters, the comptroller at Ramsey Motors, who uncovers a corrupt scheme by the company and its insurer, U.S. Underwriters, to defraud employees of their retirement and insurance benefits before moving operations overseas. Infuriated, he devises an elaborate extortion plan to expose their corruption and protect the employees through a spectacular plot that ends up achieving national headlines. To accomplish his plan, Peters uses simple, everyday methods and lessons learned from alpha predators in the natural world.

     A car was coming down the street of a residential St. Louis suburb. Dr. Wayne Mallon was driving home from his clinic this Friday at 6:45 p.m., as he did every Friday. The doctor turned into his driveway. He had no reason to notice the nondescript gray van that was parked among other cars along the street.

His car came to a halt just after it passed the sidewalk, as expected. Dr. Mallon was a fastidious man of habit, particular about his car and exactly where it should be parked in his driveway. Because of this, it was easy for Peters to position the powerful tripod-mounted lens in the back of his van to focus on exactly where Mallon would soon be standing.

Dr. Mallon placed the gear shift in park and removed the keys. His movements were seen through the high-powered lens of a movie camera, recording over Peters’ shoulder. Peters, however, was looking through the lens of a high-powered rifle, complete with a silencer.

The doctor slammed the door shut and moved a step forward, turning to greet his family waiting for him on the porch. At that moment the crosshairs were centered right in the middle of his back.

The shot went off when he took the second step. A rubber slug went sailing down the street, heading right for the doctor. The power of it hitting his back lifted him onto the hood of the car and sent him sliding down to the ground. His family jumped from their chairs and ran to help him. The gray van quietly left the area.

 

About the Author

Bob Milne has been hailed throughout his 60-year career as one of the best ragtime/boogie-woogie piano players of all time. A solo concert performer, he traveled all over the world playing for dignitaries and celebrities as well as small town audiences. He was given the title of National Treasure by the Library of Congress and deemed an Ambassador of Music by the U.S. Department of State.

Bob’s extraordinary musical abilities were the subject of numerous brain studies, which have inspired a popular RadioLab podcast.

Little did they know that Bob was also a talented writer.

For years he wrote articles about his saloon-playing days for music publications. Many of these stories were compiled into a book called The Journeyman Piano Player: Adventures in Gracious Dining. Bob has written reams of poetry, some of which became lyrics to songs that he composed. The longest piece of poetry he ever wrote was the lyric book for The Legend of Sleepy Hollow, a grand opera he composed and orchestrated.

Mr. Milne has been fascinated by nature his entire life. At a young age he realized that instincts are present in all species of birds, mammals (including humans), and literally every living thing in nature. He has used this information countless times over his lifetime to predict what the human species will do in future situations.

Bob is now retired from the long piano tours and is enjoying his woodland home. Today he spends his time studying nature in the woods. Signed copies of his book may be purchased through his website.

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Book Blitz ~ Crows Calling by Bruce McConnell

 

An Inspiring Journey into our Better Natures

Literary/Eco-Fiction

Date Published: 10-01-2025

Publisher: Greenleaf Book Group Press

Earth’s animals are fed up with humanity’s mindless damage to our common home. Will a young girl and her family heed their call?

Ten-year-old Luz sets out on an overnight camping trip, accompanied by her spiritual mentor. Peering through a canopy of California redwoods, Luz witnesses a council of animals confronting the menace of climate change. Led by a lustrous—and talkative—American Crow named Koro, the animals weigh their options. Some, like Koro, want to collaborate with humans. Others doubt humanity’s good intentions. The conversation compels young Luz, innately in tune with the natural world, to fight passionately in its defense.

At once a work of fact-based activism and a moving coming-of-age, Crows Calling immerses the reader in a richly-drawn family and community who, despite their differences, decide to dedicate their lives to the care of Grandmother Earth. They are not alone. Rather, they are accompanied by a colorful cast of savvy planimals—bears, coyotes, trees, and even chickens—with long memories and ancient ways of healing. However, some damage cannot be undone. Natural disasters, public apathy, and greed threaten everything that Luz and her friends are working for. Can the cross-species alliance find unity and resolve the climate crisis?

About the Author

Bruce McConnell is an agile and accomplished shapeshifter, having flourished as a poet, roofer, artist-blacksmith, mechanical engineer, tenor, business consultant, national security official, non-profit executive, and peacemaker. A collection of his poems, Living from Here, was published by Anvil Press (US). He recently moved to Ashland Oregon to feel closer to his relatives in the natural world. Crows Calling is his first novel. He is working on a second novel set in Southern Oregon.

A leading player on global peace and security issues at the intersection of governments, business and civil society for over thirty years, McConnell is the former President and CEO of the EastWest Institute. He serves on the board of The Stimson Center, in support of peace, security, justice, and prosperity for all living beings.

From 2009 to 2013, McConnell served in the U.S. Department of Homeland Security, where he was Deputy Under Secretary for Cybersecurity. He was a member of the Obama-Biden Presidential Transition Team. From 2000-2008, he created, built and sold two consultancies that provided strategic advice to clients in the technology, business and government sectors. In 1999-2000, McConnell led the International Y2K Cooperation Center, which was sponsored by the United Nations and the World Bank.

McConnell holds a Master of Public Administration from the Evans School for Public Policy at the University of Washington and a Bachelor of Sciences from Stanford University. He serves as a business advisor to various technology companies.

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Book Blitz ~ Hook, Line, And Murder - The Sweet TOOTH Murder Mystery by GG Calpo

 

Hook, Line, and Murder
GG Calpo
(The Sweet TOOTH Murder Mystery)
Published by: The Wild Rose Press
Publication date: February 9th 2026
Genres: Adult, Cozy Mystery, Mystery

What does Meg, a retired kindergarten teacher, do when the killer of her husband and only child still walks free a year after dirt had covered their graves? Go rogue, of course!
When the detective responsible for Meg’s nightmares takes over the murder investigation of her former student, Meg hunts the killer down with help from her friends. Their cozy lunches at Sweet Buns Café turn into tactical meetings while these retired grade school teachers get themselves in trouble better suited to those in their twenties. And to put the icing on their cream scones, someone is after Meg. Is it the killer? Or has Meg uncovered secrets better left buried with her loved ones?

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EXCERPT:

The day was beautiful, with clear skies and a mild snap in the air. It was cold yet warm with the right amount of heat from the sun, making it the perfect spring day. Motorboats and sailboats dipped in and out of the water, out by Poet’s Bay. And at the edge of the harbor were the fishermen, alone or in groups of two or three, a rod in their hands and their tackle boxes opened beside them. We rounded the corner, almost done with our walk, when we saw mothers dragging their children away and fathers covering the eyes of the children in their arms. Pushing against the stream of parents scrambling away were others whose eyes were fixed on the man by the harbor’s edge. A man on whose fishing line dangled a catch with, what I thought were, red fins and a red tail swaying lazily around the hook.

Red? In the salt waters of Poet’s Bay? As I stood there trying to figure out what I was seeing, Barbara shoved her way into the crowd. I followed, my curiosity getting the better of me. Murmurs of “Good morning” and “Good to see you, Mrs. B” trailed behind me, changing to “You sure you want to see this, Mrs. B?” and “I wouldn’t go any further if I were you, Mrs. B.” We fetched up to the front and looked down on the ground before us while the fisherman beside us puked his guts out.

It wasn’t a fish he had caught.

Instead, on the ground was a hand. Just a hand. Nothing else.

Author Bio:

GG Calpo is a retired lawyer and accountant who traded contracts and numbers for the far more enjoyable chaos of fictional crime. Now she writes cozy whodunits featuring warm-hearted golden-aged sleuths who’ve seen it all, heard it all and will investigate a murder with zero hesitation. She loves stories where the stakes are personal, family and friendships are paramount, with characters who refuse to follow the outline and endings that pull the rug out. When not plotting twisty crimes—on paper only, of course—she spends her time reading, crocheting blankets and sweaters for her five grandchildren, watching mystery TV shows and taking long walks in her neighborhood. She lives in Central New Jersey with her husband and two corgis, Whiskey and Nugget.

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Hook, Line, and Murder Blitz

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Book Blitz ~ The Hawk's Lady by Colleen Shannon

 

Historical Romance

Date Published: July 4, 2026

A blond Barbary pirate captain of a xebec. . . Sinan Reis.

Who is he? Why did he desert his country?

His latest capture: a fine yacht. And its owner. . . Lady Victoria Grenville.

Who is she? Can an heiress to a fortune conform to harem life?

Amidst sea battles, kidnappings, and political menace from the Dey of Algiers, Sinan and Tory start as captor and captive. But their fierce battle of wills will transform them both.

Most importantly, if Tory can’t submit to him will he sell her at auction? Or can she escape before he does?

Kismet has other plans.

In 1799, Lady Victoria "Tory" Grenville, a willful English heiress, is captured at sea by Sinan Reis, a blond Barbary pirate captain secretly working for a cause he can't reveal. Aboard his xebec and within the walls of an Algiers harem, captor and captive wage a battle of wills that becomes a battle for the heart, set against real political intrigue between the new United States, the Dey of Algiers, and the warring Federalists and Democratic-Republicans of post-Revolutionary Philadelphia. Sweeping sea battles, kidnappings, and court machinations build to a richly satisfying historical romance grounded in meticulously researched 18th-century detail.

 

* New, expanded edition with a newly written epilogue extending the story into the events of 1814, bridging to the author's upcoming Regency-era trilogy.

* Bonus material: author's historical notes, a detailed bibliography/source list documenting the book's research, and a preview/teaser of Shannon's forthcoming "Fire, Wind and Earth" trilogy (Ashes, Burning Bright; Whirlwind, Burning Bright; Tiger, Burning Bright).

* Author Colleen Shannon was nominated by Romantic Times as Best New Historical Romance Author and has won/been nominated for multiple industry awards (including a Kiss Award) across an 18-novel career with over a million copies in print.

* Limited deluxe hardback printing released to mark the U.S. 250th anniversary with patriotic design features available on Colleen Shannon's author website.

The Hawk's Lady: a Deluxe 250th Anniversary Edition of Colleen Shannon's beloved 1989 Barbary Wars romance, now fully revised with new original content.

 

About the Author

Colleen Shannon grew up in Midland, Texas where the skies are as limitless as the tales told by its many colorful residents, dreamers and entrepreneurs all, with some scoundrels sprinkled in. Colleen grew up reading and writing stories of every kind. She wrote her first short story at eight, began a novel at 14 and read authors like Ayn Rand and Clive Cussler at 13. After college when she married and expected her first child, she used a scrap computer assembled by her engineer husband, to write her first novel, Wild Heart Tamed (not posted digitally because she considers it a learning experience).

She sold it herself to Berkley in less than a year, and at the age of 26 began a new career and never looked back. The strength of her first book led to her nomination by Romantic Times as Best New Historical Author. She went on to win and/or be nominated for many other awards, including a Kiss Award for all three heroes of her Fairy Tale trilogy written for Dorchester Books. One of her six completed scripts is a modern, very different version to her Georgian England set beauty and the beast novel The Gentle Beast. It has not been shown as it needs heavy revisions but she moves easily between scripts and novels, including original screenplays like Full Circle, currently revised after two Blacklist evaluations. In the last two years, she has become one of Film Freeways’ top winning screenwriters internationally, per Film Freeway management.

Her 18 single title releases have appeared on many bestseller lists; she has well over a million books in print. Colleen’s recent works include thrillers and screenplays that combine her favorite novel story elements: romance, suspense, history and action. Most recently, she published three Kensington Lyrical Press romantic suspense. The first in the series, Foster Justice, was released in December 2014 and ranked #1 on Amazon’s Western Romance list. Colleen converted the story to a novel from the original script version she wrote at UCLA’s Advanced Professional Screenwriting program.

Colleen Shannon graduated cum laude from the University of Texas at Austin with a B.A. in Archaeology and more recently earned her Master’s in Real Estate Development from the University of Southern California. She currently lives in Austin, Texas.

 

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Book Tour ~ Blood Becoming Halvyn Dawn by Gail Waterhouse

 

BLOOD BECOMING: HALVYN DAWN

by Gail Waterhouse

September 7 - October 2, 2026 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

DCI Eleanor Moore is drawn into a series of brutal killings that defy explanation. As she follows the trail of evidence, she uncovers links between the crimes, the vaccine, and a shadowy conspiracy determined to control the future. The investigation becomes painfully personal when Eleanor realises a member of her own family may be entangled in the very secrets she is chasing.

Blood Becoming: Halvyn Dawn is a paranormal crime thriller set in 2046, where the aftermath of a contaminated vaccine has altered humanity in ways no one yet fully understands. Hybrid beings walk among us, their true nature hidden until violence drags them into the light.

Praise for Blood Becoming: Halvyn Dawn:

"Highly compelling with many unexpected twists."
~ Natalie Key, Female First

"It had everything you’d want in a really good paranormal crime thriller — suspense, mystery, great characters."
~ Aysha Awan, ARC Reader

"Thoroughly enjoyable… a storyline that rattles along with characters you want to know."
~ Richard Wolstenholme, Waterstones reviewer

"I loved Eleanor. The two sides of her. The detective but also the mom and the wife who has lost her husband."
~ Goodreads reviewer

Blood Becoming: Halvyn Dawn Trailer:

Book Details:

Genre: Crime Thriller, Police Procedural
Published by: Troubador Publishing
Publication Date: April 22, 2026
Number of Pages: 363
ISBN: 9781806345991 (ISBN10: 1806345994)
Book Links: Amazon | Kindle | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | BookBub | Troubador Publishing

Read an excerpt:

PROLOGUE

Friday 23 February 2046

THE SKY OVER the Spanish port was smeared with the colour of blood smoke, a heavy red-orange haze that clung to the air like the last breath of a dying sun. The scent of burning oil and salt hung thick, carried by the heavy coastal winds. It was sharp and acrid, biting against the damp of the sea. Fires crackled along the ridgelines of the coastal city, their glow flickering in the black water below. Distorted reflections trembled with every wave.

In the distance, the sound of falling glass mixed with the wail of sirens. Their shrill cries sliced through the thickening smoke like wounded animals in pain. Puerto de Málaga, once vibrant with the clatter of trade and the bustle of travellers, was now sprawling in disarray. The heat rose from the charred remnants of buildings, still glowing faintly as they collapsed in on themselves. The air was dense, almost suffocating, with the taste of ash and burning wood. The kind of fire that was all consuming.

At the edge of the docks, where the flames hadn’t yet reached, a body stirred amongst the shadows.

He rose from the ground slowly, uncertainly, like something dredged from the depths. His shirt was torn and wet with dark stains, his skin pale and cool against the rising heat. Beneath the surface of his eyes, something had shifted... something new and ravenous.

He didn’t know his name. He couldn’t remember. Not right now. Names were small things; the world was suddenly too loud for small things.

The salt air reeked of dashed hopes and desperation, but beneath that, beneath everything, was scent. Raw. Delicate. Sweet. It curled into his senses like perfume on fire.

People.

He could smell them.

Not just the sweat on their clothes, but the life blood moving beneath their skin. He could feel their warmth like a beacon. Hear their hearts. See the trails their bodies left in the air – vibrant, electric threads.

And he was starving.

The hunger lived in him like a second spine, twisting through his ribs, pulling at his throat. It was not like needing food, not like any hunger he had ever known. This was something more, something pure. It throbbed like instinct. It demanded.

Ahead, the docks were alive with panicked life. Families clutched their documents, arguing with port guards. Children wailed, sensing the anxiety around them. Ship horns blared over the shouting. The flames had cut off the southern road, and now hundreds of people pushed towards the vessels anchored at the quay, hoping to escape the violence swallowing the city. Amongst the chaos of the port, a young couple moved quickly, weaving through the crowd with a grace that seemed to carve a path of calm through the throngs of fearful, stressed faces. They clung to each other, their hopeful laughter soft but real, a gentle sound that contrasted with the heavy tension in the air.

Their smell hit him like lightning.

They were dark-skinned, their features a striking blend of beauty that caught the light in a way others didn’t. The rich, smooth tone of their skin seemed to absorb the firelight and the fading daylight, glimmering like polished wood. They weren’t the only ones with darker skin in the crowd, but there was something different about them. The way they moved, the way they stood, set them apart. Their essence was clean... pure. Not a trace of the fear or desperation that rippled through the others.

The woman, older than the man by a few years, wore a bright red scarf that fluttered behind her like a banner, bold and proud. The younger man, possibly her brother, had a leather satchel slung over one shoulder, his posture firm, the weight of it a comfort rather than a burden. They moved with a serene assurance, as if they had walked through fire to reach this moment, and now they were here, in this place, they knew they were safe. They were running towards something: towards home.

He couldn’t explain why, but he followed.

They didn’t see him. Not truly. Just a man in a crowd. A shape in their periphery.

Nearby, another couple had stopped at the checkpoint. An argument was unfolding. The air was thick with frustration. Shouts rose above the low murmur of the crowd. A tall Englishman, face red with rage, towered over a Spanish official. His words were clipped, sharp, each one slicing through the tense silence. His fists clenched. Veins stood out in his neck. Every inch of him was pressing forwards, demanding an answer.

Beside him, his wife stood still. She cradled a baby wrapped in a pristine white blanket. She remained silent, her eyes distant, her face pale, betraying none of the anxiety in the air.

The Spanish official, weary and weathered, gestured curtly, his voice firm but tired. ‘The passports for the woman and child,’ he stated, ‘are not valid for the British ship. They cannot board.

They will have to wait for the Spanish vessel, which departs later tonight.’

‘No!’ the man barked. ‘We stay together. We go as a family!’ His words were harsh, but they felt like they hung in the air, falling into the thickening tension like stones in water, creating ripples but no true movement. The woman beside him didn’t speak, only tightening her hold on the baby, whose cries were soft, unknowing. Her gaze, fixed on the horizon, seemed to be somewhere far away, as though the entire scene were not something she could reach.

The crowd around them seemed to retreat, uneasy. The man’s frustration was contagious, yet it failed to spark any real response from the official, who remained unmoved, his eyes cold, his posture rigid. The couple was surrounded by murmurs and mutters from the crowd, but it felt like nobody was truly listening. Concerned only with their own woes.

The woman shifted slightly, sensing something, or maybe it was just the sensation of being watched. Her grip tightened on the baby, her eyes flickering towards the shadows, though she saw nothing. The air around her thickened, and she couldn’t quite place why her heart began to race.

Because he was watching the argument. But he wasn’t watching them – the brother and sister. Their scent, now feeling distant. His mouth ached. His body trembled.

They had slipped from his grasp. The moment was gone. They had vanished into the flow of the crowd, their warmth and purity fading, like smoke lost to the night air. The watcher’s pulse quickened, but the hunt had shifted. He could still feel their faint trace, a lingering pull, but they were no longer within reach.

He quickly moved through the crowd, his steps light, measured, and the scent of sweat and smoke filled his senses, dulling his focus. But then, something changed. His head tilted slightly, drawn by a new, unexpected fragrance that cut through the heavy air. It was delicate, fresh, like the first spring buds on a tree, sharp yet soft. The scent was subtle, fleeting, but unmistakable. It was the scent of a young woman.

Alone.

Nervous.

His gaze flicked in her direction, a predator spotting its next target. He couldn’t see her yet, but he could feel her presence in the air; a vulnerability that stood out against the hardened masses around her. There was a stillness in her, but the air around her vibrated with anxious energy. She didn’t belong to the crowd, not like the others. She wasn’t lost, exactly, but there was an uncertainty in the way she moved, as though the port itself was a vast, unknowable place to her.

He moved slowly through the throng; his every sense tuned to her. Her scent drew him closer, a fragile thread that wound through the chaos. She wasn’t trying to escape, not in the way the others did. She was just... there. Walking, weaving through the people, her eyes darting, scanning for something. Looking for someone. Her nerves were a song to him, soft and fragile.

He could see her now, just ahead, her dark hair framing a face that seemed too young for the worry she carried. Her posture was hunched, as if she were trying to make herself smaller, to disappear into the crowd. She wasn’t trying to be seen, but the watcher saw her all the same.

And she was still.

Thinking.

He felt a stir of anticipation, his gaze narrowing as he took another step towards her. There was something about the way she looked, not at the crowd, not at anything. Her eyes kept drifting towards the shadows, as though she felt something watching her, though she couldn’t know it was him.

He moved closer, quietly... patient. He would have her. She was his now.

He moved silently, a smudge amongst shadows, slipping from container to crate, blending into the murky dark of the port. His steps were slow, calculated, his presence a breathless whisper in the night. Each movement was precise, natural.

Her footsteps echoed on the wooden boards as she moved through the labyrinth of abandoned structures. Her pace quickened, her heart already pounding, as if some deep instinct had begun to warn her. The air was heavy, thick with the scent of rust and salt, the smell of old fish and the faint, lingering tang of blood. This area of the dock felt empty, desolate, but there was something beneath it, a presence she couldn’t quite place. She turned a corner, her pace frantic now, as if her body knew something her mind refused to admit.

She glanced over her shoulder, and there it was, that chilling feeling of being followed. Her eyes searched the darkened spaces, the shadows between the crates, the broken walls of forgotten buildings, but there was nothing. Still, the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end.

She quickened her step, but then she made a mistake.

A wrong turn.

The path narrowed as she hurried down the dock, the sound of her boots slapping against the timber carrying through the silence. She didn’t see it at first, not until it was too late – a small, isolated room at the end of the corridor. The heavy open door loomed ahead like an invitation. Panic surged through her chest, but there was no turning back now. Her instincts screamed at her to flee, to find another way out, but her legs carried her forwards, into the dim light of the room.

The door slammed shut behind her.

She froze.

The room, that looked like a forgotten storage area, was empty except for some shelves, discarded crates and netting that smelt of old mildew. The walls felt like they were closing in on her, the air thick and close, the silence broken only by the sound of her ragged breathing. There was no way out. The windows were too small, the walls too strong, the door too solid.

And then, a sound. A faint click.

He had locked them in.

***

Excerpt from Blood Becoming: Halvyn Dawn by Gail Waterhouse. Copyright 2026 by Gail Waterhouse. Reproduced with permission from Gail Waterhouse. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

Gail Waterhouse is a UK-based author of crime thrillers with a speculative edge. With a background in design, and an MA in Creative & Media Education, she writes grounded, character-driven stories that blend police procedural realism with darker, thought-provoking themes.

Her work explores near-future worlds shaped by scientific change and human consequence, where the line between the natural and unnatural begins to blur. Inspired by conversations about climate change and humanity’s future, her stories examine what we might become when survival demands evolution.

She lives in the North East of England.

Catch Up With Gail Waterhouse:

GailWaterhouse.com
Amazon Author Profile
Goodreads - @gailwaterhouse
Instagram - @gail_waterhouse_author
Threads - @gail_waterhouse_author
TikTok - @bloodbecoming_author
Facebook - @Gail Waterhouse - Author

 

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Book Tour ~ The Alchemist of All Hallows Eve - An Accidental Alchemist Mystery by Gigi Pandian

 

THE ALCHEMIST OF ALL HALLOWS EVE

by Gigi Pandian

September 7 - October 2, 2026 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

AN ACCIDENTAL ALCHEMIST MYSTERY

 

An eternally young alchemist. A gargoyle who fancies himself Poirot. A Murder House for sale the week before Halloween.

Zoe Faust has run from her past for centuries. She didn't plan on settling down. She didn't plan on falling for a mortal man. She certainly didn't plan on the gargoyle.

Now Zoe, her fiancé, and her French chef gargoyle best friend Dorian have found an enchanting home with a hidden cottage for Dorian. It’s perfect for their little family. Except for one thing. Forty years ago, the night before Halloween, a woman was murdered in their dream house. Or was she?

When an enigmatic stranger arrives and insists that a mythological Irish witch holds the secret to the unsolved crime, Halloween turns deadly once more. Refusing to let Zoe lose the home she's waited centuries for, Dorian the gargoyle sets out to crack the case.

Can an alchemist, a gargoyle, and a teashop-owning detective solve two Halloween murders before an innocent man takes the fall and their perfect home slips away?

The Alchemist of All Hallows Eve is the whimsical tenth book in USA Today bestselling author Gigi Pandian's Anthony Award-winning Accidental Alchemist mystery series. If you love cozy fantasy, Agatha Christie-style whodunits, and found family, you'll adore this charming Halloween mystery, complete with Irish fortune-telling recipes.

Book Details:

Genre: Cozy Mystery, Cozy Fantasy Mystery, Culinary Cozy
Published by: Gargoyle Girl Productions
Publication Date: September 8, 2026
Number of Pages: 288
ISBN: 978-1938213373
Series: The Accidental Alchemist Mystery Series, Book 10 | Each is a Stand Alone
Book Links: Amazon | Kindle | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | BookBub

Read an excerpt:

Chapter 1

I dashed through the wrought iron gate that stood open, the misty rain leaving nearly invisible droplets on my silver raincoat as I made my way to the house. Ivy tendrils wound their way around the curved black iron of the gate and fence, hiding the wires of electric candles that illuminated the yard with a warm glow.

By the time I took my first step on the stone path, I already knew. The house was perfect.

A perfect family home. I blinked back tears. What an astonishing idea, after so many decades living on the road. On my own. On the run. Never staying in one place for long. Never imagining I could have something more. The last two years in a fixer-upper were two of the best years in my life, still on my own but tentatively testing the idea of putting down roots. All the joys and trials of these last two years had led to this moment. Finding a home for me and Max. For the start of a new life together.

A twenty-foot Malus domestica tree towered above me, bringing me to a halt when I should have been rushing inside to see if I’d made it in time. The apple tree’s green and yellow leaves shielded smooth branches brimming with red-gold apples ripe enough to pick. I ran my fingertips across the smooth bark and crouched to touch the spot where the trunk met soil. Gnarled roots peeking out of the earth told me the tree’s advanced age, but it was thriving. The person who tended to this tree truly cared for it. As I would.

A bright yellow door, only three inches high, rested at the base of the tree. It was a fairy door, inviting anyone who took the time to notice it to imagine a portal to the fairy realm. I wondered if the whimsical doorway was there year-round or only because it was the week before Halloween. Behind the tree, crimson delphinium flowers were blooming. Red was a rare color for the flower, and it was late in the year for the spire-like stems to bloom. They, too, had been well tended.

As curious as I was about the person who attended to this landscape, I didn’t have time to speculate. I stood and hurried on.

Old-fashioned lanterns lit the stone steps leading to the covered porch. Two massive copper owls flanked the front door, one guarding a carved pumpkin, the other an autumn vegetable I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen: a mangelwurzel. I’ve celebrated many types of Halloween traditions over the years, so I recognized the root vegetable that had been popular for Halloween carvings over a century ago in Britain and Ireland. These decorations weren’t plastic toys from a modern manufacturer, but talismans that harkened back to celebrations of the autumn harvest—and the idea that October 31 was a night when the veil between worlds of the living and the dead was thin.

I smiled at the mangelwurzel’s grotesque grinning face, wondering how a modern-day homeowner in Portland, Oregon had stumbled across the tradition of carving creepy faces into the lumpy root related to a beet.

But I didn’t have time to linger outside and wonder.

I was lucky that nobody had put in an offer on the house while I was away last week, since the housing market was so tight these days. Today, I’d hoped to arrive right when the open house began, but it was such a busy afternoon at Max’s new shop that he couldn’t get away. We decided I should go on ahead. Still, it was already twenty minutes past the hour when the showing began.

And yet, the squeaky door of my old 1942 pickup truck was the loudest sound I’d heard since arriving. Instead of a rush of other eager homebuyers, the inviting yard was deserted. No kids were exploring the whimsical décor. No voices could be heard coming from inside the house, but perhaps the walls were thick?

The old home was beautiful and the listing price far lower than expected. Why was I the only potential buyer here?

The front door stood open, and as I stepped inside a tall woman in a cream-colored pantsuit greeted me.

“Zoe?”

I nodded and took her outstretched hand.

“Simone Friday,” she said, ushering me into the cozy foyer of the house. “Congratulations again on your engagement. This is a wonderful home to begin a new life together.”

I touched my malachite engagement ring. The green stone was the most perfect embodiment of Max’s and my love for each other. Malachite, the stone of transformation.

“What a stunning ring.” The real estate agent pulled her gaze from my ring finger and craned her thin neck to look around me. “Is Max still in the car?”

She had no idea how unique the ring truly was. Not that I could ever tell her.

“Max is running a little late,” I explained, hoping that wouldn’t make us look irresponsible if the owner was making a decision between multiple interested buyers. This housing market was brutal, and homes around here were being snatched up as soon as they hit the market. The agent Max had found us hadn’t suggested this house. I’d found it while browsing.

I’d reached out to the seller’s agent ahead of time to make sure the low list price wasn’t a mistake. She told me the owner needed to sell on an expedited timeline, prioritizing a buyer who could close quickly. He’d had a bad fall and was currently recovering in the hospital, hoping to move into a retirement community as soon as possible since he could no longer handle living alone in this big, multi-story house.

Looking out the front window, I smiled as I spotted even more autumn decorations I hadn’t noticed on my way in. Sheltered on the covered porch, an owl made from a pinecone and acorns sat next to a trio of gourds with silly painted faces. With this type of creativity, wherever the owner ended up, I had a feeling he’d be just fine.

“You’re an outdoorsy person,” Simone said. “I can tell. You’re in for a treat. I’ve been doing this for decades and believe me, this place is quite a find.”

I continued through the house, enjoying the solid wood paneling and cozy nooks that included a built-in window seat in the main bedroom. The back garden included a small kitchen garden, bountiful flowers, and even more fruit trees. Three types of apples, plus two each of cherry, plum, pear, and fig trees, making a full dozen. The Spartan apple tree’s ripe apples hung unpicked, but I was more worried by its thin branches, which were drooping from more than the weight of the fruit. When I was a young woman helping with farmland that included a nearby orchard with apple and pear trees, I would have immediately known what was wrong. Was I losing my edge? What did the tree need?

“Zoe?” The agent’s voice shook me out of the memory.

I’m Zoe Faust, born in 1676, in Salem Village in what’s now Massachusetts, a hundred years before the Declaration of Independence was signed. My natural aptitude with plants led to my being accused of being a witch, and later being taken under the wing of famed alchemist Nicolas Flamel. Under his tutelage, I learned the principles of alchemy, which led to my accidentally discovering the Elixir of Life. When I said I’d celebrated many types of Halloween traditions, I wasn’t kidding.

“Ready to look at the guest house?” Simone asked.

She led me through the backyard to a small cottage almost entirely hidden by trees.

“Designed for someone who loves to cook, as you can tell!” she said as we stepped inside. “Take your time out here. I’ll be in the front section of the main house to greet others.”

She wasn’t kidding about the layout. Two-thirds of the little home’s open floorplan was taken up by a massive kitchen. The style was a bit dated, but for the one who would be using the space, it was functionality that mattered. Max and I needed a home of our own, but we couldn’t abandon our friend Dorian. It would be impossible for him to live on his own. And as a chef, he would love this space.

I stepped back outside into the miniature orchard. Everything about this place was perfect. Too perfect, the nervous part of my brain chimed in. The part of my brain that had kept me safe for centuries. That had kept me moving, avoiding being detected as an alchemist. But this house… I knew this was where I was meant to be. Where we were meant to be.

I rooted through my bag for my phone. It took Max four rings to answer.

“Zoe, is everything—”

“It’s perfect. So perfect. How soon can you get here?”

“I had no idea how wild weekend crowds could be. I don’t know if I can—”

“You’re at the register?” I imagined him ringing up the customers lined up at his cozy shop, The Alchemy of Tea, with a smile on his handsome face as he told people about how best to brew his custom tea blends or use the various styles of teapots he stocked.

“I stepped outside to take your call.”

“Mary can handle the register on her own. She did it beautifully while you were away. Truly. You need to see this place today. What if someone else puts in an offer that’s accepted? As soon as you see it in person, you’ll understand why it’s so special.”

“Do you know,” he chuckled, “it’s impossible to say no to you, Zoe Faust.”

Max arrived ten minutes later and found me in the backyard’s mini orchard, where I was trying to figure out what was afflicting the ailing apple tree.

I threw my arms around him. “I thought you were going to call me when you arrived. Did you see the house?”

Max didn’t answer immediately. More than that, his shoulders were stiff. And he wasn’t hugging me back. As I pulled away, expecting terrible news, only then did I see the look of worry on his face.

My own smile drained away. “Someone else got the house?”

“I doubt it.” He looked past me towards the house.

“What’s going on?” I followed his gaze. What was I missing?

“This is Rufus Hitchcock’s house.”

“You know the owner? It’s not on the listing—”

He groaned. “It wouldn’t be. But I know the house. You really don’t know the name?”

“Why would I?”

“I’m sorry I didn’t look more closely at the listing, or I would have spotted it. I’ve just been so busy—”

“Max. If you don’t tell me what’s going on right now, my head is going to explode like an overheated cucurbit. What could possibly be wrong with our dream house that we can’t fix?” Whatever it was, I hoped it wouldn’t need too much money. This is embarrassing for an alchemist to admit, but I’m wretched at making gold.

“It’s not fixable.” Max looked forlornly at the perfect house. “I wish it was… but—”

“Max.”

He turned back to me and shook his head. “Rufus Hitchcock is a murderer, Zoe. He killed his girlfriend in this house forty years ago, and strange things have been happening here ever since. That’s why nobody else wants this house.”

***

Excerpt from The Alchemist of All Hallows Eve by Gigi Pandian. Copyright 2026 by Gigi Pandian. Reproduced with permission from Gigi Pandian. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

Gigi Pandian is a USA Today bestselling mystery author, locked-room mystery enthusiast, and fan of exploring ruined castles in the rain. She’s been awarded Agatha, Anthony, Lefty, and Derringer awards, and been a finalist for the Edgar. She writes the Accidental Alchemist mysteries (humorous cozy fantasy mysteries), the Secret Staircase mysteries (locked-room mysteries called “wildly entertaining” by the New York Times), and the Jaya Jones Treasure Hunt mysteries (lighthearted adventures steeped in history). Gigi lives in the San Francisco Bay Area with her husband and a gargoyle who watches over the backyard garden. For bookish fun plus a free story and free mini cookbook, sign up for her email newsletter at www.gigipandian.com.

Catch Up With Gigi Pandian:

www.GigiPandian.com
Amazon Author Profile
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BookBub - @GigiPandian
Instagram - @gigipandian
Facebook - @GigiPandian

 

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A Spellbinding Chance to Win

This giveaway is hosted by Partners in Crime Tours for Gigi Pandian. See the widget for entry terms and conditions. Void where prohibited.

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