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Three Reasons You Should Read This Middle Grade Adventure:
Wade and the Scorpion’s Claw by Tony Abbott is a quick and very action-packed adventure/mystery that keeps the pages turning all the way through this shorter story.
The story isn’t necessary to the overall Copernicus Legacy series, but it was a nice little way to fill in some time that was skipped over in the main series.
I found the lore behind the scorpion’s claw to be very interesting – and the puzzles was quite intricate.
The quest for the relics continues. Travel deeper into the mysterious world of the Copernicus Legacy with the Copernicus Archives: exciting, fast-paced novellas that get you close to the characters and the heart of the adventure.
Wade and the Scorpion’s Claw picks up right where The Copernicus Legacy: The Forbidden Stone left off, with the Kaplan family seeking the next Copernicus relic. Now Wade, the curious, analytical, yet starry-eyed member of the group, leads the chase for another relic through the busy streets of San Francisco while on the run from one of Galina Krause’s most treacherous henchmen.
Perfect for fans of Rick Riordan and Ridley Pearson, Wade and the Scorpion’s Claw continues the thrilling Copernicus Legacy quest and brings one of the characters into the spotlight.
While I really enjoyed the concept and overall story of Wade and the Scorpion’s Claw, it seemed a little out of place. Almost like an afterthought. I’ve read the second book in the Copernicus Legacy and didn’t realize there even was a part of the story that came in between at first.
It starts with some mishaps and shenanigans by the bad guys at the airport as the Kaplan crew returns to the US. There are quite a few suspicious characters, and I was quite surprised that they trusted any of them. Especially after telling each other that no one outside their group could be trusted so many times.
But it did lead to quite the chase. Through museums, Chinese restaurants, and over to the docks. It was a merry chase that kept the story moving at a fast pace. There weren’t any drawn-out or boring bits. But it also lacked a bit in substance. There wasn’t any character growth or development. They just went on a chase and came out the other side pretty much the same.
What happens when a hellraiser turned hot cop is stuck with a headstrong heiress he’s determined to protect…and resist?
A run-away bride, wearing a freakin’ tiara, and carrying a stolen lion cub, of all things. This was not how rowdy, bad-boy-turned-small-town-cop, Zander Landry expected his day to go.
He really didn’t expect his night to end with her sleeping in his bed after her near-kidnapping.
But his intense attraction to her and the feelings of protectiveness she stirs up? Oh, yeah, he knew those were coming.
She’s stunning, whip-smart, and trouble with a capital T.
Which means, he needs her to head right back the way she came. ASAP.
His town is exactly the way he wants it . . . crazy and trouble free.
Well, the crazy trouble he’s not related to anyway.
Stranded in a tiny town in her half-million-dollar wedding gown with no money and no place to go . . . today is going pretty much exactly the way Caroline Holland expected it to.
But the grumpy, tattooed, oh-my-god hot cop being the answer to all her problems isn’t at all what she expected.
Now that she’s turned all the criminal (and obnoxious) info about her exotic-animal-dealing ex-fiance over to Zander, she can kick back in a hammock with some sweet tea and relax.
Or not.
Turns out Caroline’s not the spoiled heiress Zander thinks she is. The gorgeous hellion wants in on the action and soon discovers just how dirty things can get in the bayou. And the bedroom.
More and more, Zander just wants her safe on the sidelines. But Caroline isn’t going anywhere until justice is done. It’s a clash of wills that’s gonna get hotter than a crawfish boil in July. And the most fun the Landry family has had watching sparks fly since . . . well, the last book.
Zander turned to look at the woman with a brow up. “Anything else you’d like to tell me?”
She met his eyes directly. She studied him, seemingly thinking over his question. Finally, she nodded. “Yeah, I think so.”
“Okay. What’s going on?”
“It might take a bit. Want to buy me a drink?” She glanced back toward Ellie’s.
Did he want to take the gorgeous woman in a wedding dress with another man’s ring on her finger who had almost been kidnapped right in front of him back inside his grandmother’s bar where most of his family and a lot of the town was gathered?
He most certainly did not.
“No,” he said simply.
Caroline looked surprised. “Can we”—She looked around—“at least go somewhere else?”
That seemed like a good idea. She was very conspicuous here and his family could, at any moment, come out. And start asking questions. Not to mention that the would-be kidnapper now knew where she was.
“Is there a chance your fiancé is going to come back?” Of course there was. A man didn’t just let this woman go.
She bit her bottom lip and looked up the road. Then she nodded. “Yeah, there’s a chance. Or that he’ll tell someone else where I am.” She looked at Zander again. “But that was my brother. Not my fiancé.”
Oh, that was interesting.
No, it fucking isn’t. Knock it off.
“So, will your fiancé be coming after you?”
“Ex-fiancé.”
Right. She’d mentioned that.
“Okay. Will he come after you?”
She didn’t answer right away. Which Zander also found interesting. Though he shouldn’t. He did not want to be interested in this woman. At all. He didn’t want anyone getting kidnapped while they were in Autre, though, either. Okay, he didn’t really want anyone getting kidnapped, period. But especially while they were in Autre.
“There’s a chance,” Caroline finally admitted. “Or my dad might come. Or my ex-fiancé’s dad might come.”
“And you don’t want to go back with any of them? Is that right?”
“Yes.”
Well, fuck. He had to at least be sure she didn’t get taken anywhere by anyone against her will.
She studied him for a long moment. “So, you’re willing to help me, Officer Landry?”
Her question—and her voice and her eyes and her everything, if he was being honest with himself which he decided to not be—sent a shot of something through Zander’s chest.
It was the familiar streak of adrenaline he often felt with his work. It primed his gut to act on instinct when necessary, it made him ready to take on people intent on doing bad things and face potential danger, and it focused his mind. But he also recognized the sliver of trepidation. It wasn’t fear or reluctance. It was…awareness. Like knowing he was about to open a big old can of worms.
But he nodded. “Helping people with problems is kind of my job.”
“Then I would love to tell you what’s going on.”
He wanted that. And it wasn’t the cop in him thinking that.
Fuck. Dammit. Hell. Sonofabitch.
“Okay. Let’s go…someplace your brother doesn’t know about.”
“Like your place?”
Yes. He wanted her at his place. That was the safest. He could definitely keep her safe there. His property was at the end of a dead-end road so the only traffic was trucks he knew. His neighbors were his brothers and cousins. His backyard butted up to the bayou.
But fuck no. He wasn’t taking this woman anywhere near his house. Where his bedroom was.
She was dangerous. He couldn’t sort through all the reasons why at the moment, not while looking into her eyes and wondering how soft her skin was and how silky her hair was, but he had enough self-preservation instinct to keep her away from his house.
“I’m thinking the B & B.”
He grabbed her suitcase and started for his truck.
“But he might think to look there,” she protested. She gathered up her enormous skirts and followed him though.
“I’ll tell Heather not to tell anyone anything about you,” Zander told her, storing her bag behind the front seat and then turning to face her.
Dammit.
Again with the eyes. And hair. And lips. Okay, he hadn’t included the lips in the earlier inventory, but they were great too.
So he liked female lips. Big deal. These were not that exceptional. What the hell was wrong with him?
She’s probably your damned soulmate or some shit and the second you touch her hand you’re going to feel sparks.
I’m not going to feel sparks. That’s a stupid cliché. But I have to get some war biographies. Or maybe something about Ruth Bader Ginsburg. Something about women who are amazing but not sexy. It doesn’t have to be about sexy all the time. Get away from those romance novels.
The thing was, smart, bold women like RBG were sexy in their own way and if Zander had been Ruth’s age and run into her at a bar when she was single, he absolutely would have hit on her.
“Are you okay?” Caroline asked, stepping forward with a slight frown.
He jerked out of his stupid thoughts. “Yeah. I’m fine. You’re the one with the problem.”
Well, that had sounded rude as fuck.
Her eyes widened, but then she nodded. “Yeah. I am. We should definitely work on my problem. It’s going to keep getting bigger if we don’t.” Zander sighed. He didn’t even know what that meant but…of course it was.
New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Erin Nicholas has been writing romances almost as long as she’s been reading them. To date, she’s written over thirty sexy, contemporary novels that have been described as “toe-curling,” “enchanting,” “steamy,” and “fun.” She adores reluctant heroes, imperfect heroines, and happily ever afters.
Erin lives in the Midwest, where she enjoys spending time with her husband (who only wants to read the sex scenes in her books), her kids (who will never read the sex scenes in her books), and her family and friends (who claim to be “shocked” by the sex scenes in her books).
Title: The Fashion Orphans Author: Randy Susan Meyers and M.J. Rose Genre: Contemporary Fiction
Two estranged sisters find that forgiveness never goes out of style when they inherit their mother’s vintage jackets, purses… and pearls of wisdom
Estranged half-sisters Gabrielle Winslow and Lulu Quattro have only two things in common: mounds of debt and coils of unresolved enmity toward Bette Bradford, their controlling and imperious recently deceased mother.
Gabrielle, the firstborn, was raised in relative luxury on Manhattan’s rarefied Upper East Side. Now, at fifty-five, her life as a Broadway costume designer married to a heralded Broadway producer has exploded in divorce.
Lulu, who spent half her childhood under the tutelage of her working-class Brooklyn grandparents, is a grieving widow at forty-eight. With her two sons grown, her life feels reduced to her work at the Ditmas Park bakery owned by her late husband’s family.
The two sisters arrive for the reading of their mother’s will, expecting to divide a sizable inheritance, pay off their debts, and then again turn their backs on each other.
But to their shock, what they have been left is their mother’s secret walk-in closet jammed with high-end current and vintage designer clothes and accessories— most from Chanel. Contemplating the scale of their mother’s self-indulgence, the sisters can’t help but wonder if Lauren Weisberger had it wrong: because it seems, in fact, that the devil wore Chanel. But as they being to explore their mother’s collection, meet and fall in love with her group of warm, wonderful friends, and magically find inspiring messages tucked away in her treasures — it seems as though their mother is advising Lulu and Gabrielle from the beyond — helping them rediscover themselves and restore their relationship with each other.
Bette returned from the beyond each time Gabrielle studied her reflection. There was no escaping genetics.
Curse or blessing?
As she dressed for the lawyer’s reading of her mother’s will, it seemed as though the woman in the mirror was Bette-from-twenty-five-years-ago. Gabrielle shared most of her mother’s features, starting with their dark green eyes—when Lulu was four, she’d called them spinach eyes.
Dabbing on foundation, thinking about Lulu, Gabrielle sighed. She dreaded today. She and her sister had survived their mother’s funeral only because Bette had left such detailed instructions—including her burial outfit—with her lawyer. Lulu and Gabrielle had only needed to show up at Frank Campbell’s, the brick and white-trimmed building two blocks away from where Bette had lived. Their mother considered it the Bergdorf Goodman of funeral homes; neither Gabrielle nor Lulu were surprised that Bette had arranged to say her last goodbye there.
The sisters had both sat in the first row but safely separated by Lulu’s sons and their partners. They’d kept in that same formation at the gravesite. Also dictated by Bette’s instructions, there had been no sitting shiva.
Gabrielle blended a smear of concealer under her eyes and into the corners, which Bette always insisted was critical after age fifty. Done, she uncapped the blackest liner Chanel made and, leaning forward, applied the soft pencil.
Use thin lines to build to the desired thickness, Bette had instructed. Seal with a slick of black eyeshadow. Finish with a light sweep of translucent powder.
Following Bette’s cosmetic rules, Gabrielle then applied lipstick, followed by blotting and a dusting with translucent powder.
As she dabbed perfume, not her mother’s Chanel No. 5, but Chanel’s Coramandel, which Bette had gifted her, Gabrielle ached. She missed her mother. She was realistic about Bette’s faults.
Demanding too much of her and often judging her harshly? Yes.
Screwing up plenty when she and Lulu were little? Yes.
But Bette never failed to answer the phone when Gabrielle called and was ever ready to meet for a quick lunch or leisurely dinner—often to offer advice whether asked for or not. Yes, she argued with Gabrielle and often found fault with her, but your mother lives in your blood. Who you are is who she was. And now, part of Gabrielle was gone. Forever. And today would be an even more brutal reminder of that.
She packed away her maudlin thoughts. Too emotional from the time she was a child, Bette always said, teaching Gabrielle to put a lid on her emotions. Careful to avoid her makeup, Gabrielle slipped a dark tweed dress over her head, zipped it up, and then examined herself. The ruching that ran up the left hip line was a detail that added interest and cut the dress’s severity. She’d chosen today’s outfit from her carefully preserved pre-divorce wardrobe of edgy high-end fashion and jewelry that she could no longer afford. Today’s dress came from her Isabel Marant phase. Gabrielle was a theatrical costume designer—or she had been until Cole cut her career off at the knees. She’d never lost the habit of seeing every day as a series of scenes and dressing for the part she’d be playing.
Today she played the grieving daughter. The reading of her mother’s will called for moving down one notch from funeral wear. Tweed replaced black, and small diamond studs took the place of pearls. She slipped on high-heeled suede boots rather than stacked pumps. The weather looked threatening, so she’d allow herself the luxury of taking a cab both ways.
Well, at least she and Lulu wouldn’t be fighting over their mother’s estate. Bette had made a point to tell both her daughters that they would inherit equally. When Gabrielle’s father died, his will had caused a family crisis. And Bette had said she’d never do that to her daughters. Gabrielle couldn’t quite remember what that problem had been, but she thought it rested on family heirlooms. She’d only been five years old when her father died—three days past her birthday.
A sense of doom hung over all her birthday celebrations after that. And then, to make it worse, seven years later, four days before Gabrielle’s birthday, Lulu came along. Sharing her special day felt unfair when Gabrielle was younger and annoying as she got older. Sibling rivalry complicated every birthday, though, oddly, Bette had managed to provide bright spots without fail. Her mother, whose self-absorption could sometimes rival Miranda Priestly’s in The Devil Wears Prada, always rose to the occasion.
Perhaps over-the-top celebrations were Bette’s way of avoiding the tragedy marking the day her beloved husband had passed. Each October twenty-third, smack in the middle of her and Lulu’s birthdays, Bette would pull off something magical. One year, she’d orchestrated a birthday dinner at Windows on the World restaurant, ensuring that a cake with candles came out at sunset. The memory made 9-11 feel uniquely sadly personal for the sisters.
For Gabrielle’s sixteenth birthday—Lulu’s ninth—Bette had hosted their friends with front row seats for a matinee of Cats on Broadway and then organized an after-party attended by some of the cast. In costume. Arranged through someone Bette had been dating at the moment, of course. So many of her beaus had connections.
Bette was a special-occasion kind of mother—far better at big-bang moments than daily routine child management.Gabrielle slipped on her wide Elsa Peretti silver cuff. The bracelet always made her feel fierce, and she anticipated she might need the extra support today. Not just because she’d be seeing Lulu, but because, knowing Bette, there would be some kind of fireworks.
The drama of Randy Susan Meyers’ novels is informed by her years spent bartending, her ten years working with violent offenders, and too many years enamored with bad boys. Two of her three novels (The Murderer’s Daughters and Accidents of Marriage) were finalists for the Mass Book Awards (2010 & 2015) and included as a “Must Read Book” by the Massachusetts Council of the Book. Her next novel, The Widow of Wall Street releases April 11, 2017.
Raised in Brooklyn New York, Randy now in Boston with her husband and is the mother of two grown daughters. She teaches writing seminars at Boston’s Grub Street Writers’ Center.
Randy Susan Meyers’ worked with violent offenders and families in crisis for over two decades.. Two of her novels (The Murderer’s Daughters and Accidents of Marriage) were finalists for the Massachusetts Book Awards.
She teaches at Boston’s Grub Street Writers’ Center.
M.J. Rose grew up in New York City mostly in the labyrinthine galleries of the Metropolitan Museum, the dark tunnels and lush gardens of Central Park and reading her mother’s favorite books before she was allowed. She believes mystery and magic are all around us but we are too often too busy to notice… Books that exaggerate mystery and magic draw attention to it and remind us to look for it and revel in it.
Rose is a the Co-President and founding member of International Thriller Writers and the founder of the first marketing company for authors: AuthorBuzz. She runs the blog, Museum of Mysteries.
In 1998, her first novel Lip Service was the first e-book and the first self-published novel chosen by the LiteraryGuild/Doubleday Book Club as well as the first e-book to go on to be published by a mainstream New York publishing house.
Rose has been profiled in Time magazine, Forbes, The New York Times, Business 2.0, Working Woman, Newsweek, and New York Magazine.
She has appeared on The Today Show, Fox News, The Jim Lehrer NewsHour, and features on her have appeared in dozens of magazines and newspapers in the U.S. and abroad, including USAToday, Stern, L’Official, Poets and Writers, and Publishers Weekly.
Rose graduated from Syracuse University and spent the ’80s in advertising. She was the Creative Director of Rosenfeld Sirowitz and Lawson and she has a commercial in the Museum of Modern Art in NYC.
