“Soren went home.” The voice is male, low, and dark. If possible, he sounds even more ruthless than Soren, and my body reacts immediately. I haven’t even seen this guy. Just three small words, and my body is excited. It clearly has no sense of self-preservation. I had thought this reaction was exclusive to Soren, but no, it’s just men like Soren. With my body obviously against my survival, it’s a miracle I haven’t already ended up dead in a ditch somewhere.
Like Soren, this man has an overpowering ruthless energy that I can feel heavy on the air around me. It makes every nerve ending light up in response with the desire to be consumed and ripped apart by this new storm.
I can feel it in the air. He is darkness. I am light. He is guilty. I am innocent. He is war. I am love.
I’m sick. There probably isn’t even a diagnosis for what’s wrong with me.
I wish I could control my body’s reaction. There are just some things that set me off in this primal animal way. Intellectually I know this man may really hurt me. Or he may be gross. Or he may be any number of horrible things, but even so, I’m wet. He’s cast in too much shadow for me to see his face, which calls back my fantasy from this morning, something else I definitely don’t need to be thinking about right now. I’m not an idiot. I know I’m in real trouble here, and that this isn’t some fantasy that’s come to life. But I feel pulled into him as though the storm can provide me shelter.
KITTY THOMAS writes dark stories that play with power and have unconventional HEAs. She began publishing in early 2010 with her bestselling COMFORT FOOD and is considered one of the original authors of the dark romance subgenre.
To find out FIRST when a new book comes out, subscribe to Kitty’s New Release List: KITTYTHOMAS.COM
Title: The Indigo Author: Heather Siegel Genre: Young Adult Fantasy
Jett Hart, a 16-year-old girl from New Jersey, refuses to accept the diagnosis that her mother is brain-dead. Yes, Mom’s long-comatose body seems like an empty shell. But there was that split-second, weird time Jett swears she lifted out from her own body and travelled to an indigo-colored, starry space, where she felt Mom’s presence.
Now, as Jett’s caretaking Aunt threatens to pull Mom’s life support, Jett must find this mysterious indigo place again and return her mother to her body before it’s too late. The bad news is that only her schoolmate Farold — who may or may not give off a more-than-friends vibe — believes she can do this. The good news is that he’s an amateur quantum physicist in training and has some ideas about how to help Jett get back “up there.”
Even if Jett manages to find Mom in the “indigo,” can she bring her back to her body? While also staying connected to her own “empty shell” below? And, what if . . . someone is trying to stop her?
A teen thriller offering astral projection cosmology, life cords, parallel universes, and wormholes, THE INDIGO is a wild trip through one person’s consciousness “above,” her interconnected reality “below,” and the psychological and potentially fatal dangers of being disconnected from both.
Day 787. I sponge Mom’s stringy arms and pronate her elbows. Suction saliva from her white gums, careful not to disturb the psst-psst of the breathing tube. I attach cotton-ball-size muscle-stimulation pads, all forty of them, to her biceps and triceps, her deltoids and extensors, her flexors and hamstrings. As the pads pulse against muscle atrophy, I crayon Chapstick on her lips, rub cream down her pointed nose and waxen cheek skin, brush her dark hair splayed over the starched pillow. I leave the waste bags for the nurses but check the connections out of habit — the tubes to the catheter and colostomy bag, the one to her nutrients. Then I sit, holding her hand, pretending to talk to her for the sake of passersby, even though I know she’s not listening. Not even in the room.
Her body is an empty vessel. A coat on a hanger waiting for her arms to slip in. A mollusk on the beach, abandoned by its host. An empty carton of milk I’m here to make sure they don’t throw out.
Because when I find her — and bring her back — she will need her container.
They’ve told me it’s dangerous to think this way. Psychologically damaging, Aunt Margaret has claimed. A byproduct of grief, the therapists have said. Denial is a natural defense mechanism, Dr. Horn has counseled. “But we can’t ignore the reality of what the scans tell us.”
He means the X-rays of Mom’s gray folded matter. The regions of her brain that still incite spontaneous reflexes — causing her arm to jerk here, her leg to twitch there. “All seemingly normal manifestations of brainstem function,” he’s told me repeatedly. “But should not be confused with actual brainstem function. Without which she has little chance of waking up.”
I can’t fault him for thinking this way. The guy’s a neurologist — his business is brains.
But I know there has to be more to us than our bodies and brains.
Call it what you want — a consciousness, a soul, a spirit, a light being. It’s the thing countless comatose patients swear gave them the ability to live whole other lives while on respirators. The thing that philosophers and spiritualists spent their lives writing about. The thing that makes us who we are. And maybe even fuels the brainstem. And Mom’s brainstem went missing two years ago the moment she crashed her car.
Heather Siegel is the author of THE KING & THE QUIRKY, and OUT FROM THE UNDERWORLD. She teaches academic and creative writing, holds an MFA from The New School University, and lives with her family in Southern Florida.
Title: Serenade Author: Morgan Shamy Series: The Dark Nocturne #1 Genre: Young Adult Paranormal Mystery
St. Paul’s Academy of the Arts isn’t your usual boarding school…
When November Huntington is sent away to live with her long-lost family, she’s forced to attend a music school for the gifted—which wouldn’t be a problem if November were musical. She’s an athlete through and through, and hates being different.
The kids at the school don’t welcome her, they’re wary of her presence, especially Vincent, a brooding teenage boy involved with dark spirits, who can make time stop when he plays his piano. In fact, all her classmates are all obsessed with playing their instruments. And odd things happen when the do.
But something is off about the school. Deaths have occurred through the years, students showing up dead the same way November’s parents were killed—with their throats ripped out.
A killer is on the loose… November must figure out a way to stop whoever it is, balance her feelings for Vincent, and solve her parents’ past before she, too, is numbered among the dead.
The first in a Paranormal Fantasy Saga by debut author Morgan Shamy.
She started forward once more, silently cursing, when a soft melody drifted from the woods. The sound jarred her to a stop, and her heart suddenly spiked. She wasn’t alone. Someone was out here. The music drew closer, heightening. It was slow and haunting, tinkling, like a music box. It didn’t sound like music from a radio or phone. It moved through the trees, wrapping around the bushes, spreading out toward her. She could feel it all around her, soaking into her.
“Hello?” she asked, backing up a step. She squinted into the trees. “Hello?”
No one answered.
The music continued, and she wrapped her arms around herself, backing up further.
“Hello?”
Deep into the forest, a bright light appeared, small at first until it burst outward. The light seared her eyes, large and white, and she ripped her gaze away. A voice in the back of her mind screamed at her to run. The music continued to play on the air, soaring toward her. It was getting closer, becoming thicker, heavier.
This couldn’t be happening. She was having hallucinations. She needed to get out of here. She needed to find stability. Ground herself.
She pushed herself faster, her feet pounding on the forest floor. But the music slithered after her, brushing along her back, carrying with her as she ran.
“Stop!” she yelled. “Stop!” She continued to race, until she dropped to her knees. She covered her hands over her ears, squeezing her eyes shut. “Stop!”
In a blink, the music halted, and the light dissipated, but the music still echoed inside her head, hanging on the air. She stretched her eyes wide, her gaze darting side to side. She stayed frozen, her knees on the dusty ground. Her heart beat loud as the breeze picked up and tickled the hair off her face. Birds chirped, and the forest came alive again. She slowly lowered her hands.
Everything was normal. Everything was fine. She had been hallucinating.
She huffed out a frustrated breath and headed back down the trail, shaking out her arms. She was stupid to think someone had been after her, or to think she’d heard music or seen such a bright light, but the sweet melodic sound wouldn’t leave her alone. The melody lingered inside her head, weaving through her memory. Maybe someone had been there, and maybe she had been its target.
Morgan Shamy is an ex-ballerina turned YA writer. She has been immersed in the arts since the young age of 4, where she performed various roles alongside a professional ballet company for over seven years, and has danced on prestigious stages like soloing at Carnegie Hall in New York City. She has taught hundreds of girls in her fifteen years of teaching, where some of her students have received full-ride scholarships to schools like School of American Ballet, the Harid Conservatory, Kirov Academy of Ballet, and Pacific Northwest Ballet, to name a few.
Morgan discovered writing when her three-year-old son was diagnosed with cancer. It was through that experience which instilled the need to share art and magic with children through words on the page.
Morgan is also an accomplished concert pianist. She was the first girl in Utah to receive the 75 pt. Gold Cup in the Utah Federation of Music in piano solo/concerto competition. Morgan currently lives with her X-Games gold-medalist husband and four children in Salt Lake City, Utah.
