Title: She’s the One Who Won’t Behave Author: S.R. Cronin Series: The War Stories of the Seven Troublesome Sisters #6 Genre: Historical Fantasy
Gypsum, the sixth of seven sisters, has always been a rebel. Yet no one thought she would go so far as to join the reczavy, a group living in tents on the edge of the desert and known for their sexual promiscuity and playful ways.
But as the date of the Mongols’ return draws near, Ilarians of all types must work together if they are to have any hope of surviving. And the reczavy, for all of their odd ways, do have plenty of tricks up their sleeves. Well, up their sleeves whenever they are bothering to wear clothes, that is.
Gypsum is touched when her oldest sister Ryalgar comes to call, and brings an olive branch with her. Ryalgar recognizes that the reczavy have as much to lose as anyone, and as much to contribute. Will Gypsum accept a key role in the plan to stop the invasion? Of course she will.
Unfortunately, her playmates don’t all feel the same sense of urgency. Many would rather simply enjoy the time they have left. A few claim to be allergic to long term planning. And some are too busy with their own poorly-timed plans to overthrow the government Ilari already has.
Good thing needlepoint is the one traditional skill at which Gypsum has always excelled. She will need to thread a fine needle in order to coax this recalcitrant group into becoming life-saving warriors of a very different kind.
Sherrie Cronin is the author of a collection of six speculative fiction novels known as 46. Ascending and is now in the process of publishing a historical fantasy series called The War Stories of the Seven Troublesome Sisters. A quick look at the synopses of her books makes it obvious she is fascinated by people achieving the astonishing by developing abilities they barely knew they had. She’s made a lot of stops along the way to writing these novels. She’s lived in seven cities, visited forty-six countries, and worked as a waitress, technical writer, and geophysicist. Now she answers a hot-line. Along the way, she’s lost several cats but acquired a husband who still loves her and three kids who’ve grown up just fine, both despite how odd she is.
All her life she has wanted to either tell these kinds of stories or be Chief Science Officer on the Starship Enterprise. She now lives and writes in the mountains of Western North Carolina, where she admits to occasionally checking her phone for a message from Captain Picard, just in case.
For seventeen years, Ezra Newport and his parents were habitual immigrants, traveling from their Ottoman Empire home across 20th century Europe. As the Newports migrate to Belfast, Ireland, Ezra wants nothing more to settle into a consistent life and lay the foundation of his architectural dreams. But after a strange, mechanical bounty hunter murders his mother and prompts the disappearance of his father, Ezra discovers that his parents had actually been on the run. Now, their enemies are targeting him, and they won’t stop until he is dead.
In a moment of desperation, Ezra’s fate collides with the Third Order of the Magi, a secret society dedicated to using their supernatural powers to protect their communities. With increasing violence around the world, the Magi are fairly certain they know who’s behind the attacks on Ezra and his family since the same group could also be threatening their own existence.
Both Ezra and the Magi’s survival hinges on knowledge only Ezra’s father has and the key to saving them could be buried within history itself. In a race across continents and time, both Ezra and the Magi must secure an ancient Babylonian artifact before hell is unleashed on the world. And, against all odds, Ezra must decide where his allegiances truly lie, despite what is written in the stars.
Not very many things had the power to piss off Diego Montreal.
Disloyalty? Naturally.
Being held back? Of course.
Jonas’ embitterment toward his relationship with Stella? Without question.
Failure?
Failure had to be the worst offender. Nothing could make him feel more incompetent than defeat, especially if that defeat had anything to do with Time Manipulation.
Diego screwed up his face in concentration, squeezing the edges of the quartz wand into his palm. Usually illuminated with natural light, the chief constable’s office was now shrouded in shadows, too tenacious for the weak desk lamp bulb and the evening gloom. The Souvenirs—the ring and the electric torch—had been laid out before him, alongside Norman’s heavy scrutiny.
This time, it had to work.
“Forgive me for my lack of understanding, but I honestly don’t see why this situation is different than the rest,” the constable grumbled as he lit a cigar and propped his feet upon the desk. “This should have worked the first time. After all, you’ve managed to view crime scenes before.”
Diego lifted his burning gaze to his boss.
Despite his flagrant tone, the constable spoke the truth, as much as Diego hated to admit it. Previous attempts had gone without a hitch. But for some unknown reason, these crime scenes proved resistant to his abilities. What seemed like the simple work of a madman with a fondness for the word “quietus” had an impenetrable exterior. Every time Diego turned back Time to view these events, a thick darkness cloaked whatever evidence remained. He had never seen anything quite like it in any of his Time Excursions.
Either his abilities were somehow being drained or someone was erasing history. Both scenarios did not sound particularly thrilling.
“Yes, well, I wouldn’t expect you to understand the technicalities of it,” Diego muttered.
“No, I don’t,” huffed Norman, “but there’s something I do understand, and it is that now, we aren’t the only ones dealing with this madness.” The constable reached into his top drawer and dropped a newspaper on the workspace, further disrupting Diego’s focus.
His eyes skimmed the recent headline but backtracked when he realized it was in French. What Diego could not ascertain from the print, he translated from the front-page photograph.
Plumes of fire and coal dust disrupted what once was a mining operation. Lifts, splintered planks, and glass fragments littered the work site, while flocks of ravens dotted the chaotic skyline. While the photograph neglected to show any of the dead or injured, it did provide a glimpse of something far more impactful: the painful emotion in their comrades’ faces, streaked amongst the grime.
Whatever had just taken place not only rattled the northern French countryside. It had shaken survivors to their cores.
La catastrophe de Courriéres.
“They’re saying more than a thousand people are dead,” said the chief constable. “What they are not saying—in the papers, at least—is that authorities discovered the word quietus painted in red across one of the communal shacks. I suppose you can understand why this is a bit higher of a priority now that it has crossed international boundaries.”
Diego gritted his teeth and pushed the newspaper away from the Souvenirs. “So, the Irish Republican Brotherhood is out of the question, I assume?”
Norman narrowed his eyes. “Most likely.”
“Right. Well, there’s only one thing we can do,” Diego began, once again tracing the Star of David in the air with his quartz wand. “Pray my theory will hold strong enough for me to bring something back.”
“Best of luck, kid,” Chief Constable Norman said through a puff of smoke. “Do me proud.”
Diego saluted him and pressed the crystal tip to the face of his pocket watch. Focusing on the time and date written on the scraps of paper beside its corresponding Souvenir, Diego internally beckoned the power of the stars to navigate to the exact moment when the Dunmurry boy lost his life. The clock hands wound backward in a savage spiral. The present world faded away, like streaks of paint drowned in torrents of water. He was now a sailor amongst the Sea of Time, directing the helm toward imminent disaster.
Since the early age of 6, Kale Lawrence knew she either wanted to be an astronaut or an author. Obviously, the astronaut gig didn’t work out, so instead, Kale turned to fantastic fictional worlds. When Kale is not writing creatively, she works as a Marketing Manager at a pet product company, and pretends she’s an Olympic swimmer at the gym. She has also served as a board member for the South Dakota Writes organization.
In addition to books, Kale has lent her writing prowess to television, and her writing has been featured on nationwide PBS television programming, NBC newscasts, ABC newscasts, and the Travel Channel.
Kale currently lives in Sioux Falls, South Dakota with her feisty tortoiseshell calico cat, Emma Bug and sassy Siamese, Seattle Bean.
This anthology contains three impeccable steampunk stories. Ranging from the gritty tale of battling a creature who steals the souls of others, to dabbling in the taboo art of imbuing a human soul into an automaton, and even a man venturing back home only to discover he’s been demonized.
The Soulless Ones by C. Vonzale Lewis
The Rogue of Vangard by Nicholas J. Evans
Gossamer & Thorns by Elle Beaumont
For those who love adventure in new worlds, gritty stories, and heart-wrenching tales, this collection is sure to resonate with you!
On arrival at the Nilssons’ home, Kris could already smell the fragrance of almond cake. It was his favorite dessert, and they always made certain he had plenty of it when he stayed for supper.
Halfway to the door, Emilie emerged onto the front porch and held her hand out. “I’ve been waiting for you.” She wore a pale-blue sleeveless dress with ruffles on the shoulders. It clung to her slender frame, which seemed frailer than usual. Kris didn’t want to dwell on it, but it was difficult to distract himself from the truth as it glared at him.
He bowed his head as he gently took her hand in his, then placed a tender kiss to her knuckles. “And here I am.” Pulling back, he scanned the windows for spying parents, and when he saw nothing, he scooped Emilie into his arms. He squeezed her gently and peppered kisses along her temple. “I’m famished, but after supper we need to talk.”
Emilie closed her eyes as Kris continued to kiss every inch of her face, but when his lips connected to hers, she stiffened, then relaxed in his arms. Her soft lips tasted of almond cake and herbal tea.
“Supper is ready,” she murmured against his lips and leaned in for another lingering kiss.
Kris shifted his jaw and sighed. “Very well.” His broad shoulders slumped as he took one slow step after the other.
Emilie laughed, tugging on his hand. “Come on.” She squeezed her fingers against his. “I’ve saved kisses for after dessert.” Glancing up at him through her lashes, she offered a teasing smile.
It was enough to twist his gut with desire. Kris longed to take her into his arms and claim every part of her as his own. To have her take his name, his body, as much as she took his heart.
“Damn good manners to the depths,” he proclaimed as he followed her into the house for supper.
* * *
By the time they’d finished eating, the sun had dipped below the mountains and the moon ascended to its throne amidst the velvet night sky. Stars twinkled like diamonds in light, mesmerizing Kris. Beside him on a blanket, Emilie leaned against him, staring up at the sky.
He dragged his knuckles down her cheek, then spread his fingers through her pale blond hair. The strands were like threads of moonlight against his skin—like gossamer. Just as his orchids were delicate, so was Emilie. And yet she was resilient despite what life threw at her.
“I spoke with my uncle.” Kris broke the silence. “He agreed to help find treatment. Sorensen Pharmaceuticals has a trial drug . . . ”
Emilie withdrew, twisting to face him. Instead of the elation he figured she might display, her brows furrowed in confusion. Almost as if she were displeased. “Kristoph, I don’t know.”
