#Spotlight “The City of Brass: A Novel (The Daevabad Trilogy)” by S. A. Chakraborty



NAMED ONE OF THE BEST BOOKS OF THE YEAR BY Library Journal | Vulture | The Verge | SYFYWire

Step into The City of Brass, the spellbinding debut from S. A. Chakraborty perfect for fans of The Golem and the Jinni, The Grace of Kings, and Uprooted, in which the future of a magical Middle Eastern kingdom rests in the hands of a clever and defiant young con artist with miraculous healing gifts.

On the streets of eighteenth-century Cairo, Nahri is a con woman of unsurpassed skill. She makes her living swindling Ottoman nobles, hoping to one day earn enough to change her fortunes. But when Nahri accidentally summons Dara, an equally sly, darkly mysterious djinn warrior, during one of her cons, she learns that even the cleverest of schemes can have deadly consequences.

Forced to flee Cairo, Dara and Nahri journey together across hot, windswept sands teeming with creatures of fire and rivers where the mythical marid sleep, past ruins of once-magnificent human metropolises and mountains where the circling birds of prey are more than what they seem, to Daevabad, the legendary city of brass.

It’s a city steeped in magic and fire, where blood can be as dangerous as any spell; a city where old resentments run deep and the royal court rules with a tenuous grip; a city to which Nahri is irrevocably bound—and where her very presence threatens to ignite a war that has been simmering for centuries.

*Finalist for the World Fantasy Award: Best Novel

*Nominated for the Locus Award: Best First Novel

*Finalist for the British Fantasy Award: Best Newcomer

Featuring a stepback and extra content including a bonus scene and an excerpt from The Kingdom of Copper.


#BookSale “Keeping 6 (Rock Point Book 1)” by Freya Barker


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Bookstore owner Kerry Emerson finally seems to be back in control of her life. Her failure of a marriage firmly in her rearview mirror and her recent business expansion a success, she is in charge of her own future. One that is looking better than ever.

The sight of the tall man, with the familiar salt and pepper goatee pushing open the door of her store, sets her hair on end. He doesn’t exactly bring good memories.

FBI Special Agent in Charge Damian Gomez is just looking for a decent cup of coffee when he walks into the small store offering books and brew. The pretty, feisty woman behind the counter is an unexpected surprise. Not at all unpleasant, especially since her finger that used to hold a wedding ring is now bare.

Her wild hair, boho style and silvery grey eyes suddenly hold a lot of promise.

But when his office is pulled into an international investigation into the trafficking of rare books and manuscripts, the straight-laced SAC realizes he has to keep his distance from the woman who might well be involved.

Easier said than done, since fate seems determined to throw them together.

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#CoverReveal “The Best Man” by Winter Renshaw

I didn’t know her name, but I heard her laugh, tasted her lips, felt her warm skin as I held her in my arms. Together we watched our young children playing in the sand, the warm ocean lapping the shore behind them as the setting sun painted the sky. She was my soulmate and this was our life, our beautiful forever … 
Then I woke up—alone in a hospital room, connected to wires and machines. 
There was no wife. No kids. Not a single soul waiting for me. That life I dreamt of … never existed.
I’d been in a devastating wreck, a nurse told me when she rushed in. Comatose for weeks. I’d have a long road to recovery, but I was going to make it. 
From that moment on, the dream haunted me. I saw that woman’s face every time I closed my eyes, searched for her in every crowd, ached to be with a stranger I felt I’d known my entire life … and I swore that if I ever found her, I’d do anything to make her mine. 
Then I found her.
And it was both the best and worst day of my life because the woman of my dreams … was about to marry my best friend.
AUTHOR’S NOTE: No cheating, no love triangles. That’s all I’m going to say … 😉

Wall Street Journal and #1 Amazon bestselling author Winter Renshaw is a bona fide daydream believer. She lives somewhere in the middle of the USA and can rarely be seen without her trusty Mead notebook and ultra portable laptop. When she’s not writing, she’s living the American dream with her husband, three kids, and the laziest puggle this side of the Mississippi. 
And if you’d like to be the first to know when a new book is coming out, please sign up for her private mailing list here —> http://eepurl.com/bfQU2j

#BookTour “The Great Witches Baking Show” by Nancy Warren

The Great Witches Baking Show by Nancy Warren Banner

on Tour February 1-29, 2019


The Great Witches Baking Contest by Nancy Warren A baker with secrets Witches in trouble The cameras are rolling Ready, set, die. Poppy Wilkinson is thrilled to be chosen as a contestant on The Great British Baking Contest. As an American with English roots, winning the crown as Britain’s Best Baker would open doors she’s dreamed of. In more ways than one. Appearing on the reality show is her chance to get into Broomewode Hall and uncover the secrets of her past. But strange things are happening on the show’s set: accusations of sabotage, a black cat that shadows Poppy, suspiciously unsociable residents at Broomewode Hall—and the judges can be real witches. There are murmurs that Broomewode is an energy vortex. It certainly makes Poppy see and do things that aren’t exactly normal, and seems to draw interesting characters to the neighborhood. When a fellow contestant dies in mysterious circumstances, Poppy has more to worry about than burned pies and cakes that won’t rise. There’s a murderer on the loose and it’s up to Poppy and her new friends to solve the crime before it becomes a real show-stopper. From USA Today Bestselling Author Nancy Warren, this delicious series of cozy paranormal mysteries will have you guessing until the end. Includes recipes.

Book Details:

Genre: Culinary Cozy

Published by: Ambleside Publishing

Publication Date: January 15th 2020

Number of Pages: 250


Series: Culinary Cozy #1

Purchase Links: Amazon | Goodreads


Read an excerpt:


As life-changing moments go, getting the call that I’d been chosen to compete in The Great British Baking Contest was right up there. I’d practiced, auditioned and practiced some more. I was a decent home baker, but was I really the best in Britain? Probably not. But I didn’t have to be. The contest was my way of getting into Broomewode Hall, where the show was filmed. I had my own reasons for going there that had nothing to do with baking. Still, it hadn’t been easy to be chosen. There were thousands of applicants every year and then an excruciating selection process, where the show’s producers chose twelve from the short list and made us bake on camera. Some people went to pieces; some were just really boring. They randomly selected bakers off the short list and tried out different combinations of personalities, a bit like baking, really, seeing which ingredients created the most interesting results. I quickly learned that the trick was to be a good character, try to be funny, be a good sport, pretend you didn’t notice that cameras were on you and a clock was ticking down the minutes, and still turn out a decent jam tart. Easy peasy! Not. One of the reasons they chose me for the show, I think, was that while I was British, I’d grown up in the States, which was kind of fun, as the show had become a huge hit in America. I’d also started life in a bakery. Or, more accurately, in a cardboard box outside a bakery in Norton St. Philip, a charming village near Bath in Somerset. I like to think my mother, whoever she was, chose the bakery so she knew I’d be warm and, since bakers start work so early, I’d be found. And I was. When Gareth Philpott came to work that morning, he said he looked into the box and found me wide-awake, staring up at him. Not crying, not fussing, just staring as though I’d expected him. They named me Poppy. The Philpotts would have kept me if they could have. They’re a nice family, but they already had three children, and the authorities don’t just give a family a baby because they happened to stumble across one. First they tried to find my mother or any information at all about my origins. When that proved impossible, I was adopted by Agatha and Leland Wilson, and they became my parents. They were both teachers. They’d tried for years to have their own children, and their delight in getting me was reflected in the way they pretty much turned their lives around to give me the best upbringing they could. They were loving parents, kind and patient. Strict when they had to be. We lived in Bath for the first eight years of my life, and then my dad was offered a teaching job in Seattle. I grew up there, mostly, lost the British accent, became a typical American teenager, and then when I finished high school, my folks retired and moved back to the UK. I could have stayed in Seattle. I had friends, and I could’ve gone to college there, but I chose to come back to England. I think, deep down, it’s always felt like home. Besides, like a lot of adopted kids, the mystery of my beginnings haunts me. Soon after returning to England, my folks moved to the south of France to bask in warmer weather, grow lavender and cook gourmet meals. My dad, who taught history, was writing a book. My mom was learning French. They’d saved up a nice chunk of change for me to go to college but, in spite of having teachers as parents, I never felt the urge. I was always more artistic than intellectual, so I went to an art and design college for two years, and they let me use the rest of the money toward buying a tiny cottage in Norton St. Philip. It’s probably crazy, and nobody even thinks my mother was from there, but I started my life in that village and so it pulled me back. The Philpotts still ran the bakery and were my second family. I guess you’ll always have a bond with the person who picked you up off the street as a newborn. Besides, growing up as an only child, I was fascinated by their sprawling, noisy family. I became a freelance graphic designer, which allowed me to work from home. Gina Philpott was my age and my best friend. She was also the only one who knew why I really wanted to get on that show. It went all the way back to when I was just a baby in that cardboard box. I’d been wrapped in a curious blanket. I saw my baby blanket one day when I was watching The Great British Baking Contest. They always filmed at Broomewode Hall, a Georgian manor house that wasn’t open to the public. Broomewode Hall was the seat of the Earl of Frome, Robert Champney and his family. During one of the behind-the-scenes segments on the show, Lady Frome, showed them around her home. As the camera panned around the great dining hall I was instantly transfixed by a woman in an oil painting who seemed to be wearing my baby blanket! I saw now that, in fact, it was a shawl. But the pattern was the same. I was certain of it. And from that very moment, I began my quest to find out more about Broomewode Hall. Lord and Lady Frome guarded their privacy tenaciously, and it was impossible to get access to them and their family home. Besides, what would I say? “I think one of your ancestors once wore my baby blanket? The best way I could think of to spend time there was to qualify as a baker on The Great British Baking Contest. I’d done it. Against incredible odds, I’d been chosen as one of twelve bakers. It was one step toward finding how who I really was. All I had to do now was figure out how to get the rest of the way. *** Excerpt from The Great Witches Baking Show by Nancy Warren. Copyright 2019 by Nancy Warren. Reproduced with permission from Nancy Warren. All rights reserved.


Author Bio:

Nancy Warren Nancy Warren is the USA Today bestselling author of more than seventy novels, including the best selling Vampire Knitting Club series and the Toni Diamond mysteries. She’s from Vancouver, though she tends to wander. She holds an MA in Creative Writing from Bath Spa university, appeared on the front page of the New York Times when her book Speed Dating launched the Harlequin/Nascar series. She was also the answer to a clue in a crossword puzzle in Canada’s National Post newspaper.

Catch Up With Our Author On: NancyWarren.net, Goodreads, BookBub, Instagram, Twitter, & Facebook


Tour Participants:

Visit these other great hosts on this tour for more great reviews, interviews, guest posts, and giveaways!



This is a rafflecopter giveaway hosted by Partners in Crime Virtual Book Tours for Nancy Warren. There will be 2 winners of one (1) Amazon.com Gift Card each. The giveaway begins on February 1, 2020 and runs through March 2, 2020. Void where prohibited.

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#BookTour “Waiting for Grace” by Caroline E. Zani

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coverFICTION / Visionary & Metaphysical
FICTION / Thriller
FICTION / Psychological
Date Published: February 4, 2020
Publisher: Wyatt-MacKenzie Publishing
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Eli Cranston, an attorney who himself suffered from the broken legal system and moreso from the loss of his wife and daughter, flees Los Angeles to a place that might hold – should he let it – forgiveness, redemption, and purpose: Bar Harbor, Maine. There, in a small white farm cottage by the sea, Eli launches a new career with Forward-Life Progression, a program that helps clients work past trauma and addiction to built a resilient new life. He finds Hope, cares for rescue horses and a pregnant cat. He is drawn to Rebecca, a farmer at the Farmer’s Market, and forges a revelatory relationship with Dr. Otto Gunther, a Holocaust survivor. With unopened boxes and a pile of letters marked “Return to Sender,” Eli can’t hide his secrets much longer. Is this his second chance? 

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PreOrder open now: Amazon and Barnes and Noble

Wyatt-MacKenzie Publishing



Excerpt 3: Kylie crossed her legs and then her arms. Her emotion was very visible on her face. Her long bangs hung to her eyebrows and bounced back and forth as she shook her head. “I don’t know that much but from what I’ve read, it sounds like it might be able to help me get past some trauma.”

Nodding, Eli silently urged her to continue. “I have tried talk therapy a million times but all they want to do is replay crap over and over. I just stay sad.”

Eli raised his brows but kept the rest of his expression as bland as possible. He crossed his legs, too and leaned slightly to his right. “Have you tried other modalities, other types of therapy?”

She looked down at her fingers which seemed to be wrestling with each other.

“Uh, yes. I did cognitive behavioral therapy, didactic therapy and what’s the other one? The one with the lights?” She looked up at Eli for an answer.

“EMDR,” he was taking notes but not taking his eyes off of her. Nodding again, he said, “And did any of those seem to help?”

Kylie took a deep breath and looked back at her tired fingers and shook her head.

“Okay, well tell me what you know about FLP then and how you found me.”

Kylie straightened up in the chair and said, “Well, from what I understand, FLP is like PLR except you move to a future life instead of a past one. Right?”

Eli nodded, accepting the rudimentary understanding.

“And I found you online. I can’t remember how or what I was googling but it came up and then of course I saw it all over Facebook the next day, all the ads.”

“Yea, pretty interesting how that happens,” Eli rolled his eyes to see if she would smile and she did.

She shifted in her chair then and let herself take a deep breath.

“So Kylie, I think I mentioned in my email reply that the initial session is an intake, so we won’t be doing the FLP today. You understood that?”

She nodded and seemed to brighten a little. “Yes, I get it. I just want to feel better, so I don’t care what I have to do. I’ll do it.”

“Okay, good. So what’s going on? What made you start googling?”

“Well, Dr. Cranston, I…” She picked at a piece of lint on her dress slacks.

“I want to be able to see what life could be like for me. I know that people tell me I should just live my life and leave the past behind but…but they just don’t know what it’s like.”

Eli nodded and took notes. “Yes, and I’m sure some are well-meaning when they say that.”

She shook her head, brows furrowed. “No. They aren’t well-meaning. They aren’t!

Eli was a little surprised at the sudden anger but given her long list of therapy attempts, he wasn’t shocked. She had a lot hiding behind those bangs.

“Okay, perhaps they aren’t well-meaning. Could you venture a guess as to why they might say that, then? Why they wouldn’t be able to understand why you can’t leave the past alone?”

“Because they don’t want to admit what they did to me. They don’t want to go to jail and they would if I wanted to go through all of that, but I don’t. I want to move forward but it’s like I have bricks tied around my neck.”

Eli took a deep breath and another and another until she followed suit.

“So can you tell me what they did to you that makes them afraid?”

Kylie, the professional looking young woman in her late twenties pulled up her sleeve and showed him her arms.

Eli leaned forward and though he kept himself from gasping, he drew his breath in quickly. Kylie’s arms were covered in small round scars, dozens of them. Before Eli could say anything, Kylie lifted her poncho and the thin shirt underneath. From her navel to the bottom of her bra were several long, pink scars, one resembling the letter K.

Eli stopped for a moment, deciding how to approach his next question. He knew it could build a bridge or burn one. He waited a moment before saying anything.

She lowered her poncho and smoothed it over her thin frame, eyes on the floor.

“Hmm…I’m sorry you had to experience that, Kylie.” He waited but she wasn’t budging.

“So when we are traumatized, our wounds are often invisible and others, because they can’t see them, don’t know they’re there, or that they’re still there.” Eli was treading carefully still. “But you have these very visible scars and that must be quite difficult for you.”

And then, as often happens in his line of work, Eli was reminded of the bravery of the human spirit.

Kylie, the forlorn, meek mannered woman in front of him sat up tall and looked square at Eli with eyes that seemed to suddenly come alive.

“These scars are just the diary I kept of what they did to me.”


About the AuthorCaroline Zani

In addition to being a critically-acclaimed author, Caroline Zani is an intuitive medium and a teacher. Left-handed, Aquarius, middle-child, introvert, and empath, she absorbs everything around her which informs her storytelling and writing. Zani teaches others to develop their own intuition. Believing life is about balance and our bodies are where our souls live, she also teaches health, wellness, and stress management classes. She has contributed to articles on Bustle and Boston Voyager and has been a guest on many radio programs. She has one daughter, Amanda, and lives with husband Brian, puppy Tulip, and her soulmate Hermés the Siamese cat, on the hill, under the willows.

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#BookBlitz “Stuart Duffelmeyer and the Masters of Plagues” by Dewy B Reynolds

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Date Published: October 2019
Publisher: Author Reputation Press
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Ever been bullied?
How about badly mistreated?
Meet Stuart Duffelmeyer. He knows what it feels like to be treated like trash. Brilliant, quiet, nerdy, and kind-spirited best describe him. He is an NYU student whose classmates target him for total humiliation. Fooling with him was their ultimate mistake. Stuart suffered severely as a result of their malicious behavior. He harnesses the power of nature to serve a dish of revenge that is best served cold to them.
Many residents living in the Washington, D.C., area have always said that where you lived in the city said a lot about who you were. John O’Connor and his wife Susan were some of the first ones to make a statement by moving into the Dumont condominiums over on Fourth and Massachusetts Avenue. Incomparable elegance and first-class amenities were the sophistications they enjoyed from their hard-earned success. John met Susan while both were doing internships at Children’s National Medical Center there in Washington. Since graduating from NYU’s School of Medicine for Pediatric Cardiology, he sought opportunities in the nation’s capital. Susan graduated from Boston University’s School of Medicine and also decided to head to Washington to pursue her career as a pediatrician.
During their tenure as hospital residents, they dated and would soon fall in love. Their love for one another fueled the passion to become engaged. The engagement soon led to marriage. Two sons, four-year-old John O’Connor, Jr., and three-year-old James O’Connor, became additions to their family. John got exactly what he wanted. Two sons were always his dream, ever since he was a little boy himself growing up on the upper east side of Manhattan. John and Susan felt their lives were complete with their family and careers.
Their boys were happy to have the rooftop pool with sweeping views of the DC monuments. Playing with other kids who resided at the Dumont brought joy to their parents. If their kids were happy, they were happy. John and Susan enjoyed retreats with their boys around the beautifully landscaped courtyard.
The sanctuary of nature brought them moments of peace to read a novel or enjoy the greenery of the flowers. When John Jr. and James were attended to by the nanny, the O’Connors snuck away to work out with the premium cardio equipment of the twenty-four-hour fitness center. John loved living only blocks away from the Capitol. Susan was delighted to live in the indulgence of the most powerful address on the triangle. John and Susan took on the daunting task of being a part of an internationally recognized team of pediatric healthcare professionals. Their team cared for more than 360,000 patients each year. Fifty million dollars in uncompensated care was provided by Children’s National Medical Center. John proved his worth by becoming one of the top cardiac physicians in the Children’s Cardiac Intensive Care Unit. Dually board certified in pediatric cardiology and pediatric critical care medicine. The life of an infant was in the hands of him and his surgical staff. Inside the operating room, the doctors and nurses were desperate to save the life of a two-month-old infant suffering from ventricular septal defect. A Desflurance anesthetic agent was administered.
The mounted surgical lights beamed strongly down on the surgical equipment being passed to John and other pediatric physicians. The integrated breathing system management of the electronic ventilator kept the infant stable. John used the powerful fiber optic illumination of the opthalmology microscopes to see deep within the left and right ventricles of the baby girl’s ventricular septum. Acutely, blood rushed through the stout walls which separated the lower chambers of her heart.
“Our patient is losing a normal heart rate!” John barked to his surgical team.
“Too much blood is leaking from the left ventricle into the right ventricle,” observed one of the top pediatric nurses.
“If the blood reaches the patient’s lungs, then she probably won’t make it.”
“We might have to perform a Median sternotomy.”
“Nurse, there’s barely a heartbeat!”
“Dr. O’Connor, the right ventricle has clogged with more blood.”
Seconds inside the operating room were precious. John and his team had many options to saving the baby’s life. Which life-saving method to use was their biggest concern. Incidentally, the monitor displayed no heartbeat. Had the two-month-old baby died while under their care? Not if the divine intervention of the Universe had its say. The bright surgical lights were drowned out by an even brighter light which cut through the ceiling. The doctors and nurses were lifted off the ground and suspended in mid-air by gravitational forces from the cosmos.
The deceased two-month-old was lifted off the operating table and also suspended in the air. A stream of cool ocean water and air came from under the door. The excess blood clogging the right ventricle of her precious heart was sucked out by the air and intermingled with the fresh ocean water. The blood caused the water to form a pinkish color.
Some of the water washed out all the infection. The wondrous forces of the Universe lowered the baby back down on the operating table. Loud cries from the infant filled the entire room. She cried as though she’d just been born into the world. John and the rest of his surgical team descended back to the floor. They just couldn’t believe what had happened. A stream of Gulf Coast water measuring about six gallons had done their jobs for them.
“Did you all see what happened in here?” John asked his medical colleagues, all of them stunned from disbelief.
The surgical team shook their heads at the same time.
“Where did that water come from?” John questioned, looking around and not seeing one wet spot in the emergency room. The surgical team silently replied with more movement of their heads.
“Long hours here at the hospital may be a bit too much for me.”
Standing right outside the surgery room without being noticed was Stuart. John came towards the door to make his exit. Stuart camouflaged himself behind a group of nurses going down the hallway. The infant survived and it really brightened up his day.
Susan O’Connor had no idea her husband spent extra hours at the hospital only to spend time with a dangerously beautiful clinical dietitian specialist named Marissa Halifax. Talk about a true beauty! Marissa had doctors from one corridor of the pediatric hospital to the next trying to date her. Some doctors offered her money and gifts. She refused all of them. They offered her promotions within the hospital, and still, she refused them.
How did John get so lucky? His mouthpiece, bank account, and masculine magnetism were the goods to win her over. With the blinds shut, the door locked, the phone turned off, and lights turned down low, John and Marissa decided to have a late night rendezvous inside his office. Their bodies pressed together while their lips smacked. They took a break from sucking face in order to catch their breath. Steam had generated from them exchanging saliva.
“Whew!” John huffed, fanning himself to cool off. “When I look at you, I’m looking at a masterpiece.”
“Consider yourself lucky, Johnny Boy,” Marissa nipped with arrogance, patting her curly brown hair back in place.
“Sure, I’m real lucky.”
“With all these doctors around here wanting me, you took home the prize, baby.”
“Can’t argue with you on that. Julius Caesar would’ve given up the Roman Empire for you.”
“I saw your wife today.”
“Down by endocrinology.”
“She finds out that we’re messing around, that’ll be my one way ticket to a divorce.”
“Your wife doesn’t have to find out. I won’t tell if you won’t tell.”
“You’ve got a deal.”
John and Marissa joined together to revive their body pressing and lip smacking. Small drops of water fell from the ceiling. More drops seeped through the cracks of the door and the windows. John went over to the windows and peeked between the blinds.
“Where’s that water coming from? It isn’t raining outside.”
“Are there holes in the roof?” Marissa asked, skipping from one side of the office to the next.
“No way does this hospital have holes in the roof.”
“John, I’ll see you later.”
Marissa sprinted over to the door. She found the lock wouldn’t turn.
“Who locked the door?”
“You can’t get out?”
“No, I’ve jerked on the knob several times.”
“The door can be locked from the inside and the outside.”
“Who’s playing tricks, John?”
“I don’t know.”
Winds in excess of over a hundred miles an hour blew in between the door and window cracks. The drops of water joined together and formed a tiny hurricane inside John’s office. The forceful winds picked John off the ground and slammed him against the wall. Marissa got sucked up to the ceiling. Her body remained pressed to the crumbling tiles. The frames of pictures and certificates were blown off the walls and smashed into pieces.
Colonel Boaz made his presence known to John O’Connor. “John, have you not learned your lesson yet?”
“What lesson is that?” John answered, the mighty winds having deprived him of normal oxygen.
“You have violated the codes of morality. You made my master suffer, now you have to suffer.”
“Who are you?”
“I have been sent by my master to be a plague upon you.”
“Who’s your master?”
“The secrets of the Universe will not permit me to reveal who my master is.”
“I don’t understand. There are no hurricanes in Washington, D.C.”
“You weren’t meant to understand the true laws of nature.”
“This has gotta be one bad dream.”
“Your evil ways and disobedience have come back to bite you in the backside.”
“But hurricanes don’t talk.”
“No, this hurricane does talk.”
Colonel Boaz used the power of its winds and water to throw John all around his office. The colonel threw him around like a boomerang. His face, hands, chest, and legs, they crashed hard against the wall. Slinging nearly ten gallons of water at him, John felt the stinging impact crash into his backside. “Errrrrrrrrrrh!” John screamed, clutching his tender rear with both hands.


About the AuthorDewey B Reynolds

Dewey B. Reynolds is an author, screenwriter, short filmmaker, and computer expert. He has also written books in the mystery, suspense, young adult, and true crime genres. Dewey currently lives in his hometown of Kansas City, Missouri.

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