#FREE “Wilizy (35-book Young Adult Series)” by David J. Wighton


From Book 1: If you think being a teenager in today’s world is tough, try being one in 2081. In Alberta’s It’s Only Fair society, your brain-band will zap you just for chewing with your mouth open. One boy pried his brain-band off to see what living with emotions would be like. Being chased by the entire Alberta army was bad enough. It became worse when another 15 year old kid offered to help him escape.

All 35 books in the series are FREE!



#Excerpt “The Purple Bird” by Dylan Roche

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Young Adult 


Date Published: March 1, 2019

Publisher: Jan-Carol Publishing, Inc.

No matter how long he has yearned to escape his boring life as an ordinary teenager, nothing can prepare James Shannassy for the afternoon when he meets a figment bird called Archit and the two of them set off for the world of Nalgordia to break a centuries-old curse. Being the hero of his own fantasy adventure isn’t exactly what James expected it to be, but when he finds himself caught up in an epic fight against a force of evil, he knows he might be the only one able to stop it. Archit’s fate now rests entirely in his hands…and there’s no turning back now!



Chapter 1
What Happened in the Greenhouse

This couldn’t have been happening. But it definitely was.

Still trembling from the shock of the past half-hour, James sighed and leaned up against the glass door of the abandoned greenhouse. It was the only place he could think of to hide. He wiped his sweat-drenched palms on his jeans and looked around. Maybe it was just the fear still coursing through his body, but something about the abandoned greenhouse reminded him of a haunted forest, something out of Grimm’s fairy tales. Tangles of overgrown plants spilled out of moldy garden boxes and twisted upward around moldy trellises. Late afternoon sunlight poured in through the cracks in the grimy glass walls, catching the dust that floated in the air and gleaming against the heavy spiderwebs that hung over everything. It was a place long forgotten, a place that might have once been beautiful and full of life but was now a place of decay and death.

Stop it! This wasn’t the time to let his overactive imagination get the best of him.

There wasn’t anything about the greenhouse that could actually hurt him, was there? Mr. Birken, on the other hand…

“All right, James,” he whispered to himself. “You’re safe now.”

He sighed.

“Yeah, right,” he huffed. “As if you actually believe that.”

He shook his head. And how in the hell are you going to get home now? You’re so stupid, James—God, you’re so freaking dumb!

If he were smarter, or more adept at escaping danger—whichever skill might have benefitted him more—he wouldn’t need to be hiding in an abandoned and possibly haunted greenhouse at all. No, if he were smarter and more adept at escaping danger, he would have run away from the school and straight in the direction of his house.

But he hadn’t done that. He had been so panicked that his only thought had been to get away from the school as fast as his unathletic body could go. It wasn’t until he was on the other side of town that his wits came back to him, and there was no way at that point that he was going back past the school. No way.

But Mr. Birken? Of all people, Mr. Birken?

His chemistry teacher, the kinda-sorta intimidating but otherwise friendly Mr. Birken, with his oversized glasses and his beer belly. Mr. Birken, who, before that afternoon, James thought was only as bad as threatening to fail him for the semester. If only James could have guessed!

His mind flashed back to those awful minutes in the storage room. Mr. Birken’s bellowing voice. That crazed expression on his face.

James shook his head as if that might dislodge the memory from his brain. “Gaaah!”

He surged forward, pacing up and down the rows between the garden boxes. If he didn’t keep moving, his nervous energy was going to make him explode. He swiped a large cobweb out of his way as he went, kicked at a pile of dead leaves, then fell to his knees, gasping for breath. Think, James. Use your head.

A rustling erupted in the overgrowth a few feet away, and James leaped, his heart suddenly hammering in his chest even faster than before.

“Hello?” he called.

Nothing. No sign of anything. Maybe it had just been a rat or a squirrel.

Maybe it’s Mr. Birken.

No, for real though, it was stupid to think that Mr. Birken was in the greenhouse. There was no way he could have gotten so far ahead of James so quickly, no way he could be lurking in there and waiting for him. It wasn’t logical—but then again, so little of what had happened that afternoon had been logical, and there was no telling what to believe or expect anymore.

The rustling came again, this time a few feet from where it had been the first time. The leaves on one of the nearby plants shook violently. Whatever was making that movement in the overgrowth was too big to be any kind of rodent.

“Who’s there?!” he called.

But he wasn’t sticking around to find out. Panic overtaking him, he bolted toward the door.

As he passed a mass of browning flora, something appeared in his periphery. He turned just as a purple something emerged from the leaves.

A pitiful cry escaped him as he tumbled backward into one of the flowerbeds. His shoulders hit the ground hard as he landed, knocking the wind out of him and sending up a cloud of dust and dirt.

Wasting not a second, he hoisted himself back up, just in time to come face to face with the strangest creature he had ever seen in his entire life.

Covered in purple feathers and fur, about three feet tall and stoutly built, it was too outlandish to be considered an animal but too innocent and adorable to be called a monster. The creature stood before him, blinking with pearly eyes over a large golden beak. It excitedly gave a flap of its purple wings as if waving at James to calm himself.

“Please, please,” the thing said. “I won’t hurt you.”

“You can talk!” James pushed himself back a little bit, still startled, still a little breathless.

The creature shook its head, tossing aside the shaggy hairs of its mane that hung in its face. “Yes, yes, I can,” it said. “I can talk.”

James, his fear now replaced by curiosity, climbed to his feet and circled the birdlike creature, looking it up and down. The bird reached up with his wings and straightened the lapels of the shabby blue vest he wore, almost haughty in his demeanor, as if he did not like being made a spectacle. The act was almost comical—the vest, as well as a crudely knotted yellow necktie, hung on the bird like adult dress-ups worn by a toddler, and the vest was patched with fabric of so many colors and patterns that very little of its original blue silk was still visible, the overall effect being that of a miniature homeless person. A hobbit hobo, James might have said at any other time when he wasn’t so overwhelmed.

“I—I know you’re probably amazed right now,” the bird stammered. “But you can’t tell anyone that I’m here.”

“Sorry,” James said. “I just…” He was at a loss for words. “Man, this has been one weird afternoon.”

“Well, that’s the thing,” the bird said. “If you were to tell anyone that you’ve seen me, then it will likely get even more weird. Weird and terrible.”

James paused. Such an ominous warning from such a funny-looking creature. It was like watching one of the Muppets recite Stephen King. But this creature itself didn’t strike him as malevolent. No, in fact, he seemed just as scared as James.

“Are you in some sort of trouble?” James ventured.

The bird became silent, shuffling his talons—which were clad in miniature leather loafers—and avoiding James’s eyes.

James stepped forward and extended his hand. “My name is James.”

“Archit,” the bird replied, putting out his wing. “That’s my name. Archit Birken.”

James’s stomach turned. “Birken?”

The air in the greenhouse suddenly became thick with tension. The two of them stared at each other, neither exactly sure of what to say.

The bird hesitated. “You know my uncle, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” James said. “You could say that. I know a little more about him than I care to, I guess.” He had been so surprised to meet Archit that he had almost started to forget about what had happened in the storage room back at the school. Almost, but not totally.

Archit took a deep breath. “Then you know how dangerous he is—and you know why it’s so important you tell nobody you saw me.”

James wasn’t even sure at this point whether it surprised him that this bizarre animal called Mr. Birken his uncle. “Wait,” James said, the connection now dawning on him. “Uncle? So you’re his nephew?”

Archit nodded.

James’s stomach twisted as he remembered everything Mr. Birken had said. My nephew has eluded me for far too long! “He’s coming after you,” James said. “You know that, right?”

“Yes,” Archit said. “And I’ve had a few close calls these last couple of months, and I can’t have him find me.”

“At least not until your sixteenth birthday, right?”

Archit stopped. He stared at James with uncomfortable intensity. “What?” he said.

James got the impression he had said something wrong. “Well, that’s why he’s hunting you, isn’t it? Something about your sixteenth birthday?”

Before James could say another word, Archit took him by the arm with his wing and led him over to the nearest flowerbed. “James, what do you know?” Archit sat down beside him on the edge of the garden box. “I need you to tell me everything, James.”



James sighed. He looked at Archit, who was staring up at him with pleading eyes. Only one or two minutes of knowing this creature, and already James couldn’t resist sympathy. He hated himself for being such a softie sometimes. Still, it sounded as if Archit had some context to everything that had happened. Maybe Archit could explain it all.

“All right,” James said, taking a deep breath.

“And don’t leave anything out,” Archit said. “I need to know what happened to you. Everything.”

“All right,” James said. “Well, I guess it started with the fact that this had already been a really awful day…”

And that was the truth—it had been a really awful day up until four o’clock, at least. After that point, the day had started to get weird and frightening.

At four o’clock, James had been in the courtyard, moping and avoiding going home. Dejected didn’t even begin to describe it, though that was the closest word he could think of.

There had been the decision of some friends to make an impromptu after-school trip to downtown Annapolis without him (“Sorry, we totally would have invited you, but we’ve got a full car already!”).

Then there’d been the rebuff he got from the girl for whom he had actually managed to grow enough of a spine to ask to the homecoming dance (“You’re a great guy, but c’mon, don’t you want to go with a girl who’s, y’know, into books and smart stuff like that?”).

And then there had been missing out on a role in the school’s fall play (“Freshmen rarely make the cut, so don’t take it personally”).

After all that, he dreaded the thought of going home and being around the house all afternoon. His mom would be stressing out over the fancy schmancy cocktail party she was throwing that evening, some stupid thing she did every fall to have all her neighbors and extended family over so that she could play Susie Homemaker. If he went straight home, he would just have to deal with her berating him. “I need to you stay out of the way while I’m cleaning, sweet pea,” she would condescend to say. “I’m gonna need you to go upstairs and get cleaned up so you’re ready when everyone gets here. Don’t dawdle, all right? No, you can’t eat anything; I’ve already tidied the kitchen.”

And all night long, there’d be nothing to do except sit around with his sister, Margot, and their cousin Liz—the only other person at the party who would be their age—and be bored, at least when they weren’t being forced to socialize with adults they barely knew.

So no way was he going straight home. Instead, he’d killed time by bumming around the school library, brushing through a few books and surfing the internet on one of the computers before migrating to the school courtyard to sit quietly and stew in his own bad mood.

Yeah, so his time might totally have been better spent going to a remedial study session for chemistry. Just earlier that day, in third period, Mr. Birken had told him he was in danger of failing—just one more reason the day had completely sucked.

“We have a midterm coming up on Monday,” Mr. Birken had said, giving James an intense look over the rims of his glasses. “Maybe a little bit of after-school help today would do you some good.”

Screw that, James had thought. The last thing he wanted to do after the day he’d had was to deal with Mr. Birken. Little could he have known just how much he would be dealing with Mr. Birken, whether he liked it or not.

What James would have given to get away from it all! To escape the mundane world of chemistry midterms and fair-weather friends, to get away from the quiet suburb that worshipped high school lacrosse and music videos. It didn’t help that Margot, who was a senior, was Miss Life of the Party of her class, and his parents couldn’t understand why James, their younger child, spent so much time reading Shakespeare instead of magazines and going to coffeehouses on Friday nights instead of football games. Why couldn’t life be more like the way things were in fantasy novels or games of Dungeons & Dragons, where the opportunity for adventure always waited just around the corner, and even an inconsequential little nobody could still aspire to be a hero?

He hadn’t realized, however, that he had moped the entire afternoon away. Four o’clock. That meant he had only an hour until his mom would start to freak out. Not that she would actually be worried about his well-being. No, she would just be upset that he wasn’t going to be ready for the party by the time guests showed up.

“I guess you better get going, huh?” he said aloud to himself in a sullen tone, flicking his eyes between his watch and the glass doors to the courtyard. From what he could tell, the school was empty—no movement inside, not even a janitor. He looked down at his watch again, eyeing the minute hand as it moved slowly toward the twelve. The frame of the watch was busted. He had dropped it as he was taking it off for gym class. He rubbed his finger along the jagged piece of metal where the frame had split, wondering whether it were salvageable.

Pulling himself to his feet, James shouldered his backpack, resolved that it did him no good to stick around here any longer. At this point, he would be lucky if he weren’t locked up in the school.

He headed inside and turned to make his way toward the lobby.

Then he remembered.

My chemistry textbook! He had left it in his locker.

“Shoot,” he huffed. I’m not gonna give Mr. Birken the satisfaction of failing me, that pompous piece of garbage. Chemistry sucked, but the idea of losing to Mr. Birken sucked even more.

He headed back down the hall the other way. His locker was in a far back corridor, and there was a chance that if the custodians were already locking up certain wings, then he wouldn’t be able to get to it.

As he made his way through the labyrinth of cold concrete walls and linoleum floors, he became aware of how eerily still the whole place was. He had never been in the school this late before. The overhead lights were off, silhouetting the shape of the lockers along the walls, and the squeak of his sneakers on the linoleum floor echoed all around him.

“Hello?” he called out, half-hoping that somebody might respond, that a friendly custodian might peek out from one of the classrooms and say, “Hey-o, I was closing up this place for the weekend, but if you’re still here, I’ll turn on the lights,” or that an administrator might appear and say, “Oh, James, you’re not supposed to be here this late, but if you have to go get your textbook, I suppose I can stand here and make sure nothing bad happens to you.”

But none of that happened, and James’s unease grew a little bit more the farther he went down the hall.

Then he smelled it. He paused, sniffing again. The smell of smoke. Something was burning.

He peeked into one of the nearby classrooms. Nobody in there, he observed, but the smell was stronger. He stepped inside, looking around for an electric socket that might have exploded or a candle that had been left unextinguished.

Nothing. He turned to go, but before he had taken more than two or three steps, there came muffled voices from what sounded like the back of the room—or else the next room over. He stopped, listening to the muted, monotonic intonation.

James sidled back out to the hallway to check what was happening in the next classroom over—but the classroom he had just come from was the last one at the end of the hall. The voices must have been coming from a crawlspace or something behind the wall. Or else he had imagined them.

He returned to the classroom, edging through the shadows toward the back corner. As he neared the corner, the muffled voices grew more distinct. He hadn’t imagined them. They were coming from behind the wall.

Pressing his ear up against the plaster, he listened for a moment. He could hear distinct voices, but what they were saying, he couldn’t make out. There was a man bellowing, and some harsh, rasping voices that he couldn’t determine to be male or female, adult or child, whatever they were.

James stepped back, taking in a long look at the wall from end to end. No door that might lead to another room or a closet. Only a bulletin board, a desk, and a tall nine-shelf bookcase.

It was with apprehension that James approached the bookcase, looking it up and down as if he were trying to gauge its weight in his head. He gripped the side of it and braced his feet against the floor, giving the shelf a tug.

Just as he thought: The bookcase pulled away to reveal what might have once been a closet. The mold-streaked door looked as if it had been forgotten by any staff member for a long time.

James gave the door handle a little wiggle and could tell it was unlocked. His stomach fluttering with nerves, he eased the door open and peered inside. It was one of the storage crawlspaces. He had helped a teacher move some books into a similar one in the English department the week prior.

But this one here in the science wing looked as if it had been forgotten. Or deliberately hidden.

Light came from around a bend in the corridor up ahead, and as did the voices, though still muffled. If this one is like the English storage space, there will be a little room down at the end. There was definitely somebody in there, but James wasn’t sure that he was going to like what he found.

Holding his breath, he crept along the hall, taking soft steps to be sure he didn’t make any noise. As he came to the end of the corridor, he pressed himself up against the wall and peered around the corner.

Whatever he had expected, it definitely wasn’t the scene before him. Never in his wildest dreams could he have expected this.

Mr. Birken stood over a roaring fire built atop a concrete slab, his arms spread wide. He no longer wore his school clothes—the gray trousers, the finely pressed white shirt, the Windsor-knotted tie—and was instead dressed in long black robes and a blood-red cape. He stood tall over the flickering flames, his broad belly thrust forward and his face tilted upward, whispering something in a language James couldn’t recognize.

“Oh,” James heard himself gasp.

But if the gasp were audible, Mr. Birken didn’t hear it. He was too busy conjuring something—probably a malevolent something, judging from the shapes that were forming in the black smoke above the fire. Red sparks flashed here and there, and a trio of serpentine figures took form. Three snakelike creatures with leathery wings began to circle the fire.

They hissed together in a chorus. “Why have you sssssummoned ussss here, Abaddon?”

James’s heart hammered. He swallowed hard, listening intently to how Mr. Birken might respond.

“Welcome, my creatures of darkness.”

“What do you want from usssss? Why do you conjure?”

The creatures swooped high and low, circling the fire, hissing, flipping their tails.

“To boast, of course,” Mr. Birken said. “Why else? Tell me—am I not the most wicked and evil of all the creatures of darkness.”

The creatures hissed wildly and their eyes lit up with red sparks again. “You’re not one of ussss,” they cried. “You are not one of ussss!”

“You lie!” Mr. Birken shouted.

“We do not. Your power issss weak. Your cursssse issss breaking.” At this, the demons began to cackle maniacally. The sound of it sent a chill down James’s spine. Should he make a break for it, get out of there before he was caught? Terror and morbid curiosity had him paralyzed.

Mr. Birken sneered. “What do you mean by this, to say that my curse is breaking?”

“It has already begun,” the demons hissed. “On his next birthday, your nephew shall turn sixteen.”

“No!” Mr. Birken shouted. “It cannot be!”

“You cannot sssstop it. You cannot sssstop it.” The demons hissed and cackled as they swept through the air, circling Mr. Birken tauntingly.

“You have a vissssitor, Abaddon,” they hissed.

A visitor? James realized they meant him, but it was too late. Mr. Birken glanced in his direction, and their eyes made contact for a brief instant. Moved by sheer terror, James turned and ran, bolting toward the outside world as quickly as he could.

Mr. Birken roared angrily. Intense heat erupted on James’s back, and he was thrown forward against the wall, taking a face full of decaying plaster as he toppled to the ground. He felt claws grasping at his arms, the ground scraping across his face—he was being dragged back into the storage room.

Mr. Birken loomed over him, looking down with a strange expression of mixed fury and sick delight. James pushed himself up and scooted backward. Shadows moved in the darkness behind his teacher—two feral teenagers crawling around on the floor like animals. They must have been what had dragged him back into the storage space.

“Well, well, well,” Mr. Birken said. “A surprise guest. James Shannassy.”

James’s heart hammered in his chest so hard he thought he was going to puke. He held his breath, trying to keep down the bile burning at his throat.

Mr. Birken bellowed a deep laugh, tossing his head back with a sick, wide smile on his face. “I think we can find a use for you, Master Shannassy.”

He swiped his arm through the air, summoning two thick black cords that curled around James, digging into his skin and tying him tightly. James gave a wretched little choking sound as the ropes caught tight around his diaphragm.

“That’s better,” Mr. Birken said. “We don’t want you leaving too soon, now, do we?”

James stared around the room, taking in the candles, skulls, and other artifacts and ornaments of sorcery, all of them menacing in the low light of the little room. In the murky shadows behind Mr. Birken, the two feral children had slunk back to crates where they crouched like wolves, chewing on bones and glaring at James with flashes of red fire in their eyes. They looked familiar, as if he might have seen them around school before, but their ragged appearance and animal-like demeanor had rendered them unrecognizable.

Mr. Birken stepped toward James, crouching down. “What brings you in here, Master Shannassy?”

James choked back some of the vomit in his mouth. His whole body was shaking so badly he thought he might pass out. “I…I…”

Mr. Birken sneered, standing again. “Afraid, are you? You needn’t be.”

James trembled, wrenching at the ropes that bound his hands. He looked up into Mr. Birken’s dark eyes. The only way he was going to get out of this was by keeping a clear head and acting fast. For now, he had to keep Mr. Birken talking, to distract him if he could.

“S-so…what are you, some kind of evil wizard or something?” It wasn’t brilliant, and James sure as hell wished he had sounded braver when he said it, but he had read enough fantasy and sci-fi to know that the best way to outsmart a merciless villain was to get him on a bragging rant. If nothing else, it might buy him some time.

Mr. Birken let out another deep laugh. He turned and circled the fire.

James kept his eyes on Mr. Birken, fiddling with the ropes as best he could behind his back. If he were subtle enough, he might be able to use the jagged edge of his broken watch to saw through the binds without Mr. Birken’s realizing what he was doing.

After a few tense seconds, Mr. Birken spoke. “I think I’ll be needing your assistance, Master Shannassy.” He drew out each word in a cold, sinister tone.

James noticed movement along the floor, and his blood ran cold. It was a long, hideous python weaving its way toward Mr. Birken. The large man stooped down to greet the serpent as if it were a puppy, cooing softly, “Yes, we will, precious, won’t we? We’ll be needing Master James’s help.”

James had to keep talking. “What’s this all about? What were those monsters you were talking to?”

Mr. Birken stood, provoked by the question, his eyes flashing with fire. “My nephew has eluded me for far too long!” he shouted. “My curse will be broken, and my eminence among the creatures of darkness will be lost forever!” He raised his arms and shook his fists wildly, making the fire rage up in a sudden burst of green light and black smoke. The feral children behind him whined, frightened.

Mr. Birken approached James and crouched down near his face again. “And you are going to help me hunt him down.” Mr. Birken’s breath was hot and stinking against James’s face, and a sheen of oily sweat gleamed on the big man’s puffy cheeks.

James whimpered, closed his eyes, and tried to find words. Mr. Birken so close to him, the crackle of the fire, the growling of the ferals, the malevolent presence of the evil artifacts around them—it was all too much. “What if I don’t want to?” he protested.

Mr. Birken stood, stepping back to the fire. “Oh, I don’t think that will be a problem.” He waved one of his hands over the flames and whispered again in the foreign language James again didn’t recognize.

It was obvious what was coming next. Mr. Birken had prepared some spell to manipulate him, to force James to do his bidding.

“That’s why you’re a teacher, isn’t it?!” James looked at the two pathetic kids crouched in the shadows. “And they’re…they’re…”

“They’re just here for a little after-school study session, just like the one I encouraged you to come to, Master Shannassy.” Mr. Birken gave James a sick little grin, a thin-lipped slice of malevolence that spread across his face, and he gazed greedily at him with black, soulless eyes. “I told you that you were failing, but I never expected you to drop by in quite this fashion.”

Dizziness set in on James again, stronger this time. If only the cord behind his back would part a little more easily, or if only the jagged metal would have been a bit more efficient! He couldn’t delay Mr. Birken much longer, he could tell.

Mr. Birken continued. “These two behind you, they’re not the academic type, of course. Slackers, you might say. But they know they can come to me as a source of something they might need.”


“Ha! You think a great wizard controls his minions by use of opioids and narcotics? No, my potions are a bit stronger, though every bit as addictive. When it wears off, they’ll remember nothing—except to keep coming to me for it.”

Mr. Birken crossed to a table in the corner where Bunsen burners bubbled and smoked mysterious substances in beakers. “And a chemistry teacher at a public school in an affluent area always has easy access to the best equipment,” he said as he lifted one of the bottles and held it to the firelight. “Combined with teenagers with a bit too much spare time and too little supervision after school—why, it’s every evil overlord’s dream, isn’t it?” He laughed.

This is it, James thought. Mr. Birken was going to possess him, or maybe worse—after all, James knew too much now. What was to stop Mr. Birken from doing away with him entirely?

Mr. Birken lumbered around the fire, his red cape dragging behind him across the filthy floor. “Well, now, Master Shannassy,” he said, holding out the frothing potion. “Open up your mouth.”

James sawed furiously at the rope behind his back. It was slackening. Almost there.

Mr. Birken stooped down in front of him, reaching forward to grab James’s face and force his mouth open. James jerked his head away, resisting, giving the rope two or three more tugs. By some good grace, the ropes gave way at that very momen. James twisted his hands free, lifted his leg, and delivered a swift kick to Mr. Birken’s large belly.

With a deep bellow of surprise, Mr. Birken stumbled backward, his feet twisted in the length of his cape. For a moment, he teetered back and forth, trying to recapture his balance. Then he went down hard, falling backward into the roaring fire.

James sprang to his feet and took off down the passageway. Behind him, Mr. Birken screamed in pain and fury, but James wasn’t stopping to look back. Trembling with terror, he bounded back to the empty classroom, then raced back through the school and out the doors into the open afternoon air. He fled the property, not stopping to catch his breath or his bearings until he found refuge in the abandoned greenhouse.

By the time he’d finished recounting it all to Archit, the bird was restless with excitement. “This can mean only one thing,” Archit said, getting to his feet.

“What can mean only one thing?” James asked.

Archit hesitated for a second. “Look, James,” he said, “I need you to remember carefully. ‘On his next birthday, he’ll turn sixteen.’ You’re sure that’s what his oracle said?”


“You might have been confused. You were in a lot of danger, and you were really scared.”

“I know what I heard,” James insisted. “Trust me, every second of my time in that storage closet is branded on my brain. I’m scarred for life.”

Archit pressed his wings against his head, trying to think. “Oh, what does this mean?”

“What does what mean?” James asked.

“Look, it’s complicated,” Archit said. “And truthfully, the less you know, the better.”

James scoffed. “Well, I’m involved now. Don’t I deserve an explanation?”

“Yes, of course you do. But I need to get you home safely first.”

“Get me home?” It wasn’t exactly the priority that James was expecting. Five minutes ago, he had wanted nothing more than to be home, safe, and out of danger, but since talking to Archit…

“Yes, get you home,” Archit said. “Do you think you can stay out of trouble there?”

“And what? Just hope all this goes back to normal? Do you really expect your uncle to forget that I know all of this?”

Archit shook his head as he moved toward the door to the greenhouse. “No, but you’d be in a lot more danger with me.” He turned back, gesturing with his wing for James to follow. “Come on, there’s no use talking about this in here. We need to act quickly.” He made for the door. “Who knows what my uncle might be up to while we’re sitting here shooting the breeze…”

“Oh, that’s comforting,” James said.

Archit swung the door open and scurried across the lawn to hide behind one of the bushes. James paused for a moment in the doorway and then, still somewhat unsure, followed the bird. It was cool outside the greenhouse, and the shadows of the trees were getting longer. It would be only another hour or so until it was dark.

“So, what exactly is your plan?” James asked as he knelt next to Archit.

Archit peered out between the leaves of the bushes, looking up and down the street. James couldn’t deny that the bird’s lack of explanation was beginning to irritate him a little.

“Hold on,” Archit said, reaching into the pocket of his vest. “I have just what we need in here.”

“What do we need?”

Archit drew out a small pouch. “Here ‘tis.”

James stared. Something inside the bag was glowing. The silk exterior shifted from pink to blue and back again.

“Whoa,” James said. “What is that?”

“Fairy dust, of course.”

James rolled his eyes. “Oh, of course. Why didn’t I think of that?”

“Don’t get sarcastic,” Archit said. “I thought you were getting used to weird things happening.”

James couldn’t argue with that. He looked down at the bag again. “Where’d you get it?” he ventured.

“I stumbled upon a fairy council years ago,” Archit said. “It was a reward for a good deed I did them.”

James couldn’t tell whether that was true or not—but if not, then Archit must have had some good reason for not making full disclosure.

“Now,” Archit continued, “there’s not much left. Just enough for maybe two more spells, as long as they don’t need to last long. And I’m going to need some to open up the doorway between the worlds.”

“Huh?” James said. “The doorway between the worlds?” This afternoon had gone from horror story to fairytale to ancient myth pretty quickly.

“I can’t open it up until tomorrow morning,” Archit said. “It’s a spell that needs to be performed at dawn. But we’ll be able to use a bit of it for getting you home.”

“You mean, like, teleportation?”

“Nothing so elaborate,” Archit said. “But I think the fairies have established a precedent for this one at least. You’re familiar with the story of the little cinder maid?”

“You mean Cinderella?” James said.

“Exactly,” Archit said. “And look! There are a few pumpkins on the front stoop of that house over there.” He turned and pointed at one of the houses across the street.

“How lucky we are that it’s October and I need a coach to get home,” James said, unable to resist sarcasm again.

“We’re not doing a coach,” Archit said. “That’d be too conspicuous.”

“Oh, and you think stealing pumpkins in the middle of the afternoon isn’t going to draw attention?” But James had to admit there wasn’t a car in the driveway of the house Archit had indicated, and all the blinds in the windows were drawn.

“Stop hesitating,” Archit said. “Just go.”

James wasn’t necessarily sure why he was doing as he was told, but he figured he had to trust Archit. He stood and eased his way out from behind the bush, looking all around for witnesses. Considering he was on the run from an evil wizard, he thought that getting caught stealing a pumpkin should have been the least of his concerns. Even so, an extraordinary adventure was one thing, and petty theft was another. He didn’t want to be busted for something so commonplace with everything else going on.

He tried to look as casual as possible as he walked up the driveway to the house across the street, but he was pretty sure anyone who might have been watching would have instantly assumed him guilty of something, just based on how nervous and jittery he was.

As he paused at the bottom step leading up to the front stoop, he looked up at the house just to be sure nobody was watching him through the windows. No sign of anyone.

“What are you waiting for?” Archit hissed from the bushes across the street. “The apocalypse?”

James turned but didn’t shout back. It would draw too much attention. Still, it was easy for Archit to be confident when Archit was hiding in a bush and James was the one who was about to steal something.

“What the worst that can happen?” he said to himself as he reached forward, grabbed the pumpkin, and spun back around toward Archit. Clutching the gourd to his chest as if someone might try to tackle him and take it back, James sprinted back across the street and ducked behind the bush with Archit. “Got it.”

“Good,” Archit said. “Glad to see it wasn’t too great a challenge.” His beak cracked into a smile, and he gave a little laugh. For the first time that afternoon, James wasn’t stressed out or scared.

“All right,” James said. “Let’s see this magic in action.”

“Stand back,” Archit said, crouching over the pumpkin and pouring some of the dust onto the end of his wing. “Here goes nothing.”

He shook his wing and James watched the glittering powder fall over the orange skin of the gourd.

Nothing happened. James blinked. Maybe the dust wasn’t really magic, or maybe Archit had done something wrong. After all, it wasn’t as if there were any reason to believe Archit even knew how to—

But before James could let his doubts get the better of him, the pumpkin began to glow and its skin began to pulse a little bit. James gasped, watching it grow before his very eyes, its shape changing slightly as it did, a glass windshield forming across its front and tires popping out from its bottom. A bright orange car took shape, and the last few flashes of fairy dust fell away to the ground as the transformation completed itself.

“Whoa!” James said.

“Not bad,” Archit said. “But it’s not going to last long. We probably have fifteen minutes at most.”

James chuckled. “What, not until midnight?”

“I’m not that strong a magician,” Archit said, as if he had missed the joke completely.

The two of them hesitated for a moment, neither making a move for the driver’s side.

“Can’t you drive?” James asked, but he already knew the answer.

“Nah, I’m not tall enough to reach the pedal,” Archit said. “I thought you could.”

“No, I don’t have my license yet.”

Archit grumbled and looked around at the yard. “What we need is a squirrel.”

Before James could question how they would even get close enough to a squirrel to enchant it, Archit had started back toward one of the trees beside the greenhouse. “There’s one!”

James followed, but Archit turned and held his wing up, signaling him to stay back. “Not too much movement,” Archit said.

Archit dipped his wingtip into the pouch again and flung a puff of glitter into the air. The effect again came quickly. The squirrel, which had turned and begun to flee upon Archit’s approach, shifted and morphed into the form of a stocky middle-aged man dressed in a gray suit.

“Well, not bad,” Archit said.

The man, who seconds before had been a squirrel, looked around. His mannerisms were still rodent-like. “What’s happened?”

“You’re a chauffeur now,” Archit said, as if this should have been easy to understand. “We need you to drive. Come on, and hurry. We have only fifteen minutes or so before you change back.”

“Change back?” the chauffeur squeaked.

“That’s right, you’ll be a squirrel again soon,” Archit said. “No need to worry.”

James smiled awkwardly at the chauffeur, trying to be friendly. “Hi.”

Archit pointed to the pumpkin car. “Come on, everyone,” he said. “No dawdling. Let’s get in.”

James didn’t have to be told twice. The last thing he wanted after the horror of the afternoon was to be stranded in the middle of town with a pumpkin, a squirrel, and a talking purple bird. There was no way he could explain that to anyone, let alone what he knew about Mr. Birken’s being an evil wizard on top of all of it.

He opened the back passenger-side door and climbed inside. The yellow-orange pleather upholstery was cool and clammy, maybe because it had all been pumpkin guts only moments before. Archit went around to the other side and climbed in next to him.

“Do you know how to get to Fairview?” James asked the chauffeur. “The neighborhood?”

“Fairview?” the chauffeur repeated.

“Yeah,” James said, wondering whether the squirrel knew the area well enough to identify different neighborhoods. James didn’t know what to believe or expect any more. “Across town,” he described. “Waterfront community. Lots of Cape Cod cottages.”

“Ah, yes,” the chauffeur said. “Right. So, then, here we go.”

And they were off. James looked at his watch. It was quarter to five. If Archit’s prediction about their fifteen-minute time constraint were correct, they had until five, at best. In any case, that was far too late for James to be getting home. He doubted his mother would notice he was missing. She would be too busy getting ready for the party—but Margot would be aware. She was probably already wondering where he was, because he didn’t meet her at her car after school. She would have assumed he went downtown with some friends to get pizza or something earlier. By now, she would be irritated that he wasn’t home and that she might be stuck covering for him.

James looked over at Archit, who was staring out the window in pensive silence.

“So…uh…” James hesitated. “Look, I know this is a touchy subject, and I’m sure you’re tired of my asking about it…”

“No, that’s all right,” Archit said, still looking out the window. “You deserve to know.” He turned back to James. “I have to go see somebody. Somebody wise and powerful, who I hope might be able to explain all of this.”

“But I don’t understand. What could be so significant about a sixteenth birthday?”

“Because by all possibility, I shouldn’t have a sixteenth birthday.”

James didn’t even know how to respond to that. “What? How?”

“I’m a figment creature,” Archit said. “Do you know what that means?”

“Like, a figment of the imagination?” James said.

“Exactly. Never born, never aging, never dying. You see, I don’t even think I’m part of this world of reality.”

James wondered whether that were supposed to make sense to him, because it definitely didn’t. Even as an avid mythology buff—or so he liked to consider himself—he was having a little trouble wrapping his mind around this. “Oh.”

Archit struggled to find the next words. “I say ‘I think’ because…well, I remember aging when I was younger. But that was a different time, a happier time, and when my uncle cursed me…” He sighed. “Look, I could explain all this, but it would take a while.”

“Maybe I should come with you,” James suggested.


“I mean, I can’t really just stick around here, can I?” It was only a matter of time before Mr. Birken came for James. He was better off going with Archit and seeing this through to the end. Besides, James thought, we’re in this together now.

“I see what you’re saying,” Archit replied. “But it’ll be dangerous.”

“It can’t be any more dangerous than what I encountered this afternoon,” James said. Talking bravely made him a little less nervous. “And we’re stronger sticking with each other, right?”

“Yes, I suppose we are,” Archit said. “But you don’t have to go for my sake. I’ve been dealing with this for hundreds of years now, so I’m not afraid to go on alone.”

“No, I want to go,” James said. What was he saying? What exactly was he agreeing to? It gave him a rush of excitement to think this was actually happening. “But we have to wait until late tonight,” he added quickly. “If I don’t put in an appearance at this party tonight, my parents will wonder where I am, and they’ll come looking for me before we have a chance to get away.”

“That’s all right. We can’t cross the border between worlds until dawn anyway.”

There was that phrase again—the border between worlds. “Oh, man,” James said. “Is this really happening?”

Archit laughed. “Yeah. But I hope you’re this enthusiastic when the going gets tough.”

“I’ll try to be.”

The car began to slow. James looked out the window, realizing that they had already reached his street. “This is my house coming up at the end of the block.”

“Will you pull over at this last house up ahead?” Archit asked the chauffeur.

The car slowed as it approached the cedar-shingled house at the top of the hill. The place was so familiar and comforting, yet so detached from James all at the same time. It was a funny feeling that he couldn’t quite understand—this might be last time he was going to be home for a long while, but he didn’t mind at all. No, in a way, he was almost excited to be leaving it behind.

When the car stopped, the two of them climbed out of the backseat and stood momentarily on the street, looking up at the house before they headed up the hill.

This was it. James had been waiting his entire life for something like this. Fifteen years of being a pathetic little nobody in a small town where nothing ever happened, and now he was setting off on the adventure of a lifetime!

Am I ready for this?

If he weren’t ready for it, did he really care? He was with Archit, and Archit knew what he was doing.

Sure, he had known the purple bird for all of a half-hour max, but he could already tell that Archit was brave, tough, street-smart, and headstrong. Archit was an adventurer. And maybe James would prove himself to be one too.

Maybe Archit felt the same sense of relief and gratitude that James did. Maybe, just maybe, the bird was happy to have a companion who would help him brave whatever lay ahead.


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About the Author

Dylan Roche is a journalist, editor, actor, director, playwright, teacher, and marathon runner based in Annapolis, Maryland. The Purple Bird is his first novel.




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#BookBlitz “The Purple Bird” by Dylan Roche


Young Adult 


Date Published: March 1, 2019

Publisher: Jan-Carol Publishing, Inc.

No matter how long he has yearned to escape his boring life as an ordinary teenager, nothing can prepare James Shannassy for the afternoon when he meets a figment bird called Archit and the two of them set off for the world of Nalgordia to break a centuries-old curse. Being the hero of his own fantasy adventure isn’t exactly what James expected it to be, but when he finds himself caught up in an epic fight against a force of evil, he knows he might be the only one able to stop it. Archit’s fate now rests entirely in his hands…and there’s no turning back now!


About the Author

Dylan Roche is a journalist, editor, actor, director, playwright, teacher, and marathon runner based in Annapolis, Maryland. The Purple Bird is his first novel.




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#BookBlitz “Leisha’s Song” by Lynn Slaughter


Contemporary Coming-of-Age Romantic Mystery, Young Adult

Published: June 2021

Publisher: ‎Fire and Ice Young Adult Books

Leisha knows something’s wrong. Her beloved vocal coach at boarding school would never have resigned and disappeared like this in the midst of preparing her prize students for a major vocal competition. Leisha’s determined to find her, make sure she’s okay.

Cody, a sensitive cellist, insists on helping her. Sparks fly, clues multiply, and romance blossoms, despite the disapproval of their families.

Leisha’s desire to be with Cody and pursue music rather than medicine puts her on a direct collision course with her African-American grandfather, the only parent she’s ever had. But an even more immediate threat looms– because, as Leisha draws closer to the truth about her teacher’s disappearance, she puts her own life in grave danger.


Praise for Leisha’s Song

“Suspense, tender romance, and a thoughtful exploration of racism make this page-turning coming-of-age novel a winner.” – Lee Tobin McClain, USA Today Best selling Author of Home to the Harbor




Rosita, I need to borrow your friend. Okay with you?”

Si,” she said, and a shy smile crept on to her face. “You want me to save your food, Leisha?”

I shook my head and picked up my tray to dump it. My stomach felt like a bunch of heavy stones were clanking around in there.

Meet you out by the stairs,” Cody said.

What’s this about?” I eyed him warily, not at all sure I was up to talking with Cody when I felt this vulnerable, and… and well, when it was getting harder and harder to keep my distance.

You,” he said in a low voice.

I should have flat refused to follow him up the stairs to the second floor. No one else would be hanging up there on a Saturday, and it definitely wasn’t a good idea to let myself be alone with Cody. But my willpower had mysteriously disappeared. Up the stairs and down the hall I went.

Cody lounged on a window seat and pulled me down to sit next to him. Outside, the sky was smudged with gray, and the tree branches drooped under the weight of the snow. I sighed. I was drooping too.

Cody’s hand was warm, strong, callused. No! Not going there. I pulled my hand away from his and carefully inched away. “You’ve got five minutes,” I said, determined not to let him see that his touch made every hair on the back of my neck prickle. Better to make him believe I was the original ice queen.

Okay, tough girl, I know you were crying in there. Let me in. I care about you, damn-it!”

He leaned toward me and touched my cheek, and I closed my eyes for a moment. Then I grabbed his hand in my own, and I couldn’t help it. I held on tight. “It’s… it’s Ms. Wells.” I spilled out everything I knew, which was not much. “I need to find her. This is going to sound crazy, but I think she’s in trouble.” I shivered and made myself let go of his hand.

He gazed at me somberly. “She never would have left without talking to you. I used to like watching her watch you. It was almost like you were the daughter she never had.”

Tears burned behind my eyelids. That’s how I’d felt about her—like she was filling up a pocket in my heart that had only held longing for the mama I’d never known.

Cody pulled me in close.

My whole body tensed. I could not let this happen.

It’s okay,” he said. “This is strictly a brotherly hug.”

Yeah, right. But being in his arms felt too good to pull away. He smelled like fresh laundry mixed in with the woodsy scent of the rosin he used on his cello strings.

We’re going to figure out what happened,” he murmured in my ear.

I snapped my head back to stare at him. “What do you mean ‘we’?”

He grinned. “Every great detective needs a sidekick. I’ve just appointed myself yours.”


About the Author

Lynn Slaughter is addicted to chocolate, the arts, and her husband’s cooking. She also admits she’s always loved to learn. A graduate of Smith College, she earned master’s degrees in sociology and dance. Following a long career as a professional dancer and educator, she returned to school for her MFA in Writing Popular Fiction from Seton Hill University. She’s the author of three other young adult novels: IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN YOU, WHILE I DANCED, and DEADLY SETUP (forthcoming, Fire and Ice, 2022). She lives in Louisville, Kentucky where she’s at work on her next novel and serves as President of Derby Rotten Scoundrels, her local chapter of Sisters in Crime.

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#DealoftheDay “Raybearer” by Jordan Ifueko

1.99 for a limited time only! (Save $8.00!)

(On all online digital retailers!)

Raybearer cover


Named one of the best books of the year by People Magazine, Buzzfeed, New York Public Library, Chicago Public Library, Kirkus Reviews, School Library Journal, Publishers Weekly, and more!

“Dazzling… All hail Raybearer.Entertainment Weekly
“One of the most exceptional YA fantasies of all time.” Buzzfeed
“Brilliantly conceived fantasy.” —People
“An exquisitely detailed world.” —

Fans of Sabaa Tahir and Tomi Adeyemi won’t want to miss this instant New York Times bestselling fantasy from breakout YA sensation Jordan Ifueko!

Nothing is more important than loyalty. But what if you’ve sworn to protect the one you were born to destroy?

Tarisai has always longed for the warmth of a family. She was raised in isolation by a mysterious, often absent mother known only as The Lady. The Lady sends her to the capital of the global empire of Aritsar to compete with other children to be chosen as one of the Crown Prince’s Council of 11. If she’s picked, she’ll be joined with the other Council members through the Ray, a bond deeper than blood. That closeness is irresistible to Tarisai, who has always wanted to belong somewhere. But The Lady has other ideas, including a magical wish that Tarisai is compelled to obey: Kill the Crown Prince once she gains his trust. Tarisai won’t stand by and become someone’s pawn–but is she strong enough to choose a different path for herself? With extraordinary world-building and breathtaking prose, Raybearer is the story of loyalty, fate, and the lengths we’re willing to go for the ones we love.



#FREE “Wilizy” by David J. Wighton (33-book Young Adult Series)


From Book 1: If you think being a teenager in today’s world is tough, try being one in 2081. In Alberta’s It’s Only Fair society, your brain-band will zap you just for chewing with your mouth open. One boy pried his brain-band off to see what living with emotions would be like. Being chased by the entire Alberta army was bad enough. It became worse when another 15 year old kid offered to help him escape.

All 33 books in the series are FREE!



#BookTour “Patches” by Valicity Elaine


About the Book

Title: Patches

Author: Valicity Elaine

Genre: YA Coming of Age

Michael Bull Jr. is best friends with the most popular guy in school, his father is a famous politician, and he’s just started his last year in high school. He is the perfect student with the perfect life … except for his face.When you’ve got a disease that changes the color of your skin, turns your hair grey, and threatens to blind you, high school can be tough. It also doesn’t help when your crush decides to blackmail you and expose your secret. But hey, what can you do except try to survive?



First, I give myself a clean wash. I like to use ice-cold water because it feels refreshing, makes my skin come alive. Then I use a tiny, little sponge applicator to dab on the foundation. I start on my forehead and work my way down to my cheeks in circular motions. I’m not really sure why I use circular motions, I saw it in a video once on YouTube. My cheeks have the most discoloration, so I spend a lot of time there, working on the thick liquid. The makeup comes in 1-ounce bottles, I go through at least one a week. At $38.00 a bottle, that’s 150 bucks a month, about 1800 dollars a year on foundation alone.

The makeup has to go halfway down my neck, almost to my Adam’s apple. Once I finish the liquid, I put on a little powder, so I don’t shine. When I know I won’t be cramming my hands into my pockets, I put some on my fingers. It’s only tiny, little specks but I have a few white patches on my knuckles here and there. My eyebrows are really fair, so I learned how to use a brow liner to fill them back in. The makeup kind of blends them in with the rest of my face so without the liner, I look blank after a fresh coat.

Last are my contacts; one of them is plain and clear and the other is a gentle green color. My left eye started to fog out right after the patches appeared. My doctor said this only occurs in a very, very small percentage of vitiligo patients. I guess I hit the anti-genetic lottery. Both of my contacts have a prescription, but the left one is mostly to fill in the greying color. I’m practically blind in that eye.

Once I blink back the eye drops after putting in the contacts, I’m ready to go. It usually takes me 90 minutes to get ready for school; before the vitiligo I could be ready in half that time. 


Author Bio

Valicity Elaine is the owner/creator of The Rebel Christian Publishing. She is an avid reader and loves to write just as much! She grew up in upstate New York in a beautiful Christian family and loves using her writing and illustrations to express her wonderful faith. When she isn’t writing, she is spending time with her family or helping out her church. Random fact; Valicity LOVES pasta, haha!




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#Featured “Blood Spells: A YA Dark Urban Fantasy” by Alicia Ellis


After her parents’ deaths, she turns to illegal blood magic to hunt a killer. But is it worth her freedom—or her life?

Maddy never made peace with her parents’ deaths. Instead of moving on, she summons her mother’s spirit whenever possible. So when she finds the bloody corpse of her stepmother—her final parent—Maddy’s world falls apart.

Devastated, she refuses to believe it was suicide. After all, blood magic users like her stepmother don’t spill their blood without purpose. When her school principal is struck by a supernatural illness after he too suspects there’s more to the story, Maddy vows to use her own illegal blood magic to investigate, no matter what the cost.

The truth is all she has left, but is it worth her freedom—or her life?

Blood Spells is a thrilling standalone YA urban fantasy. If you like young adult books full of dramatic twists, you’ll love this dark supernatural adventure.

Buy Blood Spells now to join a lost girl’s hunt for the truth!

Kindle Unlimited



#BlogTour “Bake Believe” by Cori Cooper

Bake Believe copy

Welcome to the blog tour for Bake Believe by Cori Cooper! Read on for details and don’t forget to enter the “sweetest” giveaway at the bottom!

Bake Believe CoverBake Believe

Publication Date: November 20th, 2020

Genre: YA/ Middle School/ Urban Fantasy

Publisher: Immortal Works

Cat Anderson doesn’t want much out of life. Give her a circle of friends to giggle with, a few boys to flirt with, a cute outfit and bouncy hair and she is good to go!
She especially could care less about food.
But food, it turns out, is a very big deal.
A scheduling mishap on her first day of 8th Grade lands Cat in a Culinary Arts class. Something happens when Cat bakes, something amazing, something impossible.
Can it be true?
Or is it Bake Believe?

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“Hey, Pen.” I step into the room and shut the door softly behind me.

“Hey.” She doesn’t turn away from the mirror. Her face is all scrunched up in concentration.

“You look good, you don’t even wobble when you hold that pose anymore.”

Penny grunts instead of responding with words. I know this is not the best time to bother her, but I also know she will feel much better if she eats one of these cookies.

“I made something for you.”

I hold up the plate of cookies with a huge grin, but she just sniffs. “Cookies? I can’t eat those before an audition. I will barf all over the floor.”

My smile drops. What will I do if she won’t try one? I chew my bottom lip, “Um, these are special cookies.” I wiggle the plate around while I use my best mystical, magical voice, like Robyn did.

Penny raises her eyebrows. “Do you think I’m four?”

I slump forward in defeat, “Come on Penny, just eat one. I’ll give you a dollar.”

“What?” She steps back, away from me, “You want to pay me? Why? What did you do to them?”

“Nothing,” I say, but the word comes out too stretched and kind of uncertain.

Penny crosses her arms and stares.

“Okay, fine, here’s the thing.” I jump off the bed, leaving the cookies behind, and proceed to tell Penny the entire story about our family legacy. She doesn’t say anything, just taps her toes like I am keeping her from her warmup.

Which, I am, actually.

“This isn’t a joke, Pen. It’s for reals.”

After a long pause Penny unfolds her arms to move them to her hips. “Really? That’s the truth? It sounds like make believe.”

“That’s what I thought too,” I place my hand flat on my heart, “But, it’s the total, honest truth.”

Available on Amazon and Immortal Works!

About the Author

Cori (2)

Cori Cooper lives in the magical Arizona Mountains, which she’s pretty convinced is the setting for all the fairy tales.

Besides writing stories, she adores hanging out with her family, playing board games, hiking and baking, baking, baking. Like Cat’s family, she’s positive Cinnamon Rolls fix everything.

Cori’s Stories | Facebook | Twitter | Instagram

Giveaway (US ONLY): Signed Copy of the Bake Believe and a Matching Apron

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Bake Believe copy

Blog Tour Schedule

July 5th

Reads & Reels (Spotlight) http://rrbooktours.com

B is for Book Review (Spotlight) https://bforbookreview.wordpress.com

Nesie’s Place (Spotlight) https://nesiesplace.wordpress.com

Jessica Belmont (Review) https://jessicabelmont.wordpress.com/

July 6th

Breakeven Books (Spotlight) https://breakevenbooks.com

Kam’s Place (Review) https://www.superkambrook.com/

Liliyana Shadowlyn (Review) https://lshadowlynauthor.com/

July 7th

@gin_books_crochethooks (Review) https://www.instagram.com/gin_books_crochethooks/

Meli’s Book Reviews (Review) https://melisbokreviews.wordpress.com/

Phantom of the Library (Review) https://phantomofthelibrary.com/

July 8th

@bookloverleah (Review) https://www.instagram.com/bookloverleah/

@isbn_reading (Review) https://www.instagram.com/isbn_reading/

Stine Writing (Review) https://christinebialczak.com/

July 9th

Sophril Reads (Spotlight) http://sophrilreads.wordpress.com

Dash Fan Book Reviews (Review) https://dashfan81.blogspot.com/

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