Preview of New Release: Allie & The Djinn!

Please find below an excerpt from Allie & The Djinn, my upcoming release. My latest book, a novella, is a modern-day magic realism romfantasy which will be published on the 31st of October. After all, what better time to publish a story featuring magical creatures!

One djinn and one junkie, both desperate to escape their past. What could go wrong?

Quareem, one of the most powerful djinns of his time, has finally escaped the Hunters’ prison cell and is looking for a host.
Allie possesses a wealth of untapped hidden magic but spends her days chasing oblivion to ease the pain of losing her family in a tragic accident.

When Quareem jumps into Allie’s mind, they strike up a mutually beneficial arrangement. That is, until the Hunters arrive…

Allie & The Djinn will be available for pre-order soon!

Read a sample:

Allie & The Djinn

PROLOGUE

Quareem raised his hands, the walls of his tiny prison cell expanding with the movement, and concentrated on chanting every syllable with flawless pronunciation. After all, his goal wasn’t to end up as a sandworm in some wasteland, was it? After completing the spellbreaker, he waited.

No sound of a heartbeat, because the sorcery that placed him here had left him suspended outside of time and space.

I do exist, a quiet voice inside his head insisted, although, as far as the rest of the universe knew, his life had stopped the second the Hunters had trapped him and slapped their nullcuffs around his wrists.

He counted: one, two, three. The unmitigated sensory deprivation would have driven him mad if not for the sanity of numbers—and gasped as a bolt of lightning sliced through him. A sudden violent shivering had his teeth clacking against each other like knucklebones, and his heart slammed against his rib cage, beating an erratic rhythm—then a sideways shift and a glistening iridescence lit up his cell.

The next minute, he was… elsewhere.

He flinched as thunderous growls and blaring horns blasted his eardrums and squinted to limit the sharp sunlight piercing his eyeballs, before gradually opening his eyes wider and wider as he tried to make sense of the bewildering scene in front of him.

Metal boxes on wheels in various sizes and colors streamed by inches from where he stood, emitting a variety of honks, toots, and snorts. Men and women sat inside the raucous machines, their gazes fixed on the vehicle in front. People wearing outlandish outfits hurried along the sidewalk.

He drew in a long, slow breath, coughing as acrid, fusty fumes entered his lungs. This wasn’t the pure, clean air of his desert home. But so what? There was always a price to pay, and he didn’t care; he’d gained his freedom! He ran fingers over his face, through his hair, and patted his smooth cheeks. He stretched, and unused muscles and tendons expanded and released. His body was solid, no doubt about that, but somehow light, his bloodstream fizzing with bubbles. Water leaked down his smooth, golden-brown cheeks. A sensation he couldn’t identify coursed through him.

A flash of insight revealed it wasn’t the bewildering sights that blinded his vision, nor the cacophonous sounds invading his brain through his ears, nor the folk rushing along the busy street; it was the wild mixture of their emotions that overwhelmed him. Little did they know that their fears, anxieties, hopes, and loves all seeped out through their skin into the atmosphere. Such a porous membrane to contain such a wealth of power, and for a djinn with his abilities—when they were at full strength, that is—so easy to access.

He grinned. He had succeeded. Of course, he, the great Al Quareem, once acknowledged to be among the most powerful djinns to grace his society, most certainly wouldn’t cease to exist because he garbled his own spell—a spell that had taken eons to remember, hidden from his own mind by the Hunters’ hex. But he had at last remembered and escaped. He wanted to laugh and dance, but while he had liberated himself from their dungeon, his jailers would have known the instant he disappeared. His new, unfettered state would surely provide multiple opportunities, and he would rather die than allow them to incarcerate him again.

He inhaled deeper and caught the faintest whiff of something different. Alien. He spun around, searching, sniffing. Yes, there. He glimpsed the shimmer of a crimson cloak, sliding past on the other side of the veil that separated the Hunters’ world from this one. Fear, a dark wall, rose inside him. How could they be on to him so quickly? He froze, his limbs refusing to respond, and his heartbeat accelerated, ricocheting around his chest, thundering through his body.

A man clutching a bulky leather case to his chest banged his arm as he hurried by, breaking his trance. Quareem lifted a finger, pointed, and let it drop before the pain began. He sighed. No more blasting of defenseless humans—one of a hundred reasons the Hunters had incarcerated him.

He scanned the crowd, primed to move, to run, the urge to hide overwhelming him. He needed someone vulnerable. Ah! There. He cringed. His master, Shaitan curse him forever, would have beaten him senseless for considering a dirty beggar—and a female at that. This must be one of the lowest steps he had ever taken, but as a desperate fugitive, he would accept what the universe offered.

†

 

My Shopify Store is Open!

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Please check it out, and see if you spot a story you fancy escaping into for a few hours. There are exotic urban fantasies, futuristic sci-fi, a dark, twisty domestic noir, an entertaining romcom...and much more beside. 

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Courage Under Fire

As D-Day approached, I remembered a short story, Courage Under Fire, I'd written some time ago. Although my story takes place during WWI, and D-Day was during WWII, I wanted to share this story.

The idea came from a visit to the War Museum in London when I was a teenager, and my older brother had dragged me along with him. While he meandered, eyes wide, gawking at the weapon displays, I found myself almost in tears reading accounts of outstanding acts of bravery performed by soldiers awarded medals of honor in WWI.

Many years later, I remembered those stories and my reaction, so while Courage Under Fire is a work of fiction with names, characters, places and incidents either a product of my imagination or used fictitiously, the inspiration came from a real event.*

Courage Under Fire

Eddie clutches at wisps of his dream. Summer. His ma smelling of babies and herbs. He shivers, curling hedgehog-like into a ball, something he did when he was small after Da came home and battered anyone who said anything he took umbrage with. Even those harsh childhood memories appear rosy compared to what he is encountering now.

‘Time, lads.’ The sergeant’s heavy hand taps Eddie’s shoulder before moving along the trench. For such a big man, his movements are tender. The mercy of the hangman for the condemned.

Eddie pulls the coarse blanket up around his ears to keep the freezing cold at bay. The need to empty his bladder forces him to move. While he waits his turn at the latrines, the stink of feces mixed with quicklime curls up his nostrils, filling his mouth and belly with nausea. At least he’s not seen Jameson’s face for a few days.

Eddie thrusts aside the memory of his field punishment: tied to a gun wheel two hours a day for eleven days—awarded for a brawl started by Jameson. He won’t forget that in a hurry. After returning to his position, he finishes his bully beef and biscuits before sipping the cold tea that tastes of turnips. He relishes the rare moments of quiet before the day’s action.

‘You ready?’ his mate, John, whispers.

Eddie nods.

Both kneel. ‘Our Father who art in Heaven. Hallowed be thy name ...’

Eddie glances up and down the line. Most have put their rifles aside, and a gentle murmur rises as, with eyes shut, minds turned inward, they pray.

‘No one is an atheist when the bullets start flying,’ John had told him once. ‘Then everyone prays.’

The ack ack ack of enemy weapons knots Eddie’s guts, the fear familiar. Training kicks in, and he grabs his Lee-Enfield, checking the bolt-action mechanism, the ten-round box magazine, cartridges, cylinder and bayonet.

He dismisses the seditious whisperings, appearing daily now. But they return. The bastards move us like pawns while they sit far from the front line. This is just a game for them. It’s not their guts being smeared into the soil. But if you question, hesitate or, God forbid, lose your wits, your own side executes you. He clenches and unclenches his hands, feeling the cold metal of his weapon against his palms, as he remembers Willis, a private condemned to death as a traitor after walking away from the battlefield, stunned and in shock. Jameson had volunteered to be on the firing squad, but it was the contemptuous sneer on his face as he aimed his rifle at Willis that sticks in Eddie’s mind.

‘2nd Battalion,’ the sergeant growls, ‘move up the fire steps.’

The men surge up the rough ladders lining the wall and fling themselves to the ground. The angled top protects them as they lie on their stomachs.

Eddie tenses. There’s nothing that equates to warfare. Before the action, adrenaline primes you. You lie motionless, but alert, poised, every sense heightened. Each sound you hear draws a response from a nerve somewhere in your body. You don’t dare think this might be the last few seconds of life, because if you did, you’d remember your loved ones, and lose the hate you hold on to because you need it to kill.

He stares out at No Man’s Land. If he half closes his eyes, he can almost believe he’s with his Da in Chelmsbury Woods; an early morning mist creeping along the ground, frost nipping at his fingers, and cold seeping into his bones as he lies concealed in bushes, holding Da’s old rifle and waiting for a rabbit or squirrel to happen past.

The earth shudders as a barrage of artillery pounds targets, and choruses of mortar detonations swell to a deafening volume.

‘Fire’ bellows the sergeant.

Eddie raises his head, scanning the area; he aims and discharges his rifle. Bullets scream through the air. Empty the magazine; reload and fire. Again and again. 

The Huns are too distant to distinguish individual features, but close enough to see rows of steel helmets and glinting bayonets.

Eddie pauses, rubbing his numb fingers. Something catches his eye. He squints. ‘Look! There! Isn’t that Housby? ’ he mutters to John.

Housby had fallen too near enemy lines for an attempted recovery even under darkness. That was two days ago when they tried—and failed—to storm their adversary’s position.

Sure enough, where Eddie is pointing, barely distinguishable from the churned, frozen sludge, John sees a brown-gray lump twitch. “You’re right, lad.”

But Eddie’s up and moving.

'Hey! Eddie! Stop! You can’t save him. They’ll shoot you,’ John yells after him.

Eddie doesn’t stop, keeps racing forward.

'Cover him, lads!’ John orders.

Eddie moves in stops and starts; bent, scuttling crabwise, he scuffles sideways and forwards, his heart pumping so hard he thinks it’ll rupture. Then he trips, and his face smacks the earth as shells whistle by far too close to his ear. The wounded man groans; Eddie scans the injured soldier and realizes he’s not Housby. It’s Jameson.

More shells detonate.

Eddie freezes. What if John’s right? What if he doesn’t survive? The thoughts crowd in, and he can’t control the violent temors running through his body. Oh God, I don’t want to die out here in this freezing hell of muck and mud. Ashes to ashes and dust to dust. Not yet, dear God. Please. Why am I risking my life for that rat Jameson? Have I come too far to go back? Then he hears Ma’s voice: ‘You always got to try, Eddie. All you got to do is try.’ He seesaws. Should he save himself? Or try to rescue Jameson?

He makes a scurrying, scampering, mad dash toward the prostrate man, ignoring the incessant shellfire and shots screaming past. Somehow, he reaches the fallen soldier. He crouches and sees black blood oozing from Jameson’s wounds. ‘Jesus, you’re a mess,’ he whispers.

Jameson whimpers as Eddie heaves him up onto his shoulder.

Balancing Jameson’s weight, trying not to breathe in the smell of festering wounds, Eddie locks eyes with the Boche soldier facing him, not twenty feet away.

The young, blue-eyed, dirt-smeared lad, who couldn’t have been a day over sixteen, if that, has him in his sights. But he’s frozen with fright. This must be his first battle.

And Eddie knows that look. Once, out hunting with Da, there’d been a deer, a creature whose grace captivated him. Eddie recalls the soft innocence in the animal’s eyes as it looked up, sniffing for danger—oblivious to death’s approach. Da, impatient, snatched the gun from his hand and, with one sharp shot, secured enough meat to feed his hungry brood for a week.

Eddie winks at the German lad and grins through cracked lips.

The youngster manages a stiff nod.

But Jameson is heavy. The same as the deer Da had forced him carry home. A full-grown doe is a heavy weight for a thirteen-year-old boy, and twice he fell. Da stood, his expression hard, and watched without helping each time Eddy labored to rise. It took an hour to walk the mile to their cottage. Afterwards Da made him skin and butcher the animal while he sat and smoked his pipe. But Eddie’s committed. No-one is going to butcher Jameson.

Incoming Howitzers whine and lights flash as they strike their targets: excruciating cries echo from both sides as heavy mortar rounds find soft flesh which explodes outwards. The sound of aircraft overhead adds a deeper bass growl to the awful cacophony of battle.

Eddie recognizes that not a single shot from behind comes anywhere near them. They are blessed; their return a miracle.

John scrambles out and rushes toward them. Grabbing Jameson’s arms, he lowers him from Eddie’s back and together they half-carry, half-drag the unconscious man to safety. The three of them slide in a tangle of limbs into the trench. A rousing cheer erupts from the men, who, hardly believing what they’d just witnessed, had expected Eddie to be killed at any minute.

‘Bloody fool!’ barks the sergeant as he takes Jameson off them. Carrying him like a babe in his brawny embrace, he moves up the line, throwing more words over his shoulder. ‘You’re a bloody fool, Eddie, but a bloody brave one!’

***

Thank you for visiting my blog and reading the story. You can find my books and audiobooks on the relevant pages (click on the tabs at the top of the post) and I also publish on the following platforms:

Substack: bit.ly/3RDtTHh    Medium: https://medium.com/@teagankearney1

To read about the fearless soldier who inspired this story, visit Wikipedia and seach for Abraham Acton.

Stay well, stay safe and keep reading.

Best wishes,

Teagan,

FYI: I have published previous editions of this story under the title, Eddie's War, but I flashed on this new title this morning, and it just fit a whole lot better. 👍

.

Interview with Monica Nash: Narrator of The Serendipity Game Audiobook:

Teagan Kearney · The Serendipity Game

I'm delighted that the audiobook edition of The Serendipity Game is now available to listen to and enjoy!

The Serendipity Game is a romantic comedy and here's the blurb: 

When Casey meets Jake sparks fly. But Casey has no idea that Jake’s soon-to-be ex-wife, Elena, is using her to extract more than the pre-nuptial agreement from Jake. While Jake and Casey spend time together, Elena changes her mind about the divorce and plans to eliminate her competition. A drama-packed, entertaining romcom that will have you rooting for the feisty Casey and praying for her HEA.

The audiobook is available at Audible: https://adbl.co/2XX4tYZ

Amazon: https://amzn.to/3g1aMBb

Also from iBooks at the Apple Store 

Monica Nash is the brilliant actor who narrated and produced The Serendipity Game audiobook. She is a graduate of the prestigious Bristol Old Vic Theatre School. Monica is a pleasure to work with and I cannot believe I had the good luck to have one of my books narrated by her. Thank you, Monica! 

Interview with Monica Nash

1. Could you tell us a little bit about yourself? 

I was born in Reading and grew up in Berkshire where my parents taught at a boarding school. I come from a large family and was very fond of climbing trees, cycling and playing endless games with my sister and our large collection of dolls. For the most part I enjoyed school, particularly English, Art and History.

2. Did you always want to be an actress and what drew you to the performing arts as a career?

 I was always in school plays and loved performing in general as a child, but for years my great passion was ballet. I loved the music and the costumes, but most of all I loved the storytelling. It was as a teenager that acting took over as my primary interest. I knew then that I wanted to act professionally, and never seriously considered any other career.

3. When did you first perform and where did you train?

As an undergraduate studying English at the University of Bristol, I was heavily involved in the drama and music scenes. Later, I went to Bristol Old Vic Theatre School, where I studied for two years. My first professional acting jobs were in 2014.

4. Who are your influences? 

I have drawn inspiration from many people over the years, from family members to school teachers. My greatest professional influences have been certain members of staff at drama school, and, more generally, actors ranging from Samantha Morton to Emma Thompson to Joyce Grenfell. I am influenced by any great piece of theatre that I see.

5. What do you do to prepare?

It depends on the project but generally speaking I jump straight in with the script, and do any research that needs to be done as I go along.

6. What are your strengths as an actor and how do they contribute to the style that makes you unique?

I have always been confident with language, and my English degree has been an enormous help to me. I am good at spotting the rhythm of a line and knowing how to deliver it effectively. This is useful in both comedic and serious roles, and I always try to be a performer who can pass seamlessly between comedy and drama at the drop of a hat.

7. What fears/anxieties do you have about your work?

Actors always worry that they are not getting enough auditions, and I am no exception! In this line of work, financial stability is never guaranteed, so that is sometimes a concern. I am also worried about the way this industry has historically treated women, although I do think that it is improving.

8. What has been your greatest accomplishment as an actor and what impact did that success have on you?

My greatest achievement is that I am still working and making my living in this industry six years in! Probably my greatest specific achievement was successfully learning to walk on stilts, from scratch, in only six days, for a theatre role. It definitely made me more confident about learning new skills and gave me more faith in myself that I could rise to a challenge.

9. How does recording an audiobook stretch you as an actor and what was the biggest challenge you faced in recording The Serendipity Game?

Recording audiobooks is unlike any other form of performing since you do it alone without fellow cast members to inspire you and buoy you up. ‘The Serendipity Game’ in particular has a large cast of characters. Flitting seamlessly from one voice to another was probably the greatest challenge.

10. What did you like about Casey in The Serendipity Game?

Casey has had a difficult childhood and has come out of it as a very independent and spirited woman. She is loyal to her friends and stands up for herself. These were all great aspects to bring to her character.

11. If you had the chance to perform any role in any play or film, who would you choose and why?

There are far too many to choose from, but it’s probably a toss up between Eliza Doolittle in ‘My Fair Lady’ and Cruella de Vil in ‘101 Dalmatians’. Eliza is a richly comic part but also a nuanced character who goes on an incredible character journey, of a kind which is hugely rewarding to play. Cruella is a straightforward, larger than life, insane, bloodthirsty villain (with fantastic costumes) – who doesn’t love playing one of those?

12. Who do you look up to?

I love the work of directors like Josie Rourke, Emma Rice and Vicky Featherstone. The actor I most look up to, in terms of her range, emotional clarity and career choices, is Lesley Manville.

13. What is your next project?

I am working on another audiobook called ‘Hello’, a psychological thriller, and I am in rehearsals for an outdoor concert performance of Sondheim’s musical ‘Into the Woods’, playing Cinderella.

14. Where do you see yourself in ten years’ time?

Still acting! Hopefully with a rich and varied CV, having made many more wonderful friends.

15. What do you do when you’re not performing or recording audiobooks?

I have done various other non-acting jobs over the years. At the moment I am doing some online tutoring, as well as writing and performing some comedy pieces for a podcast. Outside of work, I sing with a chamber choir called Vivamus, spend time with my family and friends, drink copious amounts of tea, and see as much great theatre as I can.

16. What does your perfect Sunday afternoon look like?

Probably a longish walk ending up at the pub followed by watching a movie on the sofa with friends.

If you want to find out more about Monica you can contact her via her website: https://www.monicanashactor.com/

The Serendipity Game: A Sneak Peek

After a lot of dithering and, as this is my first romcom, there has been a lot to dither about, I realized Valentine's Day—the perfect opportunity to release my book—was fast approaching.  From vague, ah, um, what do I want to do next out-of-focus thinking, everything clicked into place and I had my deadline. My editor, the proficient and extremely supportive, Lois Dacus, had already sent the final edits, all that remained was formatting, the cover and a final title (this blog is not called 'writing my novel - no working title' for nothing) to be decided.

That was two weeks ago, and I'm thrilled to let you know The Serendipity Game, an entertaining, drama-packed love story will be released on the 14th February - Valentine's Day!

   When hard-working office temp and part-time barmaid Casey Jonson attends a party hosted by billionaire Jake Leinster, little does she realize the irresistibly attractive stranger she hooks up with is the man himself.

     But Casey has no idea that Jake’s soon-to-be-ex-wife, Hollywood actress Elena Elska, is using her as an unwitting pawn in a scheme to extract more than the pre-nuptial agreement from her billionaire husband and, unforeseen by Elena, Jake and Casey fall for each other.

     Elena uses the paparazzi to further her agenda, and Casey and Jake’s all-too-brief moment of wild abandon lights up social media. Over the following days, hounded by journalists, Casey becomes increasingly desperate as she loses her job and is forced to go on the run.

     After Jake locates Casey, they spend time together, discovering if their attraction for each other is more than a moment of passion. Meanwhile, Elena changes her mind about the divorce and puts into play a plan to permanently eliminate her competition.

And here's a peek at the first chapter:

The Serendipity Game ©

By 

Teagan Kearney

Chapter 1: A Traffic Stopper

The clamor of central London’s traffic receded as Casey followed Ian into the cobbled mews off Bond Street; even the stifling midday heat seemed less oppressive. Terraced houses with pots of colorful blooms outside painted doors on one side faced the exclusive boutiques lining the other.

Casey lifted the damp hair off her neck. Two hours ago, Ian had called and asked if she would like to accompany him to an annual party hosted by his billionaire boss, Jake Leinster. Apologizing for the last-minute invitation—the party was that evening—he insisted on buying her a designer dress of her choice to make up for the short notice—or in case she didn’t have an outfit to wear. The blatant bribe worked. Galvanized in pretty much the same manner as if she’d stuck her finger in an electric socket, she zipped in and out of the shower, ran a brush through her tangled knots and grabbed a hairband that snapped as she sat in Ian’s car, finger-combing the heavy mass into its usual high ponytail. Now her neck and back were clammy and limp strands clung to her flushed face.

“Ah, there it is.” Ian pointed to a shop where the letters I-ME, written in gold on a gray background, glittered in the sunshine. The window display featured one item; an almost transparent maxi dress over a nude-colored skimpy bra and thong worn by a headless model in front of a black backdrop.

There’ll be sparks if he thinks I’m wearing that, Casey thought in amusement as Ian opened the door, gesturing for her to enter. She sighed with relief as the air-conditioning raised goosebumps on her arms and she breathed in the soothing sandalwood incense.

The shop had white-painted hardwood floors and walls featuring blown-up black and white photos of models in dramatic poses on the edges of cliffs and in front of icebergs. Three chrome plinths displayed items—a single shoe, a handbag, a jewel-encrusted bracelet—and a few rails, each with three or four outfits, stood against the walls.

A little different from Primark and no price tags. She knew what that meant and wondered how much Ian was willing to shell out to impress his boss.

A rake-thin shop assistant, ironed hair, heavy kohl and mascara, purple lipstick, yellow python-print leggings and a black bandeau, sauntered toward them. “Mr. Westley?” She addressed Ian, her vowels plum, and ignored Casey.

“Yes, and this is the young lady who needs a special outfit.” Ian smiled the charming practiced smile, Casey was learning, he used when he wanted something.

“I’m Carlotta. Call me Lottie.” The young woman responded to Ian’s charisma by batting her eyelids, her eyes flicking from Ian’s navy striped blazer to Casey’s tatty jeans and well-worn trainers. With a twitch of an eyebrow, she implied that, whereas Ian was a ten, Casey was a four at best, and her lips twisted in a sneer as she took in the words I’m not yo’ mama emblazoned across the faded red T-shirt.

Casey clamped her lips together and thought of walking out, but the opportunity to see how the one percent lived didn’t often arise—in fact, had never materialized and probably never would again, so she stayed.

Two weeks ago, Ian had walked into The Drunken Bull, where she worked weekends as a barmaid because her day job, receptionist temping for an office-staffing agency, scarcely paid the bills. At six foot one, with dark blond hair, an Alex Pettyfer lookalike, he was hard to ignore. His gaze skimmed the clientele before spotting Casey and promptly heading for the bar. By closing time, she’d agreed to let him take a selfie and go out on a date with him.

As Ian left, Greg, her boss, warned, “I’d watch that one if I was you,” but she’d shrugged off his advice and gone out with him anyway. They saw a foreign film with subtitles, not her usual scene but she enjoyed it, and they dined at an upmarket restaurant well beyond her financially challenged budget. Unlike every other date she’d had, Ian was a perfect gentleman, kissing her on the cheek when he dropped her home, assuring her he’d call.

Yet despite his display of self-discipline, Ian’s glib patter sparked an alert; he was a player, the kind Casey would normally take a detour around the block to avoid, but her social life had gone AWOL, and she succumbed to his charm. The month before, she’d ended her previous relationship—a record at eight months—because, as she revealed to Marnie, her best friend and the mother of her three godchildren, Billy was getting clingy.

“More like he wants you to commit,” Marnie retorted.

Billy made her laugh; and when he’d taken her to the rock-climbing wall in the local leisure center as his guest, she relished the challenge. Missing out on the rock wall was a major regret, but she wasn’t searching for a life partner. Left on the steps of the local church as a newborn and growing up in the state care system, Casey didn’t believe in happy ever after.

“This way,” Ms. Skinny and Smug ordered, leading them into a private room with a three-way mirror, two rails packed with designer clothes, a changing cubicle, a table and a couple of chairs with enough space to walk up and down. “Melanie, your fitter, will be with you shortly.” Carlotta-call-me-Lottie turned to Ian. “Coffee, tea, champagne?”

“Casey?”

Champagne? And end up agreeing to wear the outfit on display in the window? “Coffee. Large soy

 latte, extra shot, thanks.”

“Make that two,” Ian added.

“Why don’t you look through the selection we’ve put out and see if there’s anything you want her to try on?” Carlotta gushed.

Casey glared at the python-clad buttocks twitching from side to side as she sashayed out. Regretfully, her killer laser-eyed superpower remained inactive.

Ian rifled through the rack and held up a black version of the dress on display in the window. “What about this one? With your strawberry blonde hair and those baby blues, you’d look stunning in this.”

Baby blues? Did he think he was in an American gangster movie? Casey raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t this a respectable party? No, thanks.” That dress would invite a walk of shame if ever a dress did. She pulled out a pink chiffon number that caught her eye.

Ian’s lips thinned. “You’re not in a pageant competition, either.”

Melanie, older and with an air of competence, arrived with their coffees. Her experienced eye studied Casey’s figure, and without hesitation she pulled out half a dozen dresses for her to try.

An hour later, frazzled by Ian’s dismissal of her preferences and her rejection of his, Casey wobbled out of the cubicle in a pair of chili-red Jimmy Choo strappy sandals with six-inch heels, wearing an off-one-shoulder, chili-red silk dress that Melanie described as bandage-style because of the figure-hugging, wraparound layers of satiny material.

Ian’s gaze raked Casey from head to toe, lingering on her curves as he said, “That’s the one. You’ll knock ‘em dead in that, baby, and win me a few kudos with my boss.” He came and stood behind her, “Here.” He lifted her hair into a loose bun on top of her head. “A traffic stopper is what you are.”

Melanie chimed in, adding her approval. “Few women can carry off that particular style,” she enthused, “but you have the perfect figure.”

At five foot six, slender with long dancer’s legs, slim waist and a generously perky bosom, the dress made her figure look fabulous and the color suited her perfectly. She turned this way and that, examining the view from the front, side and rear. She would have to practice taking tiny steps; otherwise, she’d topple and faceplant. Not the kind of impression she wanted to make. Without Ian and Melanie’s input, she would never have picked a dress that exposed her figure so much, but she would only wear it the once, so why not? Besides, tomorrow or the day after, she’d sell it on eBay and pay for the basic management skills course she had her eye on and, if there was enough left, for a rock-climbing course. She wanted more out of life than answering phones and was willing to work hard to achieve her goals. She regarded Ian. “Let’s go with this one.”

“Lucy will be at yours at six to do your hair and makeup, and I’ll pick you up at seven-fifteen,” Ian reminded her as they left the shop, bags in hand, and headed into the sweltering London streets.

“How much did this lot cost you?” Casey asked. She’d tried to see the amount on the cash register when Ian gave Lottie his credit card, but he moved, blocking her view.

“Don’t you worry that pretty head of yours about that,” Ian replied with a wink. “What do you imagine expense accounts are for?”

The tiniest nitpicking doubt waved a hand. She ignored it. Putting her trust and commitment issues with men aside, she had agreed to go and she would keep her word.

***

The book is currently available at the following digital retailers: 
Amazon: https://amzn.to/2ShhLvO              Kobo: https://bit.ly/2OzHLl1  
Apple ibooks: https://apple.co/2SnN2xo 

Barnes & Noble: https://bit.ly/2SmEaIc

Have a great week, be kind to others and to yourself and keep reading.

Best wishes,
Teagan.

Healer's Magic on Audible!

At last! 

Healer's Magic was the second book I wrote and self-published on Amazon, but the journey, for one reason or another, from book to audiobook has taken much longer than I anticipated. In fact, I managed to publish seven other audiobooks before this one!

Nonethless, I am very happy to annouce that the audiobook is now availalable on Audible, Amazon and iTunes. Click the link to hear a sample: https://bit.ly/37qGVPC

Healer's Magic is FREE as an audiobook with Audible's 30-Day Trial:  https://adbl.co/2OL01HJ

A powerful healer. A treacherous enemy. A deadly conflict.

Tatya's world slides into chaos when a demon consumed with the desire to control her power attacks those she loves. She refuses the local master vampire’s offer of aid, as he's just turned her best friend into one of the undead. She needs allies, but who can she trust in the battle to destroy this dangerous enemy?

If you like urban fantasy laced with mysticism, fast-paced action, and stubborn independent heroines, you'll love this fresh innovative take on the vampire/demon myth. 

'Healer’s Magic’ is Book One in the 'Kala Trilogy'.

Here's what reviewers are saying about this epic paranormal thriller.

"An intoxicating work of creativity, passion, imagination and danger...stretches the boundaries for this type of fiction in new ways...fresh and original." Gillian Hancock, Indie Book Reviewer.

"An interesting concept ... great energy that whisks us along...genuine and authentic." Laura Clarke, Indie Book Reviewer.
"Addicting, multi-layered story." Layla Messing, Indie Book Reviewer.

***

The ebook edition is also FREE and available to download from Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Kobo, Smashwords, Prolific Works, Story Origin etc.


Best wishes, be kind to yourselves and others and keep reading!

Playing with graphics

As an indie author/authorpreneur/self-pubbed author*, I sign up to a lot of newsletters, especially those that have insights into any relevant areas of the book publishing/marketing industry. One dropped into my mailbox today from BookTweeters.com which stirred my interest.

The email was about a website called BookBrush which allows authors to create images for marketing their books. The Free Plan allows 3 downloads per month, so I clicked the link and spent a happy hour clicking buttons and experimenting. You can view the results below. I'm not a professional, although, I use Adobe photoshop for my book covers and for my ads, and I found this amazingly quick and easy to use.

Here are my results:

I'll tweak these a bit more and, especially in the second one, would like to play around with the font, but next time I won't click the Download button twice on one image as it counted as two downloads! There are 2 plans, the Limted Free plan and the Plus plan which is $8 per month, paid yearly ($96). 

If you like learning new skills and want to give BookBrush a try, check it out here:

https://bookbrush.com/    

And if you're looking for someone to help you promote your books, check out BookTweeters.com      

Best wishes, 

Teagan.

*self-pubbed, for those who don't know, refers to self-published authors, not writers who choose write their books in pubs (tradition British drinking places).