Book promo
If you wish to send us books for next week’s promo, please email to bookpimping at outlook dot com. If you feel a need to re-promo the same book do so no more than once every six months (unless you’re me or my relative. Deal.) One book per author per week. Amazon links only. Oh, yeah, by clicking through and buying (anything, actually) through one of the links below, you will at no cost to you be giving a portion of your purchase to support ATH through our associates number. A COMMISSION IS EARNED FROM EACH PURCHASE.*Note that I haven’t read most of these books (my reading is eclectic and “craving led”,) and apply the usual cautions to buying. I reserve the right not to run any submission, if cover, blurb or anything else made me decide not to, at my sole discretion.– SAH
FROM CEDAR SANDERSON: The Groundskeeper: My Ghoul
Chloe Brandt got more than she bargained for when she took on the groundskeeper and caretaker position at the old cemetery of Belleview. Chloe is still learning just what her job duties at the big cemetery are, and how far they will take her. Just what mysteries are her responsibility? When the ghoul asks for help, she’s willing to try…
A novella
FROM MARY CATELLI: Treachery And Spells
Two novellas of magic and adventure. . . Caught between pirates who would force him to use wizardry in their aid, and a king who would force him to spy, Alik will need every scrap of wits and wizardry to forge his own path. A curse of ill luck leaves Perriel and Gareth trapped in an endless winter, with only the faintest hope of breaking free.
FROM LEIGH KIMMEL: The Other Side of Midnight
Life has been a nightmare for Mitya ever since he was arrested on trumped-up charges and exiled to Siberia. But this labor camp in the far north of Magadan Oblast hides a secret far more terrible than the merely human evils of the Great Terror. For the universe we know is not the only one, and there are places where it interpenetrates with universes where the laws of nature as we know them do not operate, where humanity has no place. Worlds inhabited by beings ancient and terrible, to whom humanity are slaves, playthings, food.
BY EDMOND HAMILTON, REVIVED BY D. JASON FLEMING: The Vampire Master: The classic weird pulp horror novel
A thrilling novel of corpses that would not stay dead, and a gruesome horror in the hills of New York.
- This iktaPOP Media edition includes a new introduction giving genre and historical context to the novel.
BY THEODORE ROSCOE, REVIVED BY D. JASON FLEMING: A Grave Must Be Deep! (Annotated): A Weird Pulp Mystery
Voodoo Magic was not the only sinister guard over that blood-drenched Haitian inheritance. There was Uncle Eli’s bizarre will, the half a dozen other potential heirs, who inconveniently kept dropping dead, and the local police, who are all to suspicious of a pretty American lady, and her supposed “artist” of a fiancé. Then the locals began an uprising, with rumors that they were lead by a zombie!
- This iktaPOP Media edition includes an introduction giving the novel genre and historical context.
EDITED BY NICK STEVERSON AND MARISA WOLF WITH STORIES BY STEVE DIAMOND, D.J. BUTLER AND KACEY EZELL: Thirteen Stories of Horror: Volume 1
Thirteen tales of Horror, perfect for a dark and stormy Friday the 13th…or a sunny Tuesday afternoon.
From science fiction to classic European horror, interwoven with layers of creep factor, gore, and mystery that will keep you turning the page…and looking over your shoulder.
So, light the candles, stir the cauldron, and check your ammo count, because things are about to get dark!
FROM THADDEUS BLACKHEART: Succubi Harem
Mark Sheppard knew he was different, but they kept him in the dark about how different he was until he was old enough. Then he learned what he was. He is an Incubus. Now it is time to fulfill his duties as an Incubus. Those duties include building a harem of Succubi.
Unfortunately, the mythological stories omitted one crucial part. Succubus are several times stronger than humans, and they go into a bonding hunt at the first scent of an Incubus. They have only one thing on their minds, and sex is the key part of the bonding.
After the bonding, they become “almost normal,” assuming that normal means a sex-crazed nymphomaniac.
Succubi outnumber Incubuses by ten to one, and they must be bonded to an Incubuses to survive past age 25.
He finds out that Incubi and Succubi are not the only paranormals out there and that Incubuses also attract other female paranormals.
This story is quite humorous, and while it is 18+ (it is not fade to black), it concentrates on the story and character development and does not stretch out the sex descriptions to an excessive number of pages.
You will find Elf attributes extremely amusing, ;)…
FROM BLAKE SMITH: In Pursuit of Justice: A Novel of The Garia Cycle
Garia and the East Morlans have been on increasingly rocky terms for years, and when Téo and Zara ran away together, they touched off the powder keg of war between their kingdoms. Now they have to fight for their lives while learning to live in a foreign land.
In the Morlans, Hanri and Alia are facing their own sets of problems. He must control and divert the single-minded vengeance of his father King Reynard, and she must sort the gold of information from the dross of gossip in a palace swarming with rumors. It could mean the difference between life and death for all of them.
FROM CELIA HAYES: My Dear Cousin: A Novel In Letters
When Peggy Becker married Englishman Tommy Morehouse in San Antonio in the spring of 1938, her cousin and best friend Venetia “Vennie” Stoneman was her bridesmaid. After the wedding, Peg and Tommy traveled across the Pacific to Malaya, where Tommy managed his family’s rubber plantation. There they expected to raise a family and live a comfortable and rewarding life among the British expatriates in the tropics, while Vennie returned to Galveston to continue training as a nurse.
The start of the Second World War changed those comfortable, settled lives: Tommy Morehouse became a prisoner of war, Peg barely escaped the fall of Singapore with her small son, and Vennie Stoneman was a nurse in the US Army Nurse Corps, tending to battlefield casualties in North Africa, Italy, and France. In Australia, Peg waits out the war, wondering if her husband will survive brutal captivity by the Japanese, and Vennie risks her own life as an air evacuation nurse. Throughout all, the two women write to each other, of their lives, loves, of Vennie’s patients and comrades, and Peg’s children and the woes of running a wartime household among rationing and shortages of shoes for her children.
Vignettes by Luke, Mary Catelli and ‘Nother Mike.
So what’s a vignette? You might know them as flash fiction, or even just sketches. We will provide a prompt each Sunday that you can use directly (including it in your work) or just as an inspiration. You, in turn, will write about 50 words (yes, we are going for short shorts! Not even a Drabble 100 words, just half that!). Then post it! For an additional challenge, you can aim to make it exactly 50 words, if you like.
We recommend that if you have an original vignette, you post that as a new reply. If you are commenting on someone’s vignette, then post that as a reply to the vignette. Comments — this is writing practice, so comments should be aimed at helping someone be a better writer, not at crushing them. And since these are likely to be drafts, don’t jump up and down too hard on typos and grammar.
If you have questions, feel free to ask.
Your writing prompt this week is: EXCELLENT.
According To Hoyt 
Professor Gladfink of the Theoretical Temporal Unadvised Research department stuck his head out of the office doorway and frowned at his secretary. “Gladus! Keep it down out here!”
“Sorry, sir,” she responded without looking up from her holonovel. “There’s a phone booth that just appeared in the hallway, and–”
“Excellent!” Professor Gladfink’s wrinkled face broke into a grin and he rubbed his hands together. “I always knew my genius would be appreciated in the future. I shall prepare my electronic triangle at once!”
Gladus waved one hand and pointed down the hallway. “They went into Professor Caanus’s office.
Gladfink’s face fell, and he moaned, “Bogus!”
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“I got a message from Amazon! I’m getting a royalty check!”
“That’s excellent! How much?”
“Well…there was a note.”
“Oh?”
“”Don’t give up your day job.'”
“Oh.”
(If anyone wondered how my beloved’s cookbook was doing.)
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I’d like to hear more about the cookbook. Is it specialty/ethnic/general?
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it’s a bread cookbook. “Le Boulangier,.” Lots of recipes for bread, muffins, scones, etc. No cakes or desserts, unless you think of double chocolate chip muffins as dessert.
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Double chocolate chip morphines?
Well, a lot of carbs and sleepiness happens….
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Youko, to her highly OCD credit, did praise me when I did well-by her anemic standards. I knew the technique from my days as a Marine boot-criticize everything so that when you get the slightest compliment would seem greater by comparison. “Your work was excellent today,” she said, with the slightest twitch of her lips upward. “Your makeup was perfectly applied, clothing choices were better than I thought for the list of tasks that I gave you for today, and you even managed to conceal your otemba damage to your hands and knuckles,” she nodded crisply. “Good job, Akari,” and then she did smile, full lips and able to see her teeth.
And after nearly three months of her constant critique, that damn well nearly made me cream my own panties in pleasure.
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“Skeletons?” said Ciara sharply.
Karlos paused. “I could see both the other doors so it had to be the last one.” The one they were planning on going through.
“So we may just go into her store room,” said Felix.
“Then we will fight her skeletons, and she will not have them to fight us again,” said Ciara.
“How excellent,” said Felix, his voice very flat.
“Such is the thrilling life of a paladin,” said Lucie. “I wasn’t warned when I took the sword, either.”
“Felix and Lucie, you lead,” said Ciara. “Karlos, rear guard. Autumn and I, the middle.”
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Status of escaping from prison: ex-cell-ent.
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After staring at the pile of household bills for at least ten minutes, June shook herself out of her near-catatonic state and left the house by the kitchen door. A few houses up the street, she walked up the driveway and nerved herself to knock. Lurie answered, her look of welcome immediately fading to worry.
“June, honey? You all right?”
“Lurie, I… I need help. We’re running short on money ever since Tom got laid off. I’ve been trying to cut back on the grocery bill, but I’m running out of ideas, and Tom’s getting tired of eating chili three times a week…” June tried to smile, but her trembling lip gave her away. “I know you’re an excellent cook, and Doug is always saying that you can stretch a dollar further than anybody he knows. Do you have any ideas?”
“Bless your heart. Yes, I do.” Lurie bit her lip. “June, I’m happy to help but I’m gonna level with you. I never thought Tom had the first idea of how to live on a budget, I get the idea he wasn’t raised that way. Let’s have some coffee and you can tell me what you’ve already tried. I’m going to take you to the markdown grocery store, put the word out for some hand-me-downs for your boys, and if Tom gives you a hard time about this send him over to see Doug.”
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Someone had to do it, I’ll take the carp.
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Ah, the full Monte!
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He took a thoughtful sip and savored it. It had cooled just enough for the heat to sting, but not scald. It was bitter, but not overly burned, and faded into earthy after-notes, before warming his chest down to his stomach as he swallowed. He closed his eyes and took another sip. Mike was definitely a master at the black art of brewing an excellent cup of coffee.
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“He does have excellent messengers, and any noble would find a company of soldiers reason enough to send a message.”
Rosaleen nodded.
“But we, of course, must make haste to the city without stopping.”
“It’s not far,” she said. “Even as a company of eight with nothing special about you.”
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The shot would be a tough one she thought to herself, just about maximum range, and the Goblin bastard was hiding behind a pillar. The problem for it was it was among a forest of pillars, all granite. Hmm. No it’d never work, but the more she thought about it, it just screamed at her. Bjorn would be proud of this shot, that is if it worked. She pulled back, her half elfin muscle strained at the compound bow. She aimed carefully and crossed her toes for luck. She let fly, one, two, three, and there it was, the satisfying screech of an arrow hitting home. Bjorn would be proud of her, not only did she solve her problem, she proved all those hours watching Bjorn play billiards had paid off. Three rails and in the pocket, Excellent.
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They hurried through the forest. Karl wondered if he should fly, but that would separate them.
Their time was excellent, swift enough that they had reached the sight of the tower before the air about it turned icy white, and snow fell on the grass about. Cold air blasted them.
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A lot of possibilities for this one but I figured this follow-up to an earlier one would be best!
The first target that presented itself was a decommissioned Chasseur. Those were a dime a dozen, especially after the beating Loire had taken in the battle that cost King Philippe his life. Sadalmelik’s claws sliced right through its remaining arm, which fell to the ground with a thud and the clattering sound of nuts, bolts, and scrap metal as they scattered everywhere. It took just a few more strokes of the claws to reduce the mech to a pile of scrap. Not bad, but the Chasseur was Loire’s standard unit. If Sadalmelik’s claws struggled against those then Professor Gireaux was the most successful con artist in the kingdom.
A ruined Rapace was next. It pained Alphonse to tear it apart, as they had always served him well when he was on the front lines. Designed for high speed assaults, no other mech could handle a pair of clawed gauntlets like they could. Perhaps sensing his Chosen’s hesitation, the Lapis Maelstrom said “Go for it, Alf! You won’t be missing those things when you see what I can do!”
Alphonse simply nodded, taking a ready stance with his claws. He would have preferred to be facing a pilot for this one but he knew this model well. He started by taking evasive maneuvers, remembering the many ways in which a Rapace could gain the upper hand on a slower adversary. Sadalmelik’s response times were phenomenal. He had never been able to pull off maneuvers like those even with the light customization he was able to put on his old machine. Satisfied, it was time to move in for the kill. The Lapis Maelstrom’s claws sheared through the Rapace’s light armor like tissue paper. Its remains were scattered throughout the training ground in an instant.
“What’d I tell ya?!” Sadalmelik whooped, laughing uproariously at the carnage. “You ready for a real test now, Alf?!”
“Of course.” the knight responded, setting his sights on the other two mechs present: a Seigneur, an advanced model favored by officers, and a Martel, Loire’s heavy assault model. He was sure that he and Sadalmelik were thinking of the same target and turned towards the Martel.
Contests between Rapaces and the other countries’ equivalents of the Martel such as Baldraz’s Reise and Arev’s Ajax were always tricky. The Rapace always had the speed advantage and could run circles around the slower, heavier mechs, yet their counterparts had the armor to withstand their assaults and frequently only needed to land one hit from their cannons or other heavy weapons to swat the fly bugging them before moving on to their next target. This Martel wasn’t active but Alphonse knew he needed to practice his hit and run tactics against it all the same and treat the Seigneur like a live opponent as well.
Dash in. Strike. Dash out. Rush to the side to avoid a cannon shot. Dash back in, then backwards once to avoid the supporting unit’s sword. Take out the supporting unit with a thrust to the cockpit from behind.
“One less pompous prick stinking up the place!” Sadalmelik remarked, cackling as his claws pierced the nearby Seigneur. “Alf, check out the marks on that hunk of junk!”
Alphonse glanced at the Martel as he withdrew his claw from the Seigneur and kicked it to the ground. Indeed, the gouges on the Martel’s armor plates were deeper than anything he’d ever caused with his old mech and claws. How much of this was the craftsmanship of the claws and how much was the Lapis Maelstrom’s considerable power he wasn’t sure, but it was time to end this.
Dash in. Change direction. Sever one of the mech’s forearms, then the other. Disappear in a flash of arcana. Zero in on a weak spot on the back of the mech and drive home a charged claw for the kill.. Victory.
Alphonse’s concentration was broken by the sound of applause. His and Sadalmelik’s performance had drawn an audience. Professor Gireaux looked as sour as ever but the two young men next to him looked pleased.
“Excellent work, Sir Alphonse!” the larger of the two men exclaimed. “I dare say you would have been able to get the upper hand on me fighting like that!”
“Nonsense, Your Highness.” Alphonse replied, an embarrassed smile on his face.
“I dunno, I think Alf could use a scrap with a guy like you to scrape the rust off, Prince Henri!” Sadalmelik chimed in, his eyes flashing with amusement.
“As much as we’d all like to see that, we need to conserve our resources.” the smaller of the two men said in an even voice.
“Wise words, Your Majesty,” Professor Gireaux concurred, giving the prince and the knight a reproachful glare before turning back to the smaller man. “Your Majesty, surely you are not taking King Friedrich’s proposal seriously.”
“I am, Professor Gireaux,” Kylian Patenaude, King of Loire, replied. “Mad Empress Lysandra isn’t merely a blight on the continent. The entire world would be better off without her. I am simply choosing to prioritize the greatest threat to Loire’s well-being, as well as that of the Divine Order.”
“I cannot argue with that.” the professor responded, though he certainly looked like he wanted to.
“The summit is in a week. Henri, Alphonse, make your preparations and be ready to depart at least two days prior.” Kylian ordered, looking at his brother and champion in turn.
“As you command, Your Majesty.” Alphonse said, bowing his head inside the cockpit.
“Of course, Kylian.” Henri replied, saluting the king.
“That includes making sure you look your best for Princess Renata, Henri.” Kylian added, nudging his brother in the ribs with his elbow and almost knocking him over in the process before walking out of the room.
“Sheesh, Henri!” Sadalmelik remarked with a laugh. “Kylian couldn’t have hit you that hard!”
“It wasn’t his elbow that moved me so, Seigneur Sadalmelik,” Henri sighed. “It was his words.”
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Cari, enjoying her morning coffee, perused the sports pages, a habit only recently acquired. The headline read: “Rovers Making Excellent Progress/But Will Max Sundberg Lead Them Out of Relegation?” Cari was delighted for Max, reflecting that not long ago, she didn’t know what the Rovers were, or what “relegation” meant.
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Spruance Del Curtin was playing “Pinball Wizard on Shepardsport Pirate Radio. Brenda started singing right along as she helped Juss Forsythe tear down a recalcitrant cryo-pump.
Jake from Machine Tools came by as the song was winding up. “You into pinball?”
Brenda looked up from her work. “Not really. Grandma and Grandpa had an old pinball machine in their finished basement, something called ‘Doctor Dude and His Excellent Ray.’ I’d take turns playing rounds with my cousins when we visited for the holidays, but I was never a serious player. I just remember listening to the song a lot when I was in junior high. The Kim and the Humdingers cover version had just come out, and I was just getting good with the trombone. When I heard the intro and outro, I could almost feel the slide positions as I heard it.”
“Interesting. I guess it makes sense. For me ‘Pinball Wizard’ was always the Elton John version, and I didn’t even realize it was a cover for years, when I picked up a Greatest Hits compilation CD from The Who.”
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He licked his lips, as if to telegraph what was coming. Again.
Like a warplane lining up for one more cat-on-mouse strafing run.
“Excellent. What is it?”
His accent had sounded mostly American at first, then more and more something like German, then — after what had to be hours of the same old crazy routine — more and more like no language I’d ever heard.
Those same four words. Over and over and over, like I unquestionably knew what this ‘excellent’ was. It hadn’t taken me more than two or three dozen repetitions before I ‘got it’ that it wasn’t any comment on the situation, but instead something more like a code word.
Too bad I had no clue at all. This was like some rotten ‘noir’ mystery or movie, tangled up with the worst kind of practical joke. Question Man and his three sidekicks, like mobsters but with colder, dead-fish-ier eyes.
They didn’t have me tied to a chair, or anything else. It was just a yard or so triangle on the floor. The rules were simple: anything on me or of me that went outside that ‘box’ got shot. Two holes in my toned-down zoot suit, and a dozen or so in the stool they’d let me start with but then had me kick out of the ‘box’ “unless you want us to shoot it with you on it, the usual rules apply” — they weren’t fooling, and it was clear the cops weren’t coming just because of a bunch of loud gunshots (that echoed like cannon fire in this tiny, windowless room with no carpet or draperies).
“We start again. Excellent, you know what it is, tell us what it is.”
“I don’t, I have no idea.” I did not spread my hands, wasn’t worth getting that close to the borders of their free-fire zone.
“Excellent. What is it?”
As if he’d just turned on a wire recorder or a Victrola, instead of speaking the same words anew. Four simple, barking-mad words.
Footsteps in the hall, again. The half-dozen or so outside guards, ones that looked even more like you’d crossed an Italian mobster (or maybe a Black Irish one) with a frog.
Only this time the shadowy figure seemed different, almost as if…
“Excellent. What is…”
And the sound was truly incredible. A Thompson gun on full automatic, not continuous but firing in deft bursts, brass flying all around, from that brown figure that started almost-eclipsed by the doorway, then rotated to hit each gun-goon in turn. Almost as if shooting each one while behind cover from all the ones left still un-shot.
And as loud the reports and as bright as the muzzle flashes were, I couldn’t help noticing that the… person shooting so competently and effectively was a woman, with dark long hair and dark-ish clothes. And a heck of a way with a Thompson.
Bang, bang, bang, bang. She swung the gun economically from one to another, hitting each with one shot, still on full-auto as she did, inside a second. ‘Making sure’ shots. All with a smile that lit up the room, brighter than the muzzle flashes I’d have to say.
Did I mention that the blood running out in puddles on the floor and down in splatters across the walls behind the gun-guys, was an almost iridescent, garishly saturated green, like the purest distilled essence of all the verdigris, ever?
“Hello. I’m Nell, and obviously the enemy of your enemy. Hopefully soon to be your friend.” She held out her hand, taking it from the forestock, like an invitation to me where I still stood carefully erect in the ‘box’ (of course, no way I was leaving that even in a gunfight). “I assure you most earnestly, they’re all far too dead to complain any at your going.”
I stretched out my hand. She pulled me across that red-painted line on the floor, hard enough to almost lose my balance twice, as my instinct refused moving, and as I then had to not-fall once I’d moved. “If you’re feeling a little, um, overloaded, that’s normal. Just focus on the details and you’ll come back to right-plumb soon.” We were both stepping careful, to avoid those, ah, ink-green puddles. And by this point were next to the doorway.
“Don’t worry about the other gun-thugs either, took care of them a little different. But now you have to choose, do you want to try to go back to your regular life, or let me take you away from all this?” She swept a short, symbolic traverse across the room with her still-smoking almost-Tommy gun.
Which as far as I could tell and remember, was also still about half-full.
“Okay, so what is ‘excellent’ besides a word I’ll likely take a while to hear without flinching?” Her long hair was caught in a sort of tail down the back of her neck. She had some kind of leather rucksack on her back. And a very strange, almost Amazing-Stories handgun in an ordinary-looking holster at her belt.
“Project Excellent is a faster than light drive for a space ship. Harry Brookhaven, not his real name, was working on it. And so you, my dear Mister Waltham, as one of his best friends here-and-now, came under some suspicion by the — um, Grogs as we call them — of doing the same; and so now here you are, here we two are together.”
“Nell, whatever your last name is, you can’t make a material object go as fast as light, or any faster. Albert Einstein, relativity, and all that.”
And she smiled like the sun rising. “Ordinary matter, no. Try seeing what his equations say if the rest-mass isn’t positive. Or real. But that’s not even the point, we’re talking about it disappearing here and appearing there, so nothing actually has to move, um, tachyonically.” And a less-bright but even more intense smile, like a pearlescent sun-dog. “And it’s Nell Pahlavi Baltimore, I grew up on New Baltimore where the extra surname is traditional.”
My eyes had strayed to Question Guy and his henchmen, again. Like the old Englishman said in his play, who’d have thought there was that much blood in ’em, even if it was far-too-bright green?
“And these are, what, Miss Baltimore? Lizard people, in disguise?”
“More like crocodiles, there’s a reason those tend to be the bad guys all the way back to old Egyptian scripture and practice. But at that, close enough I reckon. ‘Parallel evolution works in mysterious ways, its Divine mandate to manifest.'” I could almost hear the quote-marks in her voice.
“But be quick, now, would you like to see our wider Universe? As if you’d fallen into a Smith or a Hamilton story? Or would you like us to resettle you quietly in another city, here and now, Earthly America late 1930s?”
I couldn’t help asking, any more than I could’ve stepped out of their ‘box’ on my own after those couple hundred surrealistic minutes. “And I could be some-when else, then, too?”
And Nell smiled that dazzling magnesium-bright smile of hers. “I was born on asteroid city New Baltimore in 2935, that’s AD not AUC or anything else exotic; and it’s a very wide sort of multiverse, with lots of daz good guys and very scary bad guys. We’re hiring, only good guys need apply and clearly you’re one of us. Want to go help us cheat on Einstein’s exams?”
It was the ragged end(?) of the Depression, in an ever-more-authoritarian mutant America, in a world that boded soon to be convulsed in general war. I held out my hand to her, much as she’d done with me.
“Most handsome Nell Baltimore, do take me away from all this if you please.”
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If this is or will be part of a book, I want to read that book.
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Agreed!
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Family – they’ll get you coming, or they’ll get you going. First, it was the crash of my investments to my father’s sister (the spreadsheet wizard, but bad financial advisor), then it was losing my on-line insect supply business to my former wife. If it isn’t the Excel-aunt, it’s the Ex-sell-ants.
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Carp away! hauls back on lanyard of carpapult
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“You assaulted a Holy Man!” the reporter shouted.
She snorted. “I take exception to being called ‘the Whore of Satan’ so I slapped the asshole. With my left hand, which is an extra insult to an Arab.”
“What’s more, that ‘excellent beard’ is history. Beards are a big deal to Moslems, aren’t they? You might say they’re attached to ’em.” She smirked. “Well, that one is going to fall out, and never grow back. I seeded it with nanomachines that will remove the hair follicles permanently.”
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