The Page Unbound

A Skin of a Dragon
By Frances Jones
Genre: YA Fantasy
Release date: March 17th 2018

Summary

After a chance find in a smugglers’ cave, Tom Wild is kidnapped by a stranger and whisked away to London to face a secretive and ancient group of magicians. He is presented with an agonizing choice: join them and forsake his old life and family forever or face a grisly death. Tom quickly realises that all is not as it seems and that the group’s leader is engaged in a dangerous game of magic, power and war.

At stake is the future of England, her King, and the very existence of magic.

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Excerpt

Chapter 1

My mother believed I possessed the gift of foresight. I was born at the stroke of midnight under a full moon, a curious time bestowing special abilities upon newborns, or so the midwife assured my parents. Yet, despite my mother’s belief, I had no sense of the shift my life was poised to take one rainy day in mid-September 1648 as I peered into a rock pool in search of crabs.

I wrinkled my nose and dangled my line into the water. The grey sea sloshed around the rock on which I stood, met by the rainwater that trickled down in rivulets from the cliffs above. Summer wasn’t yet a distant memory, but the storm of the previous day had been a sharp reminder that autumn had arrived. Peggy, my wiry-haired mongrel, watched the gulls scavenging amongst the rocks but had yet to summon the energy to chase them. Beside me my sister, Lizzie, shivered and looked forlornly back to the beach.

‘To think the fields were ploughed but a fortnight ago,’ she muttered.

I felt a tug on my line and lifted an enormous crab out of the rock pool, but Lizzie was distracted. She glanced up at the sky as a finger of sunlight broke through the clouds overhead.

‘Zooks! Look at the sun, Tom! Mother will be starting supper.’ She grabbed her bucket of crabs and scrambled back across the rocks. ‘Don’t forget the tobacco for Father,’ she called over her shoulder as she crossed the beach towards the lights that were beginning to twinkle in the windows of the cottages that made up the tiny hamlet of Osmington Mills. 

I replied with a wave as I set my bucket on a ledge out of the wind and began the slippery climb to the smugglers’ cave. It was a precarious route in wet weather, with fissures into which one could quite easily slip and become stuck, but in an hour’s time the tide would be in, cutting the cave off from the beach entirely.

The rocks were slick beneath my feet, and the drizzling rain soaked right through to my skin as I clambered from one to the next. This exposure to every extreme of weather that the Dorset coast endured had weathered my complexion into a freckled ruddiness. My usual mop of sandy curls now lay plastered against my forehead, and my eyes squinted against the rainwater that dripped from my brow.

As I set my feet on sand once more, I stooped to pick up a small wooden box nestled between two rocks at the mouth of the cave. It was perfectly plain, cylindrical in shape, with an elaborate lock formed of tiny brass cogs, dials and pulleys, some of which were clearly missing or broken. I looked back to the beach. Only the smugglers ever came here. Perhaps it belonged to one of them- except that all the smugglers in Osmington Mills were far too careful to leave anything out in the open. There were crevices and tunnels that wound right into the heart of the cliffs where contraband was cleverly concealed from the prying eyes of the customs men. There was no need to leave anything in plain sight. Besides, the little drift of sand piled up against the box seemed to indicate it had been deposited there by the sea.

‘I bet it’s from that shipwreck yesterday,’ I muttered to Peggy as I tucked it under my arm and ducked into the cave. The entrance was just a few feet in height and submerged at high tide, but inside it widened and rose steadily above the tide’s reach, opening out into several passageways and crevices scooped out by the sea in ancient times. It was a perfect smugglers’ cave.

I selected one pack of tobacco from a pile of goods stuffed into a cleft in the wall and tucked it into my belt. With the crabbing line, I lashed the box to my back. I would need both hands to scale the rocks back to the beach.

Outside, the wind had picked up, and the drizzle was replaced with great spots of rain. Across the beach, a flicker of firelight glowed in the mouth of another smaller cave beyond a rocky outcrop.

”Tis a fool who ventures out with a storm about to break,’ I thought to myself.

Thunder rumbled overhead, and the foamy white tips of the waves collapsed against the rocks with an intensity that had become a familiar sight over the past week. The few fishing boats that had braved the rain were now gone, safely moored in the harbour. Everyone was braced for another mighty storm.

About the Author

Frances lives in Shropshire, England with her husband and two pet rabbits. She started writing to fill her evenings while her husband, a former Grenadier Guard in the British Army, was away. A Skin of a Dragon was inspired by the Tower of London ravens which her husband told her about after one of his guard duties at the Tower. Folklore and the history of magic are also a continual source of inspiration.

Aside from writing, Frances’ other passion is rabbits, and she spends far too much time watching videos of the furry critters online!

Author Links

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Death Island
by Kelsey Ketch
Genre: NA Historical Fantasy
Release Date: December 31st 2017

Summary from Goodreads:

Her family name tainted by her great-grandfather’s crimes of piracy, Meriden Cummings is far from the typical 18th century woman. A social outcast, she works in a carpentry shop in a small village, where the people barely tolerate unconventional behavior.

However, her life takes a turn after a gang of pirates attack her village and her blood reveals an ancient map adorned with Mayan glyphs leading to Death Island. An island legends say is ruled by the Mayan god of the underworld, Ah Puch. Her great-grandfather had sought after the island before he vanished without a trace. Now, Meriden is about to journey across the sea to understand her family history.

There are only a few problems: her growing feelings toward a mysterious stranger linked to her great-grandfather’s past; a greedy band of pirates after her great-grandfather’s legendary treasure; and a contract she has unwittingly signed in blood with Ah Puch himself.

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Excerpt:

I paced the deck with the few men that stayed behind on watch. It was growing late, and Captain Connell’s curfew was quickly approaching. Soon all the crew would return to the ship, stumbling drunk and fucked out of their minds, but calmer than they had been for a while. Some reason, my body twitched in excitement. I’d been anxious since Meriden left with the last group. There was a knot in my gut the moment she stepped off the dock, and the feeling hadn’t gone away since.

I causally walked to the starboard bulwark, catching sight of the harbormaster’s window. The candle still burned as it had been long before night fall. Odd, I thought. The knot in my stomach twisted even tighter. I haven’t seen the harbormaster work his books this late into the night. I leaned against the gunwale and squinted a little, trying to focus my vision. The candle was nearly spent, and underneath the dripping wax laid what possibly could be a hand, but it was too far to tell. As I eased back, my gut squirmed like a bunch of worm snakes. I needed to be sure all was well, for Meriden’s safety and the rest of the crew.

Neglecting to ask Swan’s permission, I slipped down the main deck, across the gangway, and headed straight for the harbormaster’s office. The street was as quiet as the grave when I reached the door. I raised my hand to knock, only for the door to push open on the first tap to the solid oak. I swallowed the lump that crammed its way into my throat. This wasn’t good. I drew my working knife and stepped inside.

“Hello,” I called. “Anyone still here?”

It felt stupid walking into the dark hallway without knowing if I might end up dead or accused of theft, but my gut told me to keep pushing forward. I turned right into the room with the burning candle still flickering inside. The office was clean and uncluttered except for the few stacks of paper on the desk. On top of which laid the harbormaster, as if he merely fallen asleep in his desk chair. My eyes refocused again at his outstretched arm. A trail of hot, liquid wax ran across the flesh of the harbormaster’s hand, which didn’t even stir the man awake. My heart pounded with adrenaline, and I pushed the man up by the shoulder.

A maroon-colored pool poured onto his books from what looked like a dagger wound to the harbormaster’s shoulder. A serious wound, but not one that should have killed. It was the discoloration of the man’s skin and the vomit around the mouth that gave me a better idea what had brought on the man’s demise. I’d seen the signs many times before from men who died in blackish waters as well as a few victims that died at Baker’s hand.

Snake venom.

About the Author

Kelsey Ketch is a young-adult/new-adult author, who works as a Wildlife Biologist in the state of North Carolina. During her free time, she can often be found working on her latest work in progress or organizing the New Adult Scavenger Hunt, a biannual blog hop. She also enjoys history, mythology, traveling, and reading.

For more information, please visit her site at kelseyketch.com.

Author Links:

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Sympath (The Sentinels of Eden #3)
By Carolyn Denman
Genre: Clean YA Fantasy
Release Date: March 2018

Summary

Annie has grown up knowing she is destined to meet her soul mate. He will always remain close to her. He will always know exactly where she is, and how she’s feeling. He’ll guard and protect her. At least, until she produces the next heir to her Cherubim line.

There has to be a way to avoid this supernatural stalker. And she is not a prize-winning ewe.

Determined to find her own identity before becoming bonded to her Guardian, Annie does everything she can to keep him at a distance – until her partner Cherub, Harry, dredges up the mystery of his parents’ deaths and triggers unwanted attention from an organized crime syndicate. Now all three of them need to do whatever it takes to save Harry’s farm, solve the mystery of the missing ruby necklace, and keep anyone from finding the hidden Paradise it came from.

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No History To Speak Of

A teaser to Sympath – Sentinels of Eden #3 by Carolyn Denman

The envelope fell to the floor, ignored in favour of its contents. George Durante let his eyes blur, feeling his heart thud against his ribs, but when he focussed his vision again, the numbers on the letter in front of him hadn’t changed. Must be a mistake. Too many digits. He opened the locked file behind the till, flicking through the files to ‘D’ and drew out the valuation certificate he’d arranged weeks ago. Fingers that had been trained to remain steady while setting the tiniest of jewels, trembled just a little as he laid the certificate next to the letter on the counter. His cousin’s signature embellished the certificate with inked promise, clearly stating that the gemstone was worth $28,400. Jimmy had never been wrong or unreliable with his valuations. George trusted him. That figure seemed right for a ruby of that size and clarity, and the client had been very tempted to part with it for that price, although she had denied it, and left his shop muttering that she would never sell her husband’s wedding gift. He was not one to push, and after eleven years of working in Nalong, he knew he didn’t need to. Mrs Doolan would be back once the bank sent another foreclosure notice for her farm.

She’d need a lot more than $28,400 to solve their financial problems though, which was why George had asked his cousin to send out a few extra enquiries. He’d hoped that some of his family contacts might have yielded a better offer for her. If he could find a buyer willing to pay a bit extra for the gem, she might just be able to tip the balance with the bank. Just enough to hold them off for another season. Just long enough for the rains to return.

The ruby was stunning. It had been a joy to work with when Geoff Doolan had brought it to him eight years earlier. George had polished the stone, bringing out its deep crimson shine the way blood returns to chilled fingers when you rub warmth back into them. And the setting Geoff had requested suited it perfectly. A heart-shaped 8.17 carat ruby, just under 12mm diameter, cradled by golden angel’s wings – the ideal wedding gift for a girl named Ruby. The piece was pretty enough to sell for well above its value if he found the right buyer, and according to the letter he’d just received, it had apparently attracted someone’s attention.

George picked up the typed, unsigned letter again and almost lowered his magnifying glasses from his forehead to examine it, as if he could pick out the flaw by staring at the ink more closely. His extended family in Melbourne had some…dubious contacts. Could he trust this? Celarsi Holdings. Never heard the name before, but he also knew better than to pry into it. If they wanted to offer that much for the necklace, then he should do his job and arrange the transaction. Just how much of a cut should he take? The valuation certificate was genuine, as far as he could tell. Jimmy wouldn’t risk his reputation by faking it, but it had taken longer than expected to receive it. Had the gem been sent for a second opinion? If so, he hadn’t been advised of the result – no, he couldn’t think too hard about those implications. Ruby Doolan wouldn’t know how much he was selling it on for. He genuinely wanted to help her, but this was business, and there was nothing legally wrong with buying her jewellery at whatever price she was willing to agree to. If some rich lady had fallen in love with the necklace after seeing the photos he’d sent, and wanted to play games with her husband’s money, that was not for him to judge.

His hand hovered over the receiver for a few seconds before he picked it up and dialled.

‘Hello, Ruby Doolan? This is George from Durante Diamonds. I’ve been thinking about your situation and I’d like to help. I’ve been studying the current market and I believe I’m in a position to be able to offer you a slightly better price than the certified valuation. Is there a convenient time we can meet to discuss it?’

About the Author

Carolyn lives on a hobby farm on the outskirts of Melbourne with her husband, two daughters, and her parents. The fact that she always has at least three of her pets following her around at any one time in no way means that she is the fairest in the land. They probably just like her taste in music.

As well as writing stories for Aurealis and Andromeda Spaceways magazines, Carolyn is also the author of the YA Australian fantasy series The Sentinels of Eden.

Author Links

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