Before Roxy found herself “Single in Buenos Aires,” she was a single girl in London in search of true love. The third installment of The Polo Diaries series takes us back to that time, and we follow Roxy as she hires a love coach to help her navigate the dating scene. But the love coach comes up with an unexpected assignment: reconnect to a long-forgotten passion. For Roxy this means horses. Within weeks, she finds herself playing polo, thanks to a series of unforeseen events.
Torn between her desire to become the best polo player she can be and the dream of falling in love, Roxy steps fully into the exciting and demanding world of polo, where injury and recovery mix with hard training, and where celebrating the victory of a tournament comes at a high price. Will Roxy eventually become the polo player she dreams to be? And with polo being such a demanding sport, can there be any space left for love?
Aussie Jill arrives in Edinburgh at Festival time, at the start of a gap year. Unfortunately, her boss at the temporary job she’s taken turns out to be her grumpy neighbour, Andrew, aka Mr Bossy. As the Festival fireworks explode over the city every night, they start to fall in love. Then Jill has to return suddenly to Australia. Can their budding romance survive or will the fireworks fizzle and die?
Extract
She wondered what Mr. MacCallum-Blair would be like. Late fifties, she thought, balding, with a large stomach and a pinstripe suit. Or perhaps fortyish with longish hair and lurid ties, a live-in girlfriend who works in advertising or as a model, and….
Jill was so busy conjuring up her new boss’s lifestyle that she had passed the number before she realised it. She quickly doubled back and ran up the broad steps to the entrance to number 76. According to the nameplate, MacCallum-Blair Enterprises was on the first floor. She buzzed and gave her name, then waited for the click of the door’s release.
She ran up the stairs and, as she turned to climb the final flight, she was surprised to see a woman sitting at a desk at the top of the stairs, watching her ascent.
‘Good morning,’ she said. ‘I take it you’re from the agency?’
‘Yes, I’m Jill Kennedy.’
The woman nodded. ‘Take a seat,’ she said, gesturing at an armchair in the corner next to a coffee table of glossy magazines.
Like an upmarket dentist’s, Jill thought, and I feel exactly as if I was going to have several teeth pulled.
The phone rang and, while the woman answered it, Jill took the opportunity to size her up. After all, she would probably be working quite closely with her. Early forties, neatly dressed in a dark blue trouser suit, with a pale lilac patterned blouse and wedding and engagement rings. Not the boss’s fancy woman. Probably the PA she was replacing had that role. Or maybe Mr. MacCallum-Blair was happily married. Here’s hoping, at any rate. She didn’t fancy having to cope with amorous advances as well as the new workload.
‘Mr. MacCallum-Blair will see you now.’ The woman pointed to a dark wooden door. ‘Just go in. He’s taking a call at the moment, but he won’t be long.’
Jill tapped on the door and went in. The room was dominated by two long picture windows, through which Jill could see the trees in the private gardens. A nice outlook for the boss then. In front of the windows was a wide, old-fashioned desk with a very modern laptop sitting on it. Mr. MacCallum-Blair had swivelled his chair round to face out of the window while he took the call. While he ummed and said ‘Right’ and ‘Fine’ to his caller, Jill took the opportunity to admire the high ceiling decorated with an elaborate cornice of grapes, vine leaves, and flowers, and a centrepiece, similarly decorated, surrounding the base of a chandelier.
It’s stunning, she thought, as she admired the crystal pendants waterfalling from their fixture. The light from the windows caught them, and glints flashed around the ceiling and walls. She was enchanted.
‘Good God, not you,’ said a voice.
Ann Burnett has been writing for many years and covers many genres. She wrote Postman Pat stories for a comic for five years, adapted Moomin stories as picture books, and scripted over 100 programmes for BBC children’s TV and radio. She also writes short stories and articles and has even tried poetry and drama!
Her latest writing is a contemporary romance, Festival Fireworks, for Ladybug Publications.
She was once almost sold to a Masai warrior for two cows but was only saved because her husband wouldn’t have been able to get the cows on the plane home!
A Magic Circle wizard has been brutally killed on the English south coast.
Sam Franklin, Pagoda and Meyra are on the case; as a cat, Pagoda would rather get into the case and have a nap.
Sam’s a senior wizard who doesn’t want to follow in the dead man’s footsteps; Meyra’s still struggling to fit into our world.
They walk on and under the mean streets of Brighton, hunting the killer (and the missing body). They find a whole lot more: a murderous dark magic conspiracy preying on the poor and vulnerable in our society, a werewolf with exquisite dentistry, a goblin fatale and a sat-nav with serious personality issues.
This fur-raising adventure will introduce you to the dark corners of our world where magic works and the monsters often wear nicely tailored suits.
Extract
PAGODA CAT [allowing Sam the privilege of sharing her mind to experience her burglary]
The Commune begins.
The alleyway running behind the target. Sweep along it. Take in the oozing bin smells and the acrid spilt beer and ammonia.
A Dog. Careers from behind a rubbish bag, comes to a halt, teeth bared, low growl. Jack Russel? Terrier? More like a Pickandmix. Only one ear. Seriously? Do you want to keep that one? Thought so. Yes, that’s it: run away, little boy. A hiss. Just to make sure.
Back of the target building. No sound.
Switch into the embrace of Cat-time, each moment luxurious and plush.
Risk assessment. Tail setting: Cautious.
Squirm through a tight hole to get in. Take care not to ruffle any fur. The human cage…office…is cramped for humans, cavernous for me, the main shop visible through the connecting door. No humans in this room. No guard dogs. Perfect.
And close by?
The black-haired one with the orange split ends: Derek. In the front of the shop talking to an adult human devoid of fur. Humans all look the same, the only way to tell them apart is usually their fur. And how they smell. Derek now exudes spilled korma, adding to his earlier sandalwood; the other human a mixture of sweat and golden retriever. Nothing sinister about him, apart from the Reek of Dog.
No immediate danger. Ignore both.
Look around. Prioritise.
In the corner: there’s something. Food or potential food? Everything is one or the other. Tuna…skipjack…“Seriously Special” brand…Sniff. No more than six hours and seventeen minutes on the floor. Stored between two brown triangles. Must be a clue. Yum. It’s food. Not a clue. Glad that’s resolved. No need for fingerprint evidence.
Video camera mounted on the ceiling. Slowly whirring from side to side covering the front of the shop. Sit and watch it. Side to side, side to side, side to side, side to side…
Concentrate!
No sign of a burglar alarm.
What’s that?
Something on the desk. A screen. Alert! There’s another smaller Derek. Here! Trapped in the screen! Talking to another furless human! Tail to Medium since they are only small. Why are there two Dereks and two furless humans? Why is one pair smaller? Is there no end to human trickery? The small ones copy the big ones. Better keep watch on all four. Tail back down to Cautious.
What else?
A dull grey tower against the wall with evenly spaced bars for humans to grip and pull so they will slide out. Intriguing, but human thumbs are required. Ignore.
A human litterbox in a small separate room. Marking their territory: a faint trace of something trying to be lemon, but mostly pure human den. Enough layers to keep feline historians busy for a loooong time. Fascinating but distracting: my pedigree etiquette would demand way too much self-grooming afterwards. I don’t have enough tongues…
Oooh! A roll of tape. All shiny and pretty. Potential food? Better chase it around, and – there you go – toss it up and attack it. Hah! Now, leave it alone. Leave it. Leave it. Wait for it. Wait…Re-trace steps up to it From A Completely Different Direction and then: Hah again! Victory!
Hold on, the front door is closing. The big and small shinyhead humans have both gone. Two Dereks left. Where’s that tape gone?
Uh-oh. Big Derek is coming. Getting bigger with every step. And the little one, also getting bigger. Seems to be climbing out of that screen.
Alert!
Be even cuter, in case either notices. Prepare to widen eyes to Very Big Indeed. That usually works. And, as a precaution, set tail to Bushy and Menacing. Maybe leave the tape alone for now.
Time to go. Can’t fight both Dereks. Sidle away in orderly retreat. Out through that gap in the back wall. Into the alleyway. Stop and catch breath. Reset. Time to look unruffled and immaculate…Outstanding.
Has the Pickandmix come back for more? No? Splendid. (And slightly disappointing.)
Hungry now. Sleepy, too. So: all systems normal.
But must wait until back with Him. Us? It’s the deal.
This novel reflects on the rumours and theories surrounding a number of real-life events, including the death of the Duke of Kent and the aircraft crashes of Short Sunderland W4032 and Avro Anson DJ106.
Wing Commander Robert Sutherland has left his days as a pre-war detective far behind him. Or so he thinks. On 25 August 1942 the Duke of Kent, brother of King George VI, is killed in northern Scotland in an unexplained air crash; a second crash soon after suggests a shared, possibly sinister, cause. Bob Sutherland is tasked with visiting the aircraft’s base in Oban and the first crash site in Caithness to gather clues as to who might have had reason to sabotage one, or both, of the aircraft.
Set against the background of a country that is far from united behind Winston Churchill, and the ever-present threat from the enemy, we follow Bob as he unravels layers of deceit and intrigue far beyond anything he expects.
A spiralling obsession. A missing wife. A terrifying secret. Will he find her before it’s too late?
When Dr Jacob Boyce’s wife goes missing, the police put it down to a simple marital dispute. Jacob, however, fears something darker. Following her trail to Spain, he becomes convinced that Ella’s disappearance is tied to a mysterious painting whose hidden geometric and numerical riddles he’s been obsessively trying to solve for months. Obscure, hallucinogenic clues, and bizarre, larger-than-life characters, guide an increasingly unhinged Jacob through a nightmarish Spanish landscape to an art forger’s studio in Madrid, where he comes face-to-face with a centuries-old horror, and the terrifying, mind-bending, truth about his wife.
About the Author
Tom Gillespie grew up in a small town just outside Glasgow. After completing a Masters in English at Glasgow University, he spent the next ten years pursuing a musical career as a singer/songwriter, playing, recording and touring the UK and Europe with his band. He now lives in Bath with his wife, daughter and hyper-neurotic cat, where he works at the university as an English lecturer. Tom writes long and short stories. His stories have appeared in many magazines, journals and e-zines. He is co-author of Glass Work Humans-an anthology of stories and poems, published by Valley Press. Visit Tom at tom-gillespie.com
The world’s first earth-orbit passenger plane, the sensational Celeste Three, takes off from its base in Arizona, also the only place where it is designed land. On a routine flight the craft disappears.
On board is Viktor Karenkov, billionaire oil magnate who has used his wealth to evade prosecution for a murder he committed years earlier. Gregory Topozian, the murdered man’s friend, has been waiting for a chance to bring Karenkov to justice. With dogged determination and considerable ingenuity, he conceives an audacious plan.
Getting the craft down in total secrecy is key. And someone has to pay the huge costs involved.
PUBLICATION DATE: 14 MAY 2020 | PAPERBACK ORIGINAL | £8.99 | ORENDA BOOKS
Fran hates her hometown, and she thought she’d escaped. But her father is ill, and needs care. Her relationship is over, and she hates her dead-end job in the city, anyway.
She returns home to nurse her dying father, her distant teenage daughter in tow for the weekends. There, in the sleepy town of Ash Mountain, childhood memories prick at her fragile self-esteem, she falls in love for the first time, and her demanding dad tests her patience, all in the unbearable heat of an Australian summer.
As past friendships and rivalries are renewed, and new ones forged, Fran’s tumultuous home life is the least of her worries, when old crimes rear their heads and a devastating bushfire ravages the town and all of its inhabitants…
Josie James is an ordinary 13-year-old until something extraordinary happens during her summer holidays. Whilst staying at her Great Grandmother’s cottage in the country she finds herself swept into the cursed world of Suncroft where it is perpetual winter. Her new friends believe she could be the Chosen One who it is foretold will lift the curse, but there are more pressing matters. The Teardrops of Summer – magical crystals that render the owner immortal – have been stolen. Along with her telepathic husky-dog Protector Asher and her new friends, Josie must race to find the Teardrops and prevent catastrophe for their world.
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In this chapter, we are starting to learn more about why Josie is the chosen one. Here is where she first meets Asher and realises she can hear his voice.
Josie watched Murphy walked towards him as if summoned.
“I’ve never seen a Husky so big.” Josie was still in awe of Murphy’s size.
“As you can see, Murphy here has the same green eyes as my crystal and if you look at his tail…” Her grandad held his crystal against Murphy. It was an exact match to the black tear drop shape on his tail. “Most Protectors are born and bred in Suncroft, their special gift, like ours, being passed down through the generations. But occasionally one is found in your world.”
With these words a red bundle of fluff raced into the room and launched itself onto Josie’s lap, licking her face and nuzzling her ears. Murphy placed one of his huge paws on its back and suddenly it sat down, green eyes staring intently at Josie.
“Asher is the name, protecting is the game.” Josie could hear a voice with a strong Cockney accent echoing inside her brain. She shook her head in disbelief and looked around the room, bewildered. “It’s me talking, well not talking, oh you know what I mean.” Josie looked at the small Husky sitting on her lap. It appeared to be smiling at her.
“Erm…” Josie looked over to her nan and grandad who had leaned forward in their seats, a look of anticipation on their faces. Even Murphy looked like he was waiting with baited breath. “He says his name is Asher?” Her grandad suddenly leapt up, a huge smile on his face.
“Oh Josie, you don’t know how good it is to hear you say that.” He hugged her tightly. “This is Asher, as you know. He was found in London a few weeks ago after Murphy sensed him and we just knew he was meant for you.” Josie scrutinised the puppy. He was about six months old but already quite large. His fur was long, fluffy and a deep auburn colour. His tummy and legs were a dark cream and like Murphy he had a black tear drop on his tail. “We’ve been waiting for you to be old enough to understand and also to see if you were the one we all hoped you were.”
There’s a follow up, if you’re interested in this one.
Josie James and The Velvet Knife
“For you to find the Velvet Knife, you must solve the riddles thrice.” A mysterious hooded figure, known only as the Velvet Knife has appeared in the cursed village of Suncroft. No one knows who he is or what he wants but when he starts leaving riddles around the village, it is time for Josie to return to Suncroft for a second time. With Asher, her faithful husky Protector by her side, Filan, a half elf, and her great grandad, will they be able to solve the clues in time and discover his identity? The Velvet Knife is not the only one causing problems for Josie. Her rival for the position of the ‘Chosen One’ continues to grow stronger, and now he has a Protector of his own. What does all this mean for Josie? Is she destined to lift the wintery curse of Suncroft or will another take her place as the ‘Chosen One’?
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Author Bio
Lily Mae Walters chose her pen name in honour of her beloved grandparents who also stare in the Josie James series.
She is married with two teenage children, and two huskies that are the inspiration behind Murphy and Asher in the books.
Lily Mae lives in Nuneaton, England and finds herself using local places and even her old school in her stories.
Family and friends mean the world to Lily Mae and many will find themselves popping up throughout the series.
Lily Mae also writes for adults under the name of Florence Keeling.
PUBLICATION DATE: 28 MAY 2020 | PAPERBACK ORIGINAL | £8.99 | ORENDA BOOKS
The first in the electrifying new Forbidden Iceland series, The Creak on the Stairs is an exquisitely written, claustrophobic and chillingly atmospheric debut thriller by one of Iceland’s most exciting new talents.
When the body of a woman is discovered at a lighthouse in the Icelandic town of Akranes, it soon becomes clear that she’s no stranger to the area. Chief Investigating Officer Elma, who has returned to Akranes following a failed relationship, and her colleagues Sævar and Hörður, commence an uneasy investigation, which uncovers a shocking secret in the dead woman’s past that continues to reverberate in the present day…
But as Elma and her team make a series of discoveries, they bring to light a host of long-hidden crimes that shake the entire community. Sifting through the rubble of the townspeople’s shattered memories, they have to dodge increasingly serious threats, and find justice … before it ’s too late.
In this extract, Thomas and Wulfstan think they might have found two possible candidates for their team of warriors. They’re looking for women who’re tough, smart and determined, and these two look to be all of that…
It was in a manor almost exactly half way between Tamworth and Hengist’s that Wulfstan made his first discovery. Under his guidance, Thomas brought his group off the road down a track that led to an assart in the forest. A small cluster of huts and one modest hall sat near a stream that ran through the open space of farmland and pasture that was bounded by trees. The smell of wood smoke, ever present at any centre of human habitation in this world, hung lightly in the summer air, but here the sharper scent of burnt charcoal got stronger and stronger, the closer they got.
Coming around the corner of the barn into the main yard they saw a brazier, charcoal coals glowing red hot. A man with a grimly determined expression checked the heat of a long handled glowing poker, then plunged it back into the coals. Behind him stood the rest of the village, jabbering and chattering.
Next to the brazier was a strongly built “A” shaped wooden frame, with a young woman bound to it, face in, standing up with her hands tied to the top of the “A”. The new arrivals could see her equally determined face glaring at them through the framework.
It was a striking face. Elfin in structure, framed with straight mousey brown hair. Even more striking was a very similar face standing next to her.
‘Identical twins!’ thought Thomas.
‘Good day to you my friend, from Prince Wulfstan of Mercia.’ he said to the man at the brazier. ‘What is happening here?’
‘I know who you are Your Highness.’ said the man bowing low. ‘Welcome to my home.’
‘Thank you.’ said Thomas. ‘And what home entertainments are you performing here?’ indicating the bound girl.
‘She is a thief! Or her sister is.’ he said pointing to her unbound companion. ‘We can’t tell them apart, but we know one of them stole a whole roast goose last night! She was seen! But each blames the other.’
‘So how do you know you are punishing the right one?’ asked Thomas.
‘We don’t Your Highness. They are both slaves. They are jointly lying to avoid punishment, so we are going to make sure we can tell them apart in future. This one is going to be branded on her right shoulder.’
‘Won’t that affect her work?’
‘Only for a week Your Highness. And if she’s the one we think she is, she doesn’t do very good work anyway, so we won’t notice much difference.’
Thomas nodded. ‘And their work is?’
‘Weavers Your Highness. One does wonderful work, always laughing and smiling. The other, this one, does mediocre work, always being punished, always scowling.’
‘And how do you know they don’t swap roles all the time just to tease you?’ laughed Thomas.
The man smirked. ‘Well if they do that Your Highness, they are very good at keeping up the game! Anyway, this girl was the surly, rude one when questioned about the theft, so she’s the one getting marked. If they are swapping roles, the branding will tell us that too!’
He turned back to the brazier, took out the poker and checked the colour. ‘Not hot enough yet. Another couple of minutes I think.’
‘Or perhaps I can offer you an alternative solution.’ said Thomas. ‘I am looking for slaves to take part in my battle with Lord Grimketil in a year’s time, and these two might be suitable.’
The man raised his eyebrows. ‘You want to buy them Your Highness?’
‘Only if they want to come. They have to know what will be asked of them, what they are risking, and what will be the reward. I can pick only slaves, yet I will choose only volunteers. May I ask them?’
‘Of course Your Highness!’ replied the man, who recognised a good opportunity to get rid of a troublesome slave for good money when he saw it.
Thomas dismounted and went over to the frame, beckoning the other girl closer. Huddling together, there was much low voiced muttering. Thomas returned to the man, took out his money bag and counted out a more than fair value for the two girls. ‘Would that meet with your approval?’
The man beamed. ‘Yes Your Highness! It’s an honour doing business with you.’
Thomas laughed. ‘You mean it’s an honour getting more than you were expecting for them! In this matter I want you to feel you have been treated honourably, and that’s part of the price I pay. I want no complaints later on.’
‘There will be none from me Your Highness, I swear on my mother’s grave.’ said the man.
An old lady came up quietly behind him. ‘May I remind you Egbert, that I am not yet dead.’
Everything Is Better With Dragons 