It's Book Quote Wednesday! Today's word is "face." Hmm...is he challenging her authority? #bookstagram #bookquotes #sweetromance #singledad #schoolsetting #bookquotewednesday #strongwomen

The truth had given me nightmares. I dreamt of the floor falling away from me, slipping sideways, as the walls cracked and parted. The faces of my friends, as panicked as I was, all of us helpless to arrest our fall. Horrible sounds as entire rooms collapsed inwards. Screams. I grabbed at a banister, for all the good it did. I turned my head upwards, hoping that some miracle could save us, but there was no time for anyone to conjure up a Song. A strange moment of relief when I saw my room-mate on the cistern level, safe, abruptly shattered when a chunk of masonry slammed into him from above. When we had no more breath to scream, the sound of the wind in our ears made us deaf, anyway. We dropped into the mist, the fractured pieces of tower clearing a way before us. Further we plunged, sinking a well into the orange clouds. We fell for so long that the mist rolled back over the top of the clear area, taking away the sun.

For #BookQW here's a fragment of a nightmare from Eilert's perspective, as he remembers old fears.

Wiz Duos 1 is available from the fine people at Wizard's Tower Press: wizardstowerpress.com/books-2/nove...

#BookQuoteWednesday

“What species will you pick?” She wrapped the sword in some spare cloth, momentarily embarrassed that her companions might have caught her playing with it, and shoved it into her pack. “I’ve not thought much about it. You two have been dreaming about becoming adventurers since you were small. I haven’t. I guess I’ll see what feels right when the time comes.” “And what HAPPENS if you reach that point but don’t have the prerequisites for the species you decide on? That attitude will leave you stuck as a human forever. Sure, the social bonuses scale with overall Skill but unless you’re planning to go into politics or trade, what’s the point? You can’t talk an orc to death.”

For #BookQW the word is 'happen', and here's an excerpt from A Weapon Too Free, where Essendra is asked an important question about her plans for the future.

#BookQuoteWednesday

www.patreon.com/posts/weapon...

“Thank you for seeing me at such short notice, Maestra Baritone.” The clink of a decanter, handled carelessly in haste, was my only answer at first. “I have had an entire day of ‘Maestra this’ and ‘Maestra that’,” she grumbled. “I am tired and I only let you in because I was too surprised to see you to say ‘no’. Let me be Dieuwke to you today.” She slid sideways onto an ottoman and toasted my impertinence. No refreshment was offered to me. I think she wanted to see if I was bold enough to help myself. She had a few more wrinkles than I remembered, and maybe she moved a little more slowly, but scant else had changed. “But as you’re already here, Eilert, we might as well talk. Goodness knows you didn’t deign to grace your old teacher with your presence to let me know you were leaving. I assume your return must herald something grave.”

It's #BookQW and Eilert is meeting his former tutor.

#BookQuoteWednesday

wizardstowerpress.com/books-2/nove...

Finding the warehouse was easy. It was the only one nearby with light inside and with its doors left slightly ajar. Nothing so suspicious as to draw attention, but a sign to those in the know that they should keep their heads down as they passed. One person was standing outside the warehouse when Garnas and Eilert arrived. The man’s studied air of casualness would have convinced no-one, and it evaporated when he saw them. “I know you weren’t expecting to see us until tomorrow,” Eilert said, holding up his hands to show he was unarmed. “But we have a schedule. We can get this done now.” “No tricks?” Eilert kept his empty hands showing, as if to emphasise that they had come alone, long before the gendarmes could have possibly organised a raid. The guard’s eyes narrowed when he saw the long gun hanging from its strap at Garnas’s back.

It's #BookQW and it's time for a threatening rendezvous in a warehouse.

#BookQuoteWednesday

wizardstowerpress.com/books-2/nove...

We were left staring at something that was either a small bathyscaphe or an over-sized diving suit. Or, I came to realise, something with a little of the character of both. Adetokunbo was evidently proud of it, so I assumed it was his creation. Garnas and Shirin bore expressions of polite incomprehension. They didn’t want to be rude. I had a sudden, unpleasant suspicion. I hoped I was wrong. “I really hope you’re only planning to test it. You know no-one’s ever made it back. I mean no disrespect to your skills, but the others were also skilled.” His smile disappeared and was replaced by a grimace of pure determination. I wasn’t wrong. “This is a decision long in coming. I’ve been working towards this ever since I came to the tower. In fact, it’s the reason I came here. I would have followed through already, but I got a little side-tracked.”

It's #BookQW, so let's have the build up to an inadvisable excursion!

#BookQuoteWednesday

wizardstowerpress.com/books-2/nove...

#BOOKQUOTEWEDNESDAY - #BLUE Megan is enjoying the beauty of a Welsh river
THE MATCHMAKER'S MARE
Amazon UK www.amazon.co.uk/Matchmakers-...
Amazon US: www.amazon.com/Matchmakers-...

The sailors let out the sails and they caught a wind that came from nowhere and blew to nowhere. “So this place is like a shortcut? Taking us back to the sea in another part of the world?” Garnas said. Shirin chose her words carefully. It could be a lot to take in all at once. The crew hadn’t exactly treated him badly, but their perception of him was as dead weight and that would only intensify if he handled the interstice badly. “No, not another part of the world. Think of the land and the sea together as being one shore. This is the ocean between many of those shores. Every point of light you see around us is its own world, more or less.”

Today's #BookQW is a three-fer! Who knew there were so many WORLDs to go around?

#BookQuoteWednesday

A lull in the wind coincided with his foot knocking against a pile of debris. A small length of pipe rolled away from him, off the edge of the gantry, and sang a cacophony as it clattered between the supporting struts. The machine geist turned, zeroed in on him instantly, and flew directly for him. Garnas squeezed the trigger and felt the steam pressure build up in the chamber as the water met the heavy coal. The barrel spat angrily, but the rock shards fell harmlessly wide of the geist. It was rushing now, faster than a man could run, fast as nightmares, and taking on a more solid form. Garnas pulled another cartridge from his belt and slipped it into the gun, brought the weapon back up to his cheek, snatched at the trigger. He could hear every ping and whistle as the chamber came up to pressure.

For #BookQW, the word is 'run'. Here, we encounter one of the deadlier hazards of the Rust Graveyard.

#BookQuoteWednesday

“My friend, I think the weapon you have is measured differently to more modern pieces. Fifteen-sixteenths would, I suspect, be ever so slightly too wide.” “It would jam.” “Probably. As luck would have it I have the tools to custom-make shells to fit properly, even if I do not carry any in stock. It will take a day or two, though. How many were you thinking of?” “None immediately, thank you. I have enough for now, but I may need to restock in future. I will definitely swing by here if I’m in Grand Billon when the need arises.” “As you say, my friend.”

#BookQW More of Garnas shopping for equipment!

#BookQuoteWednesday

“Are these the largest calibre munitions you stock? I’m looking for―” Garnas rustled as he looked through his boarding papers “―fifteen-sixteenths bore shells suitable for use with compressed air propellant.” The shopkeeper came out from behind the counter. The plainness of his apron belied the colours of his feathers, although they looked to be just as sparse on his body as they were on his head. He was colourful by birth but beige by trade and choice. His pot belly made a bulge in the dark leather apron that resembled cannon shot. “An exotic size, sure enough. Archaic, even.” He scratched his neck. “It sounds like you might be sporting a museum piece. Are you sure you want to fire it at all?”

It's #BookQW and it's time for a burst of "colour". Shopping in a multiverse can be a more complicated proposition than you might think.

#BookQuoteWednesday

It's Book Quote Wednesday and the word of the day is MISS.

Elizabeth's conversation with the ghost Paolo is an excerpt from my 1940s ghost story, THE PASSENGER.

#ghoststory #supernaturalfiction #historicalfantasy #booksky #bookqw #bookquotewednesday #twrpbks

Shirin ran the whetstone along the edge of her axe. The scrape was so familiar she barely heard it. The sailors had given her some good-natured ribbing about it—“If you keep sharpening it there’ll be no blade left!”—until she’d told them it was a ritual. The rough men and women of the sea might have limited respect for non-sailors, but ritual was central to a lot of what they did. Seas were capricious. No-one wanted to tempt fate. In a way, it was a ritual, albeit one with a purpose. The axe was special, although nobody on the ship but her knew how special. It was hungry for metal. When it struck armour, it bit far deeper than its edge and weight alone could manage. The axe’s hunger was unceasing, drinking in motes of iron from any object around it. If it was kept in a metal crate, then after a month there would be precious little of the crate left, and the axe head would be a misshapen mass too heavy to wield. So Shirin attended to it three times a day: first the rasp, then the whetstone. Morning, noon, and evening. A ritual, indeed.

Who'd like to read about a magical weapon for #BookQW? The word is 'miss'.

#BookQuoteWednesday

It's Book Quote Wednesday and the word of the day is STRONG.

Excerpt from my 1940s ghost story, THE PASSENGER.

www.jlesin.com/thepassenger

She’s a 1940s ghost whisperer.

#supernaturalfiction #ghoststory #historicalfantasy #paranormalfantasy #books #booksky #bookquotewednesday #bqw #twrpbks

A small blast on his left side propelled him right, and a worry formed in his gut when he saw nothing large enough to hold, or hide, a body. “Which means that if Orion was here, after, I'm guessing, an explosion, ze would be floating in view. The fact that ze isn’t makes me think there used to be debris here, ze entered them, and they are still moving or were hit hard by something else to be flung farther out." - this quote is from Scavenged Ghosts by Coffee Quills

Book Quote Wednesday! (or Thursday for us future timezone peeps)! "Hard" is the word.

In Scavenged Ghosts, there're plenty of hard choices, though friendship is easy.

Free to read in KU & available as an ebook on Amazon. books2read.com/scavengedgho...

#bookqw #BookQuoteWednesday #BQW 🪐📚💙

The streets in this part of Grand Billon were quiet in the evening. Starpenny Line had planted its headquarters well away from the cafés and inns that kept their doors open throughout the night. There was only one man hurrying past, and there could be no mistaking his clothes. It was only a one-storey drop, but Garnas landed hard enough to splay the man on the cobbles like a bearskin. His swearing swiftly turned into tight groans as a cracked rib shifted. “I do not have time for nonsense,” Garnas whispered in his ear. “You will tell me where she is being held, by whom, how many of them there are, and how they are armed.”

For #BookQuoteWednesday, Garnas gets a different kind of drop on someone.

#BQWednesday

#BookQuoteWednesday Word is "hard" in my #paranormal #romance An Angel's Wylder Assignment-The man grunted out a laugh. “The wind whips HARD in these parts".- #timetravel #historical #western #mystery #fantasy #ahagrp #BookBoost #Shifter #Magic #Wyoming #PNR buff.ly/O3NdVRQ

The view from the top was amazing. The fat, brown snake of the river stood out against the rolling layers of green that ran all the way to the horizon. Garnas counted the other factories as they followed the river’s path further inland. Factory Two, Factory Three. Factory Four had collapsed entirely. The rain made it hard to make out, but the distant shadow that looked like a hill was actually Factory Seven, the largest one found, easily ten times the size of Factory One. Somewhere upriver there must be the last factory, Garnas thought, far further than anyone had dared to venture, and upstream of there it could only be assumed the water ran clear and pure.

It's #BookQW and the word is LAST. Let's talk about scenery!

#BookQuoteWednesday

#BookQuoteWednesday Word is "last" in my #paranormal #romance An Angel's Wylder Assignment-A Scottish Warrior Angel, Shapeshifters, and Demons in the Wylder west of 1878. #timetravel #historical #western #mystery #fantasy #ahagrp #BookBoost #Shifter #Magic #Wyoming #PNR buff.ly/O3NdVRQ

#BookQuoteWednesday already, time flies!
This week's Book QW word is #Pour.
Something (or is it someone) is telling Glyn to just 'ask her'. What do you think the question is? It might not be what you're thinking!
Amazon UK www.amazon.co.uk/Matchmakers-...
Amazon US www.amazon.com/Matchmakers-...

After a long moment, he spoke to the original bush. ‘I help you live, you forgive?’ he said. ‘Jabbity one-footed nailinboot neighbourbad,’ it said. ‘I think you’re thirsty,’ John persisted. ‘I’ll water you. Then we’ll be friends.’ Both the bushes cocked their crinkling bark at the thought. ‘Thirstying waterme tuckin water give,’ said the original. It was trying to make a mouth in its bark, but the lips of it were badly chapped. ‘Forgive and be friends,’ John said, ‘and I’ll try to do more for you. But I’ll get you water.’ Maybe the thing wouldn’t forgive him just for a wetting; after all, it had been wronged too, dug up, broken, transplanted, then woken up after a promise to leave it alone. But either way, he couldn’t let it parch. It was the wrong thing to do. ‘Rain give neighbour give rain,’ said the second bush, so John got a bucket – a wooden one, filled with rainwater, no iron on it anywhere – and, slipping carefully inside the cage, poured half the contents on the bush that didn’t dislike him. It quivered, its roots lapping at the ground. ‘Mememe,’ said the first, so John, hesitant, went and tipped the rest on it. The bush sucked and gasped at the earth. Then, apparently a little refreshed, it turned and gave John such a slap with its thorned branch that it knocked him right into the corner of the cage.

#booksky #BookQuoteWednesday word: POUR

Apprentice fairy-smith John is trying to reason with some uprooted bramble bushes. They have strong views about having been disturbed; unfortunately they're taking it out on the wrong people.

Excerpt from To Wed a Warrior by Brooklyn Ann, (releases November 14th) Kestrel watched him warily, wondering what in the fates he was going to do next. She’d recovered enough to ask, then was stunned back into silence at the sight of his bare chest. Just like his face, his whole torso and belly were covered in thin scars of various lengths and angles. Someone had cut him multiple times. And not all of the wounds had healed properly. The thicker, ridged ones were a sign that they’d become infected. However, the muscles beneath the scarred flesh were large and beautiful, like the statues of legendary warriors that adorned the castle gardens. And the skin itself was as gold-toned as his face and hairless as the Tolonquan tribesmen’s. Kestrel’s fingers clenched in a fist, resisting the urge to run her hand down his rippled abdomen. “Yes, I know. I’m hideous,” the Wolf grumbled, retrieving his dagger. “No, you’re—” Kestrel broke off as she watched him bring the dagger to his forearm and sliced his flesh. “What are you doing?” “Blood is expected from these occasions.” He then leaned over and pressed the bleeding wound to the snowy sheets. He then reached for her, and she instinctively scooted backward. “Please, don’t cut me.” “I won’t.” Instead, he grabbed the hem of her nightgown and lifted the skirt to her knees. “Open your legs a little.” Reminding herself that he now had the right to ask anything of her, Kestrel slowly parted her legs. She braced herself for his touch, then blinked once more in confusion. He reached up her open skirt, and moved his arm back and forth, avoiding actually touching her. Still the sense of his hand so close to her thighs and her most sensitive area electrified her nerve endings and flooded her lower body with heat. A tearing sound snapped her out of her trance. He’d ripped the delicate satin of her skirt.

#booksky #BookQuoteWednesday word: FLESH

Here's a snippet of the wedding night scene in my upcoming romantasy that pays homage to Sansa Stark and Sandor Clegane, To Wed a Warrior. Book releases November 14th! www.brooklynannauthor.com/book/to-wed-...

You’ve heard tell that crows hold funerals, of course. They gather around a dead kinsman – yes, kinscrow, I suppose. At any rate, Mabbie had never had patience with such tales. She said that the crows thought of their future, not their past, and what they did when they gathered was not mourn, but consider. They wish to know what killed the dead one, so they can avoid such a fate themselves. It’s not a funeral they hold, she said, but an inquest.    But Mabbie sat and wept in song, and above her there flew, of a sudden, a great black creature with the wings of a raven and the face of a man, all crumpled up and glowing red as a firethorn berry, with a nose of flesh that snapped open and shut like a beak.    Ab asked in the voice of a crow, which Mabbie understood quite well, what had done this wicked deed? And when they heard the question, the crows all took it up, crying, What? What? What?

#booksky #BookQuoteWednesday word: FLESH

The fairy-smiths of Gyrford tried to persuade a bothersome fairy to take more interest in birds than humans. Their elder, being a ruthless man, began by killing a crow, and made his sister-in-law Mabbie - who can speak to birds - act as its spokesman.

Garnas looked up when Shirin approached. He was as pale as ever. He hadn’t been able to keep a single morsel of food down and the bags under his eyes suggested he was just as deprived of sleep. He looked in a worse way than Eilert. “I think I’m managing somewhat better,” he declared, in defiance of the evidence of her eyes. “Maybe the sailors have something to help?” she asked. He shook his head. “They said not. Apparently I just need to acclimatise?” He tried to sound confident, but it came across as more of a question. She put a pitying hand on his shoulder, then pulled it back when he turned back to the sea and retched again.

It's #BookQuoteWednesday and the word is 'turn'. Garnas has not found his sea legs.

#BookQW #BQW

‘Oh dear,’ Matthew said. ‘Good day, Mister Brady. Mister Brady, I must tell you that if you have heard talk of me and your wife, there is nothing in it.’ Ephraim continued to stare. After a long moment, he said, ‘Yes. I thought I should speak to you of it. It is a hindrance to business, turning aside hints. Folks are a little slower to trade with a cuckold.’ The last word came out with a quiet venom, and Matthew floundered. There were some who thought that a woman couldn’t conceive without taking pleasure in her man, and while Matthew wasn’t one of them, privately suspecting it to be a tale devised by clever women whose husbands weren’t paying them the attentions they should, hints to that effect probably weren’t absent from the gossip – certainly not about a man who made no effort to be pleasant to anyone else. Matthew did not wish to speculate about Ephraim’s personal life, but it must be an added bitterness to the man to hear his wife’s name linked to a man who had demonstrably fathered four children. ‘I – I do beg your pardon,’ he said, feeling quite helpless. ‘I – I am a married man, Mister Brady.

#booksky #BookQuoteWednesday word: TURN.

Nobody crosses Ephraim Brady, and conscientious fairy-smith Matthew didn't mean to. He was starting to suspect Ephraim abused his wife, and tried to be kind to her. Unfortunately this started rumours, and Ephraim heard them.

John tried to feel it in the air, this white texture: with the mist still not quite burned off by the risen sun, it should have been cool and damp to the skin. But the air was crisp, a clean, wood-smoke cool, all quiet earth and bonfires and not a scent of rain anywhere. Matthew was clearly enjoying the weather: he took off his cap and shook his hair back, a habit of his on dry days that John rather envied, for being possessed of his mother’s curls, it didn’t shake out very much; he felt that straighter hair might act more like a cat’s whiskers and bring new tingles of texture to his waiting scalp. But the mist peeled back around their boots, creeping away from their iron hobnails, and there was something about today that was not quite itself, and John couldn’t stop paying attention. He would have liked to say something, but the trouble was that John was widely regarded as a little touched. His mother had had a run-in with the People around the time he was conceived, and while she was mostly all right (as long as you didn’t mind her sewing thread turning into bristling brambles), John had a way of becoming what his family called ‘starey’ ... If he mentioned it to Dada now, Dada would just ask a lot of questions, and Cousin Anthony would look politely uncomfortable, and in all the talking he wouldn’t be able to pay attention to the mist. So John held his tongue, determined not to talk about it until he had to. He liked to stare, but he didn’t at all like to be stared at.

#booksky #BookQuoteWednesday word: TINGLE

Young fairy-smith John is out with his father Matthew. No one was supposed to need cold iron today, but John is a little eerie-minded. He's starting to suspect the morning isn't as normal as everyone thought.

It's Book Quote Wednesday! Today's word is "shiver." A snippet from SUNSET LEDGE. Can Jack really be charming?! #bookquotewednesday #wrpbks #bookstagram #laterinliferomance #readingromance

Paperback cover of Rain by Stephen Gallagher

Wouldn’t usually do this but apparently today’s word for #BookQuoteWednesday is RAIN

Somewhere, there was the thought that none of this was right, that something dangerous was happening to him – but it wasn’t a thought in his head; it was floating above him, coming loose. Detached, now growing distant, was the feeling that everything was wrong, that he was being bound, encased like a web-caught fly. But he was so light, so cradled, so warm, so safe. Well, of course you are, darling, said Mama. There she was, just visible through the mist. What else should you be? Mama? John asked. The words didn’t come from his mouth. Johnny, love, said Mama. Her brown curls were unloosed; a few fine strands of grey tumbled through them, bleeding white into the mist. There you are. There’s my fine man. Mama, why isn’t it raining? John tried to ask. His clothes were wet; he shouldn’t have felt so cosy. Why should it be? said Mama. You must be tired, lambkin. Come, sit with me for a while. She smiled. Her teeth, pearl-pale, were melting a little at the ends, tipping themselves into sharp, wavering points.

#booksky #BookQuoteWednesday word: RAIN

Something in the mist has been stealing children. Being a fairy-smith, John has to investigate - but he's just a child himself, and the thing in the mist likes children.

Buy here: tinyurl.com/nvvetupj

Book cover of a misty gloomy flowery novel, with a quote: ‘You’re such a selfish man,’ I said, lightly, carelessly. ‘And such a liar.’ I could say it in a teasing way when I couldn’t have spoken it sincerely. It was possible to utter any sentiment, if I kept it at arm’s length.

#BookQuoteWednesday and the word is UTTER
Our narrator is repressing her feelings!
(And she's correct, he's a complete weasel.)

Enjoy more unspoken/unspeakable things in Unquiet,
a Gothic Victorian tale with folk horror day-trips.
titanbooks.com/71432-unquiet/
forbiddenplanet.com/368433-unqui...