This year was a little less trying than 2021 but my reading mojo was still lacking and I only read 111 books. So once again my Best of lists may be shorter but everything I read/listened to were so brilliant it was still a hard choice. So over the next two weeks I'll be featuring my Best Reads as well as Best ofs for my special day posts which are a combination of best reads and most viewed, I hope my Best of list helps you to find a new read, be it new-new or new-to-you or maybe it will help you to rediscover a forgotten favorite. Happy Reading and my heartfelt wish for everyone is that 2023 will be a year of recovery, growth, and in the world of reading a year of discovering a new favorite.
👀I try to keep the purchasing links as current as possible bu they've been known to change for dozens of reasons, in case any of those links no longer work be sure to check out the author's social media links for updated buying info.👀
Monster till Midnight by EJ Russell
Summary:What if you staged the best haunted house in the history of the holiday, but nobody came?
Brady is prepared with mounds of treats, stellar special effects, and an extraordinary welcome for the throngs of trick-or-treaters he expects in his first year at his new place—a gloriously gothic house with the reputation for really being haunted! But the trick’s on Brady: Halloween is almost over and not one person has knocked on his door.
Once a top Interdimensional Law Enforcement agent, Rej was busted down to Creature Control after a run-in with his arch-nemesis. When he tracks a non-sentient construct across the dimensional barrier, he’s sure he’s about to confront Gorvenath again. But the person who bursts onto the porch in a swirl of tuxedo coattails is a monster of a very different sort—but is he Gorvenath’s accomplice or his victim?
Monster Till Midnight is an 11,000-word gay romance featuring a hopeful samhainophile, a suspicious LEO, gratuitous candy corn, and a relationship that threatens to be really, really, really long distance.
Original Review October 2022:
Monster till Midnight is a brilliant short story!
Some perfect Halloween stories are long, in-depth, highly detailed tales of terror and mayhem and then there are those that offer up the same level of thrills in a condensed package. Truth is, some of the all time classics were just that: short stories from a collection or even magazine shorts. Just because something is short on quantity doesn't mean it will be short on quality.
So honestly? Monster till Midnight is a flat out brilliant story, short or otherwise.
I won't give away too much, this is another older story I just discovered but I don't want to ruin it for others who like me are just discovering this EJ Russell gem. Is it paranormal? Sci-fi? Fantasy? I found it to be a bit of all three with just the right helping of heat and humor to balance out the Halloweenie flavor.
Rej and Brady are a delight! I feel for Brady, going full-on Halloween party mode and no one shows up, I grew up in the middle of the boonies and the only trick-or-treaters we got was the neighbor's grandkids so I can sympathize with his disappointment to a degree. You just want a line of cars to appear but they don't. As for Rej? You can't help but cheer for him in his quest to capture his archnemisis, kind of like Doctor Who vs The Master, almost glad when he doesn't locate him as he expected because you know there's more to the story than he's telling and yet you don't want him to fail either.
Think I'll end there before giving away too much but if you, like me, havn't read Monster Till Midnight by EJ Russell, I highly suggest forgoing the tricks and seek out this fun little sneaky treat.
Law of Retaliation by Davidson King
Summary:
Haven Hart Universe
Two universes unite to take on one formidable adversary.
A Halloween party at Joker’s Sin means an evening of fun, drinking, dancing, and entertainment. But when a dead body is found in the club’s bathroom, it’s the loose thread that starts to unravel the hard-won peace of Haven Hart.
Christopher, Black, and their friends deal with a lot of unsavory people, but more gruesome murders and bodies piling up lead to a deadly game of whodunit. This enemy may be too much for them to handle alone, so they join forces with Atlas, Ciro, and the Joker’s Sin crew to take back their town.
Will they prevail, or will this be the war that crushes them all?
Law of Retaliation is a multi-character POV story: The Haven Hart series and the Joker’s Sin series in a steamy, suspenseful, mysterious Halloween novella.
Original Review October Book of the Month 2022:
Oh how I love returning to Haven Hart!
Davidson King has created some pretty amazing stories but Haven Hart will always be my favorite. Perhaps it's simply because it was the first, perhaps it's the power the characters have at grabbing your heart, perhaps its just the right balance of snark and cuddle, soft heart and dangerous mayhem . . . whatever the reason, Haven Hart universe is brilliant! And this Halloween holiday novella is no different. Law of Retaliation grabs your attention and doesn't let go.
I won't give out any spoilers(as if you had any doubts on that) so the plot won't be touched on. We get to see all the characters we have come to know and love celebrating the spooky holiday, otherwise known as Halloween but as par for the course, nothing quite goes according to plan. The characters may get a little rattled at first but then they jump into action as only they can.
As Bette Davis says in All About Eve: "Fasten your seatbelts; it's going to be a bumpy night."
One of the things I loved about Law is being able to see the characters talk about their families and the home lives they are fighting to protect. Lovely! Lovely! Lovely! Just another day in Haven Hart, even though you know these characters interact throughout their days in various forms, the gathering at Atlas' club, Joker's Sin for Halloween has a very class reunion feel minus the occasional screams of "OMG! I can't believe they dared to show their face after all these years!"
I will confess that I haven't had a chance to read the last 2 novels in the Joker's Sin series so yes, a few of the couples journeys were unknown to me and I know I would have had a deeper connection to said characters had I read those books but I wasn't lost. The author does a fantabulous job to make sure the reader knows the couples have had a long hard fought road to reach where they are so it's easy to love and root for them all. She does that in a way that gives you insight yet no spoilers for those like me who have to go back and discover their journeys.
I know we'll be getting Fred Brennan's story down the road and I can't help but wonder who he'll find himself entangled with and if that character might have been spoken of briefly already? If it is then what a ride Fred's about to travel and if not, he'll still be facing an intriguing journey knowing the author's attraction to danger.
So once again I say; "Oh how I love returning to Haven Hart!" and I'll add: Here's to many, many, many more trips around the sun with the residents of that unlawfully, chaotic, mayhem filled city. So bring it on, Miss King, I'll be here for every single one!
RATING:
Comic Sans by Jordan Castillo Price
Summary:The ABCs of Spellcraft #13
If a man’s home is his castle…then his stash is his treasure.
When a traveling comic book auctioneer comes to town, Dixon is thrilled to hear his father’s beloved basement stash might contain something valuable after all: a mint condition copy of the rare Eel Man #1.
But when they unearth the comic book, Yuri ends up finding a lot more than he bargained for. Now he’s no longer sure if Dixon is really the product of a loving, happy home…or if Spellcraft the only thing holding his family together.
To make matters worse, the comic book has a major “issue” of its own.
The quest to restore the comic takes Dixon and Yuri from one wonky end of Pinyin Bay to the other. Can they salvage their big find and save a marriage—or is their copy of Eel Man #1 worth nothing more the paper it’s printed on?
The ABCs of Spellcraft is a series filled with bad jokes and good magic, where M/M romance meets paranormal cozy. A perky hero, a brooding love interest, and delightfully twisty-turny stories that never end up quite where you’d expect.
Original Review October 2022:
I hate to hear that this series is nearly over and there is only one new ABCs of Spellcraft yet to come . . . how can it nearly be done? So unfair. Oh well, sometimes the characters just stop talking to an author, if Dixon and Yuri want to keep their further adventures to themselves then that's what must be. I'll love ABCs right to the end, oh who am I kidding? I'll love and cherish them every step of the way and beyond in rereads & re-listens, the adrenaline rush may not be quite the same but the enjoyment factor will always be topnotch.
So on to Comic Sans.
With a title like that you just know comic books will factor into the trouble Dixon undoubtedly finds himself facing. Sure enough, a rare, mint condition Eel Man #1 could fetch a pretty penny and where does Dixon's dad thinks he seen one last? In his never-ending always-growing pile of stash of what-nots and doo-dads. Once the men are told of a flaw in the comic, Dixon hatches a scheme to recondition said comic . . . and that's where the true fun begins.
That's the end of the plot I'll give away but just know that there are plenty of hi-jinks that only Dixon and Yuri can discover on their path to mint condition. What fun it is. We see Pinyin Bay characters that we've met before, we see plenty of Penn family time as well. Truthfully, I'm not sure if I'd say this is the most we've seen of Dixon's parents yet but their chemistry, their banter, their unique look at things is an absolute treat and I think it gives us plenty of insight into how and why Dixon is the way he is: delightful blend of quirky, charming, loving and all around instantly likeable. Yuri is more stoic, I think anyway, than Dixon's mom but I can't help but think when you look at Johnny and Florica Penn you're actually getting a glimpse into what Dixon and Yuri's future years will be like.
The series may be nearly over and yet after 13 novellas, The ABCs of Spellcraft just keeps getting better and better.
The Soldier and the Bodyguard by RJ Scott
Summary:Ellery Mountain #10
Someone wants JC dead, and Adrian is the only thing standing in the way. Has war followed them home? Or is something more sinister at play?
JC struggles to understand his place in the world, and despite being wealthy beyond imagination, he’s never found real happiness outside of his friendship with Adrian. Enlisting in the army is his attempt at finding purpose, but tragedy strikes, and only the Ellery Veterans Center can help put back the pieces of his shattered life. With a bullet fragment in his brain and seemingly no chance of ever being the man he once was, he begins to lose hope.
Adrian didn’t hesitate to follow his best friend to war, but with their unit decimated in an ambush and JC bleeding into the dirt, Adrian buries his hopes for the future to keep the man he loves safe. Acting as JC’s bodyguard means he is secure for now, but threats from an unknown person escalate to attempted murder, and Adrian has no choice but to take JC and run. When the Sanctuary Foundation intervenes and takes them into their care, they might be safe, but revealed secrets could destroy everything.
Sometimes, even if love finds a way through tragedy, it can be impossible to imagine forever.
This book features characters from my action-adventure romantic suspense Sanctuary series, but you do not have to have read Sanctuary to enjoy this story. This best-friend-to-lover, hurt-comfort romance has bodyguards, threats, found family, and a guaranteed love-filled happily ever after.
Original Review November Book of the Month 2022:
RJ Scott has done it once again! Turned me into a blubbery mess all the while making my heart warm with this tale of love, friendship, recovery, healing, drama, and of course a hint of mystery. For those who have read the previous entries in Ellery Mountain, I would say The Soldier and the Boydguard probably touches a little more on the mystery element and as good as it is(kept me guessing to almost the reveal) it is not the dominate factor. Just a great multi-genre blend all the way around.
As a 24/7 family caregiver, I purposely held off on reading Soldier until November so I could fully appreciate the caregiving element for National Family Caregiver Month. The author gets Adrian's desire and frustration spot on, for a caregiver to find the right balance between assistance and letting the loved one do for themselves is often the hardest part of one's day. Through Adrian's inner monologue we can literally see that scale(the caregiver's brain) waffling between too much and not enough.
Don't mistake my above comment as the author trying to teach a lesson, this Ellery entry is 150% entertaining but just knowing the author put that much heart into that aspect of Adrian's role in JC's life made this story even better. I just really have a greater sense of respect for an author who "gets it", be it through thorough research or personal experience, that blend of reality and fiction can really be a "make or break" moment for me. RJ Scott definitely makes it.
I don't want to touch too much on JC only because I'm afraid once I start talking about this brilliantly created character I'm going to give too much of the mystery factor away and as you know I'm a spoiler-free kind of person. I will say that his journey is equally heartbreaking and heartwarming. The pain alone, both physical and emotional, brought tears to my eyes but knowing he gets up everyday despite it also made me smile. Some days he may have had to force himself and some days it may have been all Adrian's doing but whatever the reason he still did it. That tells me all I need to know about the kind of man JC is so there is no way I am not rooting for him.
Caregiving doesn't have to be long term, it can be short term as well but it's always ongoing and constant while needed. Through JC and Adrian's friendship as well as their individual inner monologues, RJ Scott lets us see that. Sometimes that constant need can be hard but also rewarding and it's their friendship that shows that the most but it also helps strengthen the love.
Okay, I know I'm talking about the caregiving element too much but as a caregiver it is a subject that is close to my heart and one that when done so accurately, I need to showcase it. I apologize for being too wordy on the subject.
One more thing I want to mention and that is the inclusion of members of the author's Sanctuary series. It's been awhile since I read that one but I remembered the characters instantly and found them to be just as enjoyable now as when I first discovered them.
So to sum up this overly wordy review: The Soldier and the Bodyguard is amazing and edge of your seat heartbreaking yet uplifting, a winner from beginning to end.
Pearl Harbor Day, 1991 by Frank W Butterfield
Summary:A Nick & Carter Holiday #22
Saturday, December 7, 1991
It's the fiftieth anniversary of the attack on Pearl Harbor, an event that propelled the United States into the Second World War.
Mike Robertson has decided he wants to take Nick and Carter out for dinner to clear the air about something that happened way back then.
But then some other friends get involved and they end up in the last apartment that Nick and Mike shared before the war.
And Mike is cooking his famous pot roast, the only thing he really knows how to make.
Over dinner, Nick begins to tell his version of the events that happened fifty years ago in that very same apartment.
Needless to say, it's definitely going to be a night to remember!
Welcome to a year of holidays with Nick Williams and Carter Jones!
This is the twenty-second in a series of short stories all centered around specific holidays.
Each story is a vignette that stands on its own and takes place from the 1920s to 2008.
This is a short story containing about 7,900 words.
Original Review December 2022:
I think so far this has been my favorite in this series of holiday windows into the lives of Nick and Carter and their friends. Maybe it's the history buff in me, maybe it's the inclusion of friends, maybe it's the set-up of flashback/memory recall, or most likely it's a combination of all three.
We all have at least one thing happen in our lives that we'll never forget, no matter how old we get so seeing Nick and company recall the days of that fateful day 50 years later is not only realistic and believable, but also heartbreaking and heartwarming. Heartwarming because you feel the emotions behind their story, heartbreaking because, yes they obviously survived the war but hindsight lets us know what lies ahead of them.
Pearl Harbor, 1991 gives us a look at the characters of the author's Nick and Carter universe(Nick more than the rest) both in the historical and contemporary setting, not always easy to do in a short story but Frank W Butterfield accomplishes it wonderfully. Once again his original tales of Nick and Carter creep up higher on my TBR list.
On a personal note, the author mentions in his notes that he referred to a list of broadcasts on the NBC Red and Blue networks for complete details of the news on December 7, 1941 and I've mentioned before how I collect old radio shows. When 9/11 occurred I was home helping my mom recover from surgery and they sold vegetables off the farm so there was always too many tomatoes left and I was cooking up some of the extras. When doing kitchen work is when I often listen to OTR shows, one of the episodes I remember listening to that September was an episode of Fibber McGee & Molly from December 9, 1941. The announcer, Harlow Wilcox, said they are keeping the show on to keep morale up and that the sponsor, Johnson's Wax, agreed to let NBC cut in with any war news if it became available. I never forgot that episode(anyone who is interested in looking it up for a listen the episode title is 40 Percent Off).
RATING:
Monster till Midnight by EJ Russell
Rej hadn’t intended to break the terms of his probation. He was doing exactly what his restricted duties demanded—tracking a non-sentient construct that had slipped across the boundary from a techno-sorcery node into Alpha Prime two-niner, a magic-null time thread.
But when he broke out of the tree line and saw the house looming beyond a dying corn field, he knew he was screwed. Or rather, Alpha Prime two-niner was screwed. Because Rej would have known that house for Gorvenath’s anywhere. The bastard had a taste for turrets.
At least they’re not made of bones. Yet.
Gorvenath. Rej ground his teeth together. Gorvenath was the reason for Rej’s probation, the reason he’d been busted down from Interdimensional Law Enforcement to Interdimentional Creature Control. But Rej’s professional setbacks were irrelevant compared to the real danger Gorvenath posed to the time stream.
Rej’s captain acknowledged the threat, even sympathized with Rej’s point of view. But until they had clear evidence that Gorvenath was behind the attacks across half the post-2K time nodes, their hands were tied. And I’m stuck as a cross-dimensional dog catcher for the foreseeable future.
Sure, the criminals could break the rules, but let a LEO bend one little regulation…
He studied the layout of the grounds. The house was isolated—no other buildings within sight, either on the narrow gravel road or beyond the sparse woods—and sat in the middle of a wide expanse of rough grass, dotted here and there with flagpoles sporting orange or black banners.
Rej squinted at one of the flags as an errant breeze sent it flapping. Bones. No, a full humanoid skeleton. In a top hat.
Typical of Gorvenath’s twisted humor, the cocky bastard.
Was Gorvenath inside? Rej checked the tracker on his wrist. The NSC still registered as being within range, but now that he was fully phased and attuned to Alpha Prime two-niner, another, more confusing reading joined the first. It definitely had Gorvenath’s flavor, for lack of a better word. Rej’s fellow ILE officers—former fellow ILE officers—had always mocked him for his gut feelings. But damn it, when you policed both technology and magic, it made sense to trust your instincts.
Since the oddly shaped corn patch was the only cover that would get him closer to the house, Rej crept straight through it, wincing as the dry stalks rustled against his tactical gear.
When he reached the last row, he eyed the distance between his position and the house. Its wrap-around porch was a good six feet off the ground on this side, which meant the windows overlooking the lawn were higher than his head. His gear was black. If he kept low and moved quickly, he ought to be able to reach the corner of the house without being seen.
He flipped his visor down, automatically activating its telemetry, then took a deep breath and blew it out in a whoosh.
Time to rock and roll.
He broke out of cover and sprinted across the lawn, but he’d only made it halfway when an alarm bleeped inside the house, clearly audible from his position.
“Blast!” Rej hesitated, not certain whether to sprint for the trees or continue onward, but then the alarm ceased, and the door burst open.
Rej’s breath caught in his throat. Because there, back-lit by flickering orange light, was a monster.
The figure had a slim, even graceful humanoid body, the V of its torso and the length of its legs accentuated by some kind of well-fitted suit.
But its head… Outsized. Misshapen. Grotesque, with no discernible neck, its eyes and mouth blazing with hellish inner fire.
The creature held something in its hand. A sword? A club? No, it was too narrow for that, but Rej wasn’t foolish enough to fall for appearances. Countless nodes used seemingly innocuous artifacts to deal death. That cellular disrupter in thread Beta Secundus three-zero? No less deadly for looking like a lemon zester.
Rej fumbled for the weapon at his hip, but before he could draw it, the air was filled with… music?
The porch light flared on and Rej got a good look at the monster.
By all the powers, has Gorvenath finally succeeded in animating vegetables?
Because that head differed only in size from the jack-o’-lanterns peeping out from between the porch’s balusters. The weapon in its hand was an ebony cane, and the suit… Was it actually a tuxedo?
As Rej goggled at the creature, it struck a pose and then whirled, its coattails flaring out behind it. Words joined the music, and Rej crouched, lest they were an incantation of some kind.
“When you’re blue and you don’t know where to go to--”
That didn’t seem to be spell work, unless it was a banishing spell with a coercion component—urging Rej to head somewhere and put on the ritz, whatever that was.
The monster danced across the porch, its feet beating out a bright cadence on the weathered boards, striking the wood with the tip of its cane in a syncopated rhythm that made Rej want to tap his toes in time.
Is that what this is? A St. Vitus’s curse?
But as Rej was debating whether to stun the creature and transport it to headquarters for study, it stopped mid-twirl, then crept to the porch rail and peered into the dark, scanning the yard from corn field to graveled roadway.
Its shoulders slumped. “You’re alone? Nobody else came with you?”
Rej’s neck prickled, and he was immediately on guard. Would it report to Gorvenath that Rej was here without backup? Launch an ambush of other constructed warriors in an attempt to eliminate knowledge of Gorvenath’s plans? Not that Rej had any idea what they were yet.
“Shoot.” Rej ducked, checking for incoming, but the monster simply hooked its cane on a convenient nail next to the still-open door, its chest heaving with a sigh. “I get it. You’re from the agency, aren’t you?
Play along. Find out what it wants. You can always kill it later.
“Yes. Yes, I am.”
Law of Retaliation by Davidson King
CHAPTER ONE
Atlas
Joker’s Sin was decorated perfectly for Halloween. Purple and orange lights wrapped around beams; skeletons hung from high on the ceiling. The smoke machine would send a foggy vibe through the dance floor, and Toby was sure to have little surprises to spook people all night long.
Halloween was one of Joker’s Sin’s busiest nights. It was also an evening where I doubled security, this year in particular. Christopher Manos and his entourage would be attending, and the fact that Bill and Mace would too didn’t sit well with me. They were pains in my ass.
Black was also going to be in attendance with his people, and Ciro had invited his friend Riordan and his husband, Teddy.
It felt rude not to invite Poe and his husband, Phin, since this town was built on the Hart name. Needless to say, it was going to be a busy night.
“How do I look?” Toby spun, a perfect depiction of Willy Wonka.
“Good enough to eat.” I grinned and wrapped my hands around his waist.
“No, no, no. You can’t rumple me.” He eyed me, an amused expression adorning his adorable face. “Prince?”
I glanced down at my outfit, a terrific replica of his “Purple Rain” video, and quirked a brow at Toby. “Yeah. What, is it bad?”
“Prince was five foot two. You’re way, way bigger.” He chuckled. “How did you get all your beautiful hair in that wig?”
“Don’t shun Prince.” I patted my ridiculously expensive wig, which had taken hours to get on. “I don’t give my fashion secrets away.”
“Mhmm.” Toby rolled his eyes and moved over to the bar to make sure the final details were in order before we opened.
Max was in his Danny Zuko getup. He totally pulled off the T-Bird costume. What I couldn’t figure out was how he’d convinced Ledger to dress as Kenickie Murdoch.
“You’re staring,” Shane said as he stepped up next to me.
“Mad Hatter?” I gestured to him.
“I wanted no part of what Max and Ledger were doing. I love Alice in Wonderland, and after Johnny Depp masterfully portrayed the character, I was all in.” He snorted and went about helping fill the bar.
“Line is around the block already.” Ciro’s voice came through my earpiece. He was taking charge of everyone who entered this evening.
“We’ll be opening soon, Rambo.”
Ciro laughed. “Don’t knock my costume—just be happy I dressed up at all.”
“I’m sure Xander will loooooooove it.” I knew for a fact that Xander had taken the easy route and was coming as Gordon Ramsay. A chef dressing as a chef.
“Oh, you know it.”
Ledger was testing out the sound one last time, the bar was pretty much ready, Toby winked by his spot behind his podium, and security was as tight as it was going to be. After a deep breath, I announced, “Open the doors, Ciro.”
It was time to party.
Snow
After one last tweak to my wig, I deemed myself perfectly ready for Halloween and a night of drinks and dancing at Joker’s Sin. Christopher was waiting for me—I suspected they were all waiting, but I’d worked hard to pull this look off. I winked at my reflection in the mirror, grabbed my costume baseball bat, and made my way toward my entourage.
“About frickin’ time,” Bill grumbled when I got halfway down. Of course, I stopped and narrowed my eyes at the man currently wearing a Jason costume.
“First of all, shut up. Second of all—Jason? Really? You didn’t want to go in on my themed idea, and that’s what you chose?”
“It’s classic Halloween, Snow! Harley Quinn is not Halloween materia—”
I took the last few steps and shoved my bat against Bill’s chest. “Finish that sentence, Bill. Go on, do it, and I will show you how Harley Quinn could kill Jason in fifteen ways before he even knows what’s going on.”
“Whoa!” Mace stepped between us, decked out in his Michael Myers getup. “Calm yourselves. Maybe let’s not actually get into character, yeah?”
“Says the man who sided with him.”
“Snow, my love.” Christopher’s silky voice washed over me like sex to a deprived libido. I spun and there he was, the Joker to my Harley Quinn.
“Oh, you even dyed your hair green!” I ran and leaped into his arms, not so easy these days since I wasn’t getting any younger, but he caught me…as always.
“Of course I did.”
I pressed my lips to his, careful not to smudge the makeup on our faces. There’d be time for that later.
“Where’s Simon and Rush?” Frank asked as he and Donny stepped into the foyer. Donny as Jack the Ripper and Frank as Al Capone.
“How original, Frank.” Mace rolled his eyes.
“Fuck off.” Frank walked past us all toward the garage. “I’ll get the car.”
“We’ll need more than one. Simon and Rush are meeting us there.” Mace followed after Frank.
I slid out of Christopher’s arms and sighed. “We will all have a good time tonight or I promise to murder you all in your sleep, understand?”
Grumbles, that was what I got. No respect.
“Okay, assholes. You’ll see, you’ll all see!” I shook my bat.
“Come on, babe.” Chris took my hand, and I followed him through the front door. Frank and Mace would bring the vehicles around, and then it would be time for Halloween fun.
Black
I chose to arrive at Joker’s Sin in a super-stretch limo. It was the only way to fit us all inside and keep us together. Not to mention Quill (going as Robin Hood) decided he needed a rubber bow and arrow, and I (as a Viking) wanted some sort of weapon too. Adhering to Atlas’s rules, which allowed no real instruments of carnage, we went with plastic.
“This is the most mismatched bunch of costumes.” Ginger chuckled, his Daredevil costume rather amazing. Jones went as Kingpin, which worked for Ginger’s costume, but Lee…
“Why Steve Jobs?” I asked him.
“Because he didn’t want to get dressed up and happened to own a black turtleneck and daddy jeans.” Ginger dodged Lee’s playful swat. When Lee offered no rebuttal, I realized Ginger was right.
“Here we are,” the driver said and, without waiting, I opened the door.
“Holy shit, that’s a lot of people.” Quill strapped his bow onto his back and moved to the door.
We were all special guests and therefore didn’t have to wait in line; I didn’t do lines.
“Welcome.” The man grinned and I recognized Ciro, though he was dressed up.
“Good evening, Ciro.”
“No weapons, fighting, or otherwise, gentlemen. I will toss your asses to the pavement if you do.” Ciro went through his spiel with a rather eerie smile. I understood now why he and Riordan were close friends.
“You got it.” I tipped my head and entered the club.
I really needed a drink.
Poe
“Thank you, Rush, for coming to the house before the party. Adelaide has been struggling with that piece, and Simon had mentioned you knew it quite well.”
Rush beamed…Well, one side did. He was going as Two-Face for Halloween, and the makeup was remarkable.
“Absolutely my pleasure. She’s brilliant, and she’s gonna nail it for her concert.”
“I like your costumes,” Simon (who was dressed as the Riddler) said to both me and Phin.
“Poe sort of already looks like a vampire, so it worked out well. I squirted some make-believe blood on a shirt, tore it up a little, made bite marks, and here I am. His willing victim.”
Both men chuckled.
“Shall we go?” I gestured for the door. Since we were all going to the same place, we’d offered them a ride.
“I’m sure it’s going to be an amazing night.” Rush was bouncing in his seat as Phin drove the SUV out of the driveway.
“Atlas sure knows how to throw a party; it’s without a doubt going to be a night to remember.”
One thing about this town that never seemed to go away was the dread. Phin appeared happy as he drove, but I stared out the window and tried to shake the feeling that something horrible was about to happen.
Comic Sans by Jordan Castillo Price
1
DIXON
Sunday dinners at my parents’ house were always such a treat! Mom put the leaf in the table and greeted us with big, squishy hugs, Dad wore his favorite vest and regaled us with stories, and Yuri and I got the chance to not only avail ourselves of some delightful, non-take-and-bake-pizza home cooking…but to break bread with the very best parents in the whole world. Though maybe Yuri shouldn’t have broken the bread so forcefully.
There were crumbs everywhere.
Mom eyed the crusty fragments with a sigh and said, “Told you we should’ve just taken a cheese grater to the black parts instead of trying to power through them. It’s like trimming a callus off your toe with lots of small passes—eventually you get down to the soft part. More mashed potatoes, Yuri?”
Yuri looked oddly full as he shook his head, even though he’d hardly touched his plate. I’d warned him not to pre-eat before we came, but he’d scarfed down a stray piece of cold pizza anyway, and now he’d ruined his dinner. No doubt he was just being polite and making sure there was enough for everybody.
So considerate.
And it did leave plenty more for me.
The potatoes were my favorite—the box kind, made with plenty of margarine—and Yuri’s loss was my gain. I was reaching for the potato scooper when something zipped across the tabletop, grabbed a crumb of bread, rappelled down the tablecloth on the opposite side, and disappeared under the china cabinet.
“Was that…a mouse?” I asked.
Mom rolled her eyes. “You should know—you brought it home from Precious Greetings.”
To be fair, I’d brought home lots of critters from Precious Greetings back when we’d cost Emery Flint his business. I couldn’t be expected to remember each and every one.
“I thought you shooed it out the door,” Dad said.
“Apparently it came back,” Mom retorted. “Must’ve known which side its bread was buttered on.”
Yuri made a small noise of agreement, and Dad said, “We can’t just have a rodent running around loose. Mice attract other mice—and they’re notorious for getting into Seens and nibbling on the paper. Once we lost an entire week of Rufus Clahd’s work that way.” He stood from the table and brushed crumbs from his lap. “I’ll dig out the mousetraps.”
“But, Dad!” I said. “This is no stranger-mouse. You can’t just squish it. Maybe you should round up all the Spellcraft in the house and leave it at the office until we can trap the little guy and put him in a new (and more secure) home.”
Mom scoffed. “If you took all the Craftings out of this house it would probably fall down around our ears!”
Dad agreed. “And we’ve been here so long, adding to the collection over the years, I doubt we’d even be able to find them all. But what if…?” His eyes flicked side to side as he stroked his lustrous five-o’clock shadow in thought.
“Johnny...” Mom said in a don’t-you-dare tone of voice.
A tone that Dad totally ignored. “I can build a better mousetrap!”
“Aaand here we go,” Mom said.
Yuri narrowed his eyes. “What is problem?”
“Johnny is always full of beans whenever inspiration strikes, but mark my words. Before it’s even halfway done, he’ll get bored with the whole thing and just end up wasting a bunch of time, energy and money.”
“We’ll never strike it rich with that attitude,” my father said. “How about this? Not only will I make the best darned mousetrap anyone’s ever seen—but I’ll prototype the invention using nothing but repurposed materials from my stash.”
“Fine.” Mom thrust her hand across the table to shake on it. “And if you actually finish this prototype of yours, I’ll be the first to congratulate you.”
Dad waggled his eyebrows. “In your lacy red brassiere.”
“Wow, would you look at the time?” I said. “We almost missed the Pinyin Minute.” I scrambled for the remote control and started clicking furiously, hoping for something—anything—to interrupt the conversation before I heard anything more about my mother in sexy undergarments. After umpteen clicks, I finally managed to angle the beam around Dad’s recliner and power on the TV.
Pinyin Minute is a news spot that historically featured puff pieces of local interest, from store openings to road closures. But since my friend Charlotte started reporting the news, it had become a heck of a lot more interesting…though not necessarily more reliable. I’ll say one thing for her conspiracy theories: they made the news way more fun to watch.
I clicked to the right station and upped the volume to cover any more potential underwear talk.
—murder rates continue to spiral out of control. Stay tuned for your local news after this message.
“Oh good,” I said, “we’re just in time!”
All talk of unmentionables ceased as we all hummed along with the jingle for a nearby dry cleaner, right down to the very last note. Then, as we watched expectantly, the video quality shifted to something square, grainy, and generally oversaturated. A flesh-colored blur filled the screen, accompanied by the whispered admonishment, “Just because she’s your grandmother, Harold, doesn’t mean she can’t also be a spy. Wait, why didn’t you tell me we were—? Ahem.”
The blurry figure backed up and resolved itself into none other than my old pal from the Barge of the Bay, looking intense and vaguely frazzled. In other words, like she always did.
“While most folks these days consume their entertainment on various screens—and don’t get me started on what all that blue light is doing to your brain—the latest buzz on the street is surrounding something a lot less high-tech: comic books.
“It may be hard to imagine, but in the golden days of comics, you could purchase an issue for as little as one thin dime.
“But those ten-cent comics are huge collector’s items now. In fact, one particular comic—Eel Man #1—is worth a whopping ten thousand dollars. If you’re lucky enough to have a mint condition copy in your possession, that is.”
The image of Charlotte talking cut to a still shot of a cheesy comic book featuring a guy in a cape beating up a bank robber. Did bank robbers really all dress like that back in the fifties? Frankly, I thought he looked more like a Beatnik. Though maybe that was part of his plan all along….
“Hold on,” my dad said. “I’ve seen that comic before.”
The camera switched back to Charlotte. “Eel Man was a short-lived comic that fizzled out in less than a year, but its original creator hailed from our very own Pinyin Bay.
“According to a recent press release by an anonymous traveling comic auctioneer, Eel Man was not a particularly well-drawn comic. The storyline is a pastiche of several more successful comics of the day. But the comic book factory was lost to a freak lightning strike, leaving very few mint condition Eel Man comics in circulation. He estimates there are no more than a handful of Eel Man #1 comics left. And in all likelihood, if those issues will turn up anywhere, that anywhere is Pinyin Bay.
“Anyone wishing to auction off their copy of Eel Man #1 should bring it to the Pinyin Bay Journal office by the end of the day Friday.”
“And don’t be late,” an off-camera voice added. A vaguely familiar voice. “Once I leave a town, I don’t come back!”
Dad clicked off the TV, insisting, “I know I’ve seen that comic. It was in the bottom of a box of flyers I ordered back when Practical Penn first opened. The printer was using them as filler.”
“I remember those flyers.” Mom gave Dad the side-eye. “We couldn’t use them, thanks to a typo in the word public. I thought you said you threw them out.”
“And so I did. Erm…say that, I mean.” He cleared his throat awkwardly. “What? The backs of the flyers make for perfectly usable scratch paper!”
Dad always gets a certain look about him when he’s getting ready to dive into his stash. His eyes light up with anticipation. His stance develops a pointedly forward slant. And his fingers twitch like they simply can’t wait to paw through all his dubious treasures.
Mom, on the other hand, is not a big fan of the stash. While she appreciates that its sifting, sorting and overall curation brings my father no end of pleasure, she worries that someday we’ll find him buried under a collapsing pile of knicknacks, gewgaws and general detritus.
I patted Mom’s shoulder in consolation. “Look at it this way.
At least now Dad can stop worrying about that mousetrap.” At the top of the basement stairs, Dad turned back and snapped his fingers. “Thanks for the reminder—while we’re looking for Eel Man we can keep an eye out for likely mousetrap parts!”
Mom whacked me ineffectively across the butt with a kitchen towel. “You had to go and bring up that darn mousetrap!”
Whoops. “We’ll just head downstairs and make sure he doesn’t get buried. Come on, Yuri, let’s go!”
The Soldier and the Bodyguard by RJ Scott
The lie in the mirror was that I couldn’t see the bullet fragments in my head. Only machines could see the damage, but I knew what was in there, and I scratched near the scar, which itched like fuck.
“Hey, don’t do that,” Adrian murmured and laced our fingers together so he could tug me away from worrying at the skin. He’d have been horrified if I’d told him I had this idea that, if I scratched hard enough and then tilted my head, the fragments would fall out.
I did that in my dreams, but I’d also discussed it in my chats with my therapist, who told me it was understandable to feel as if I could reach into my brain and pick out the metal.
Understandable. Reasonable.
“Sorry.”
Adrian squeezed my hand. “It’s okay; I’m just jealous that you have a wicked scar for the ladies.”
I glanced at him. “And the men.”
He nodded and I wish I knew what he was thinking, but Adrian had this inscrutable way about him. Or maybe it was that my brain wasn’t working enough to try to read his thoughts the way I’d always been able to do before. My doctor likened this challenging part of my recovery to face-blindness, saying that the part of my brain that understood expressions was damaged.
“Yep, all the men, too,” Adrian corrected himself in his usual upbeat breezy fashion, then pulled me away from the mirror and sat me in the chair. I couldn’t tie my hair back on my own, but he knew that, and already had the thin leather he twined in my damp curls to tame them. “Ready for a shave?” He picked up the shaver, but I shook my head. “You’re gonna grow a beard, JC? For real?” He was teasing me because that was what Adrian did. He pulled me out of the dark times, and he laughed with me, and at me, and he made me remember I was still alive.
I wish I weren’t alive. I would give anything for Taylor or Asti to be here instead of me.
“It hurts,” I admitted, and as soon as I said it, I wanted to take back the words because Adrian dropped to a crouch in front of me.
“What hurts?” he asked with urgency.
“The… thing,” I patted my cheek, but my hand was shaking, and I dropped it immediately.
“Your head hurts?”
“No.” Yes.
Pearl Harbor Day, 1991 by Frank W Butterfield
579 Eddy Street, Apartment 5-C
San Francisco, CA 94109
Saturday, December 7, 1991
6:55 p.m. PST
Carter pulled the Cougar into a garage on Eddy Street, between Larkin and Hyde, as Nick asked, "Now, tell me again what we're doing?"
"Hold your horses, son, and you'll find out."
Once they'd handed the car over to the attendant, Carter took Nick by the elbow and led him towards Larkin.
"Are we going to dinner? Around here?"
"Yes, as a matter of fact."
Nick frowned as they walked. The area wasn't the safest part of town, not that Nick ever cared much about things like that. Usually.
He wondered if maybe Carter had found some new restaurant and, if that was the case, whether it was Thai or Vietnamese. Carter was on a real kick, lately, trying any out-of-the-way Asian restaurant he could find in the Bay Area. What he most wanted, he'd said, was to find places owned and run by immigrants from places like Cambodia, Thailand, Vietnam, etc. Nick liked that idea, on principle, but didn't always enjoy driving to Hayward or San Pablo to try out the newest spot.
Before they got to the corner, Carter jaywalked across the street, still holding Nick by the elbow.
Suddenly, Nick realized where they were. "Did you know—?"
"Yes, I did," said Carter as they walked up the steps. He looked for a button and then pressed it.
"5-C?" asked Nick.
Carter grinned at him as the buzzer sounded and the door clicked open.
. . .
At the end of the hall, Carter rapped on the door. Nick could hear music playing and voices talking and laughing. He could also smell something cooking. He wondered if maybe it was pot roast. That made him grin.
The door opened and, with an apron wrapped around his waist, Greg Holland stood there with a big smile on his face. "Come on in. You're the last to get here."
Carter stepped back to let Nick go in first. He hugged Greg and asked, "What is this?"
"I'll let Mike explain," replied Greg. "Let me have your coat."
Nick removed his jacket and handed it to Greg who opened a door in the hallway revealing a closet with other coats hanging inside.
"Wow," said Nick as he looked inside the closet and then down at the floor. "It hasn't changed much."
Greg said, "Mike's in the kitchen. I think you know the way."
Nick chuckled and walked into the living room. There, sitting at a big dining table which was covered with a white cloth and crystal and china, sat Henry Winters and Robert Evans.
They both looked up. Robert smiled and said, "Mike wants to talk to you first."
"He's in the kitchen," added Henry, pointing to the kitchen door.
Nick nodded. "I know the way."
They both laughed.
. . .
Pushing his way through the swinging door, Nick stopped and then backed up. He moved the door back and forth, noiselessly. "I see someone fixed the squeak."
Standing over a relatively new stove, Mike grinned at Nick and nodded. "I hear the current landlord is a real dick, but he's not that bad when you get to know him."
Nick laughed. "I own this building?"
"According to Robert, you bought it in 1972."
"Robert bought it, you mean."
"Same difference."
Nick walked over and stood next to Mike. "Is that your famous pot roast?"
"Yes, sir. Your favorite."
"The only thing you actually know how to make unless Greg has taught you some of his tricks."
"Nope. I make the pot roast. He makes everything else. It's almost ready, by the way."
Pointing to the two smaller pans, Nick asked, "What's this?" He grinned up at Mike. "Could they be... vegetables?"
"Potatoes are vegetables."
Leaning against the fridge, Nick laughed. "This feels so familiar."
"Yeah?" asked Mike as he removed the lid from one of the smaller pots. Using a big, slotted spoon, he stirred and then put the lid on an empty place on the range top.
"Do I see green peas?"
"And they're fresh. Greg knows someone near Half Moon Bay with a greenhouse who grows 'em year-round."
"Nice."
"Pardon me," said Mike as he reached for the fridge door. "Need to get the butter."
Moving over to the sink, Nick asked, "What's going on here?"
"Well," said Mike as he sliced off about a quarter of a stick of butter into the peas, "I figured it was finally time for me to be a man and apologize."
Nick laughed. "For what?"
"For knocking your block off 50 years ago."
"Well, it was on the 9th, not the 7th, if you'll remember."
Mike glanced over with a warm smile on his craggy face. "After 50 years, bud, who's countin'?"
Nick felt himself getting emotional right then, so he just nodded.
. . .
They were all at the table with glasses and plates full. Nick was about to raise his glass to offer a toast when Carter suddenly jumped up. "Hold on."
He walked over to the built-in cabinet in the corner opposite of the kitchen. It was where Mike had once kept his guns and ammunition. Carter opened it up, revealing a big microphone and cassette tape recorder.
"What's that?" asked Greg.
"I am going to record this conversation," said Carter. "I have a whole box of tapes, so we can stay here until dawn."
Henry sniffed. "Is this for a book?"
"Yep," replied Carter as he inserted a cassette into the recorder and messed around with some wires.
"That's a good idea," said Robert.
"Why?" asked Nick. "Why should we record what we say?"
"For posterity," said Carter, "and maybe a book." He pressed a button, waited, and then pressed another button. "That's all set for when we're ready." He walked back over to his chair next to Nick and sat.
Mike said, "The way this came about is that Greg suggested we take the two of you out for dinner tonight. Then I had the idea of including Henry and Robert and making my famous pot roast."
Greg added, "We were going to invite everyone to our house, but then Robert suggested we do everything here since the apartment was vacant."
"Due to the recession, no doubt," said Henry, darkly.
"No," replied Robert, quietly. "The previous tenant passed away in October. His parents came into town from Idaho and cleared out all his stuff. The rent was paid through March"—he glanced at Nick—"and Mrs. Neely, the manager, offered to sublet it out, but the parents haven't got back to her." He sighed. "I don't think they will."
"AIDS?" asked Mike.
Robert frowned and nodded. "And the parents were not very nice according to Mrs. Neely."
"Why don't we move someone in who needs a place to live?" asked Carter.
Robert shook his head. "I checked with Bob Carmichael at WilcoxRoss and he said it would be illegal." He looked around the room. "So, this place stays empty until March."
"If the parents still hold the lease, does that mean we're squatting?" asked Nick.
Robert grinned. "It does. Should I notify the landlord?"
"According to Mike, he's a real dick."
Everyone laughed.
Mike looked at Nick. "I suppose you're the one who pre-paid the rent."
"Did I?"
"Not directly, but, yes, more or less," replied Robert.
"What was the kid's name?"
"Mark Peterson."
"Then he gets the first toast." Nick lifted his glass of wine. "To Mark Peterson, wherever he is."
Everyone else lifted their glasses and, in unison, said, "To Mark."
Multi-Rainbow Award winner E.J. Russell—grace, mother of three, recovering actor—holds a BA and an MFA in theater, so naturally she’s spent the last three decades as a financial manager, database designer, and business intelligence consultant (as one does). She’s recently abandoned data wrangling, however, and spends her days wrestling words.
E.J. is married to Curmudgeonly Husband, a man who cares even less about sports than she does. Luckily, CH loves to cook, or all three of their children (Lovely Daughter and Darling Sons A and B) would have survived on nothing but Cheerios, beef jerky, and satsuma mandarins (the extent of E.J.’s culinary skill set).
E.J. lives in rural Oregon, enjoys visits from her wonderful adult children, and indulges in good books, red wine, and the occasional hyperbole.
Davidson King, always had a hope that someday her daydreams would become real-life stories. As a child, you would often find her in her own world, thinking up the most insane situations. It may have taken her awhile, but she made her dream come true with her first published work, Snow Falling.
When she's not writing you can find her blogging away on Diverse Reader, her review and promotional site. She managed to wrangle herself a husband who matched her crazy and they hatched three wonderful children.
If you were to ask her what gave her the courage to finally publish, she'd tell you it was her amazing family and friends. Support is vital in all things and when you're afraid of your dreams, it will be your cheering section that will lift you up.
Author and artist Jordan Castillo Price is the owner of JCP Books LLC. Her paranormal thrillers are colored by her time in the midwest, from inner city Chicago, to small town Wisconsin, to liberal Madison.
Jordan is best known as the author of the PsyCop series, an unfolding tale of paranormal mystery and suspense starring Victor Bayne, a gay medium who's plagued by ghostly visitations. Also check out her new series, Mnevermind, where memories are made...one client at a time.
With her education in fine arts and practical experience as a graphic designer, Jordan set out to create high quality ebooks with lavish cover art, quality editing and gripping content. The result is JCP Books, offering stories you'll want to read again and again.
Writing love stories with a happy ever after – cowboys, heroes, family, hockey, single dads, bodyguards
USA Today bestselling author RJ Scott has written over one hundred romance books. Emotional stories of complicated characters, cowboys, single dads, hockey players, millionaires, princes, bodyguards, Navy SEALs, soldiers, doctors, paramedics, firefighters, cops, and the men who get mixed up in their lives, always with a happy ever after.
She lives just outside London and spends every waking minute she isn’t with family either reading or writing. The last time she had a week’s break from writing, she didn’t like it one little bit, and she has yet to meet a box of chocolates she couldn’t defeat.
Frank W Butterfield
Frank W. Butterfield is the Amazon best-selling author of 89 (and counting) self-published novels, novellas, and short stories. Born and raised in Lubbock, Texas, he has traveled all over the US and Canada and now makes his home in Daytona Beach, Florida. His first attempt at writing at the age of nine with a ball-point pen and a notepad was a failure. Forty years later, he tried again and hasn't stopped since.
EJ Russell
GOOGLE PLAY / PINTEREST / RIPTIDE / AUDIBLE
Davidson King
EMAIL: davidsonkingauthor@yahoo.com
Monster till Midnight by EJ Russell
Law of Retaliation by Davidson King
Comic Sans by Jordan Castillo Price
The Soldier and the Bodyguard by RJ Scott
Pearl Harbor Day, 1991 by Frank W Butterfield
