Friday, April 25, 2008

Winter Haven by Athol Dickson


This week, the

Christian Fiction Blog Alliance

is introducing

Winter Haven

(Bethany House April 1, 2008)

by

Athol Dickson


ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Athol Dickson's university-level training in painting, sculpture, and architecture was followed by a long career as an architect then his decision several years ago to devote full time to writing.

Athol Dickson’s writing has been favorably compared to the work of Octavia Butler
(Publisher’s Weekly), Daphne du Maurier (Cindy Crosby, FaithfulReader.com) and FlanneryO’Connor (The New York Times).

His They Shall See God was a Christy Award finalist and his River Rising was a Christy Award winner, selected as one of the Booklist Top Ten Christian Novels of 2006 and a finalist for Christianity Today's Best Novel of 2006.

He and his wife, Sue, live in Southern California. Visit AtholDickson.com for more information.


ABOUT THE BOOK

Boys who never age, giants lost in time, mist that never rises, questions never asked...on the most remote of islands off the coast of Maine, history haunts the present and Vera Gamble wrestles with a past that will not yield. Will she find refuge there, or will her ghosts prevail on...Winter Haven

Eleven years ago, Vera Gamble's brother left their house never to be seen again. Until the day Vera gets a phone call that his body has been found...washed ashore in the tiny island town of Winter Haven, Maine. His only surviving kin, Vera travels north to claim the body...and finds herself tumbling into a tangled mystery. Her brother hasn't aged a day since last she saw him.

Determined to uncover what happened in those lost years, Vera soon discovers there are other secrets lurking in this isolated town. But Winter Haven's murky past now seems bound to come to light as one woman seeks the undeniable and flooding light of truth.

Friday, April 18, 2008

My Soul to Keep by Melanie Wells


This week, the

Christian Fiction Blog Alliance

is introducing

My Soul To Keep

(Multnomah Books - February 5, 2008)

by

Melanie Wells


ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

A native of the Texas panhandle and the child of musicians, Melanie Wells attended Southern Methodist University on a music scholarship (she's a fiddle player), and later completed graduate degrees in counseling psychology and Biblical studies at Our Lady of the Lake University and Dallas Theological Seminary.

She has taught at the graduate level at both OLLU and DTS, and has been in private practice as a counselor since 1992. She is the founder and director of LifeWorks counseling associates in Dallas, Texas, a collaborative community of creative therapists.

When the Day of Evil Comes is her first published work of fiction, and the first of a three-book series. The second work, The Soul Hunter was released in May, 2006. Melanie lives and writes in Dallas.

ABOUT THE BOOK:

As nasty as I knew Peter Terry to be, I never expected him to start kidnapping kids. Much less a sweet, funny little boy with nothing to protect him but a few knock-kneed women, two rabbits and a staple gun…

It’s psychology professor Dylan Foster’s favorite day of the academic year…graduation day. And her little friend Christine Zocci’s sixth birthday. But the joyful summer afternoon goes south when a little boy is snatched from a neighborhood park, setting off a chain of events that seen to lead nowhere.

The police are baffled, but Christine’s eerie connection with the kidnapped child sends Dylan on a chilling investigation of her own. Is the pasty, elusive stranger Peter Terry to blame? Exploding light bulbs, the deadly buzz of a Texas rattlesnake, and the vivid, disturbing dreams of a little girl are just pieces of a long trail of tantalizing clues leading Dylan in her dogged search for the truth.

Like water rising to a boil, My soul To Keep’s suspense sneaks up on you…before you know it, you’re in the thick if a frightening drama…Superbly crafted.”
---ROBERT LIPARULO, author of Deadfall, Germ, and Comes A Horseman

Written with passion, a good dose of humor and, dare I say it, soul, this novel reminds us that we all, with grace and good fortune, bumble our way toward salvation.”
---K. L. COOK, author of Late Call and The Girl From Charmelle

Wednesday, April 09, 2008

Trouble the Water by Nicole Seitz


This week, the

Christian Fiction Blog Alliance

is introducing

Trouble the Water

Thomas Nelson (March 11, 2008)

by

Nicole Seitz


ABOUT THE AUTHOR:



Nicole Seitz is a South Carolina Lowcountry native and the author of The Spirit of Sweetgrass as well as a freelance writer/illustrator who has published in numerous low country magazines. A graduate of the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill's School of Journalism, she also has a bachelor's degree in illustration from Savannah College of Art & Design. Nicole shows her paintings in the Charleston, South Carolina area, where she owns a web design firm and lives with her husband and two small children. Nicole is also an avid blogger, you can leave her a comment on her blog.

Seitz's writing style recalls that of Southern authors like Kaye Gibbons, Anne Rivers Siddons, and Sue Monk Kidd, and this new novel, which the publisher compares to Kidd's The Secret Life of Bees, surely joins the ranks of strong fiction that highlights the complicated relationships between women. Highly recommended, especially for Southern libraries.



ABOUT THE BOOK:

In the South Carolina Sea Islands lush setting, Nicole Seitz's second novel Trouble the Water is a poignant novel about two middle-aged sisters' journey to self-discovery.

One is seeking to recreate her life yet again and learns to truly live from a group of Gullah nannies she meets on the island. The other thinks she's got it all together until her sister's imminent death from cancer causes her to re-examine her own life and seek the healing and rebirth her troubled sister managed to find on St. Anne's Island.

Strong female protagonists are forced to deal with suicide, wife abuse, cancer, and grief in a realistic way that will ring true for anyone who has ever suffered great loss.

"This is another thing I know for a fact: a woman can't be an island, not really. No, it's the touching we do in other people's lives that matters when all is said and done. The silly things we do for ourselves--shiny new cars and jobs and money--they don't mean a hill of beans. Honor taught me that. My soul sisters on this island taught me that. And this is the story of true sisterhood. It's the story of Honor, come and gone, and how one flawed woman worked miracles in this mixed-up world."


"...a special sisterhood of island women whose wisdom and courage linger in the mind long after the book is closed."
-NEW YORK TIMES best-selling author SUSAN WIGGS

Amber Morn by Brandilyn Collins


This week, the

Christian Fiction Blog Alliance

is introducing


Amber Morn

(Zondervan Publishing Company - April 2008)

by

Brandilyn Collins



ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Brandilyn Collins is a best-selling novelist known for her trademark Seatbelt Suspense™. These harrowing crime thrillers have earned her the tagline

“Don’t forget to b r e a t h e …®”

Brandilyn writes for Zondervan, the Christian division of HarperCollins Publishers, and is currently at work on her 19th book. Her first, A Question of Innocence, was a true crime published by Avon in 1995. Its promotion landed her on local and national TV and radio, including the Phil Donahue and Leeza talk shows.

She’s also known for her distinctive book on fiction-writing techniques, Getting Into Character: Seven Secrets a Novelist Can Learn From Actors (John Wiley & Sons), and often teaches at writers conferences.

Brandilyn blogs at Forensics and Faith. Visit her Website
to read the first chapters of all her books.


ABOUT THE BOOK

The whole thing couldn’t have taken more than sixty seconds.

Bailey hung on to the counter, dazed. If she let go, she’d collapse—and the twitching fingers of the gunman would pull the trigger. The rest of her group huddled in frozen shock.

Dear God, help us! Tell me this is a dream . . .

The shooter’s teeth clenched. “ Anybody who moves is dead.”

On a beautiful Saturday morning the nationally read “Scenes and Beans” bloggers gather at Java Joint for a special celebration. Chaos erupts when three gunmen burst in and take them all hostage. One person is shot and dumped outside.

Police Chief Vince Edwards must negotiate with the desperate trio. The gunmen insist on communicating through the “comments” section of the blog—so all the world can hear their story. What they demand, Vince can’t possibly provide. But if he doesn’t, over a dozen beloved Kanner Lake citizens will die...

Amber Morn is the climactic finale to Collins’ widely read Kanner Lake series. All first three titles in the series, Violet Dawn, Coral Moon, and Crimson Eve, were bestsellers. Library Journal placed Crimson Eve on its Best Books of 2007 list, and hailed it the “Best Christian suspense of 2007.”

A few early reviews of Amber Morn:

“… essential reading … a harrowing hostage drama.” – Library Journal

“… heart-pounding … breakneck pace … satisfying and meaningful ending.” – RT Bookreviews

“This cataclysmic ending left me breathless … Kanner Lake is the Best Suspense Series of 2007/2008.” – deenasbooks.blogspot.com

“Collins has saved the best for a last .. a powerful ensemble performance.” -- BookshelfReview.com

“… a staccato tempo … Sometimes you just have to close the book in order to come up for air.” – Dale Lewis

“…a masterpiece of page-turning suspense with a cast of dozens.” – Peg Phifer

Thursday, April 03, 2008

Getting In The Groove

Hello, cyberspace. I guess I haven’t posted anything of a personal nature for quite some time. It started when I began some classes in January of last year and I guess I never got my groove back. Till now that is. Consider this my official attempt at reclaiming my groove.


So what's the latest on me. In short, well my year started great. For me that means that I didn't face too many regrets over the previous year and was really looking forward to what 2008 would bring. The Lord has promised great things. Thus far I've held on to that promise through a major upheaval in the church that had one senior member leaving. Strangely I do believe it was for the best but wished things could have been handled differently. I admit to struggling with some angry feelings towards other members involved in the situation. As if that weren't enough I faced a personal crisis of my own. Through that I believe I lost sight of God's promise for a scary couple of days. He reminded though - He's faithful that way-and I'm pressing on once more. Praise God.

P.S. I've also posted on my other blog.

When Zeffie Got A Clue Blog Tour


This week, the

Christian Fiction Blog Alliance

is introducing

When Zeffie Got a Clue

WaterBrook Press (March 18, 2008)

by

Peggy Darty



ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Peggy Darty is the award-winning author of twenty-seven books, including two other cozy mysteries set in Summer Breeze, Florida: When the Sandpiper Calls and When Bobbie Sang the Blues. She has worked in film, researched for CBS, and led writing workshops around the country. Darty and her husband call Alabama home but spend a great deal of time in Colorado, Montana, and on Florida’s Emerald Coast.






ABOUT THE BOOK:

It’s an ordinary afternoon in Summer Breeze, Florida, when a young, wide-eyed girl steps into I Saw It First, the trash-to-treasure shop Christy Castleman and her Aunt Bobbie have opened. Clutching a jewelry box, Zeffie Adams tells Christy she needs money to pay her grandmother’s medical bills, prompting Christy to offer this curious visitor more than the jewelry box is worth–or so she thinks.

But complicated questions form when Christy rips out the box’s lining and uncovers a clue to a cold case murder mystery from eight years ago. Despite warnings from her family and handsome boyfriend Dan Brockman, Christy decides to do a little detective work of her own. After all, the infamous murder happened close to her grandmother’s farm. How risky could it be to take the jewelry box back to the Strickland plantation and ask around about it?

Soon Christy finds there is more to the small box than someone wants her to know. A jewelry theft. A mansion murder. Dangerous family secrets buried in history. Can Christy convince others to let go of the past before it’s too late?

Wednesday, April 02, 2008

FIRST Tour: Ryan Watters and the King's Sword



It is April FIRST--no foolin'--, time for the
FIRST Day Blog Tour! (Join our alliance! Click the button!) The FIRST day
of every month we will feature an author and his/her latest book's
FIRST chapter!




The special feature author is:

and his book:


Ryan Watters and
the King's Sword

Creation House (May 2008)

Illustrated by: Corey
Wolfe



ABOUT THE AUTHOR:


Eric J. Reinhold is a graduate of the U.S. Naval
Academy. The former Naval officer writes extensively for a variety of
national financial publications in his position as a Certified Financial
Planner® and President of Academy Wealth Management. His passion for
writing a youth fantasy novel was fueled by nightly impromptu storytelling to
his children and actively serving in the middle and high school
programs at First Baptist Sweetwater Church in Longwood, Florida.

Visit him at his website.

AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:


The
Angel’s
Visitation



It first appeared as a gentle glow, almost like a
child’s night-light. Heavy shadows filled the room as the boy lay face up,
covers tucked neatly under his arms. A slight smile on his face hinted
that he was in the midst of a pleasant dream.

Ryann Watters,
who had just celebrated his twelfth birthday, rolled lazily onto his
side, his blond hair matted into the pillow, unaware of the glow as it
began to intensify. Shadows searched for hiding places throughout the
room as the glow transformed from a pale yellow hue to brilliant
white.

Ryann’s eyelids fluttered briefly and then flickered at the
glare reflecting off his pale blue bedroom walls. Drowsily, he turned
toward the light expecting to see one of his parents coming in to check
on him. “What’s going on?” his voice cracked as he reached up to rub the
crusty sleep from his eyes.

***

Under a pale half-moon, Drake Dunfellow’s
house looked just like any other. A closer inspection, however, would
reveal its failing condition. Water oaks lining the side of the curved
driveway hunched over haggardly, like old men struggling on canes. The
lawn, which should have been a lively green for early spring, was
withered and sandy. A few patches of grass were sprinkled here and there.
Rust lines streaked down the one jagged peak atop the tin-roof house. The
flimsy clapboard sides were outlined by fading white trim speckled with
dried paint curls. Hanging baskets containing a variety of plants and
weeds all struggling to stay alive shared the crowded front porch with
two mildew-covered rocking chairs. Inside, magazines and newspaper
clippings both old and new were carelessly strewn about. Encrusted dishes
from the previous day’s meals battled each other for space in the
bulging kitchen sink. In the garage, away from the usual living areas, was a
boy’s room. Dull paneling outlined the bedroom, while equally dreary
brown linoleum covered the floor. The bedroom must have been an
afterthought because not much consideration had been given to the details. A
bookcase cut from rough planks sat atop an old garage sale dresser.

Moonlight pressing through the dust-covered metal blinds tried to
provide a sense of peacefulness. Instead it revealed bristly red hair
atop a young boy’s head poking out from beneath a mushy feather pillow.
His heavy breathing provided the only movement in the quiet room. Tiny
droplets of perspiration lined his brow as he began jerking about under
the thin cotton sheets.

Starting at the edge of the window,
the blackness spread downward, transforming all traces of light to an
oily dinginess. Drake was slowly surrounded and remained the only thing
not saturated in the darkness. Bolting upright to a stiff-seated
attention, Drake’s bloodshot eyes darted back and forth. He stared into the
black nothingness shuddering and aware that the only thing visible in
the room was his bed.

“Who . . . who’s there?” Drake cried
out, puzzled by the hollow sound that didn’t seem to travel beyond the
edge of his mattress. Beads of sweat trickled down his neck, connecting
his numerous freckled dots. He strained, slightly tilting his head, ears
perked. There was no reply.

***

Neatly manicured
streets wandered through the Watters’s sleepy, rolling neighborhood.
If someone had been walking along in the wee morning hours of March 15,
they would have noticed the brilliant white light peeking out from
around Ryann’s shade. Below his second-story window the normally darkened
bed of pink, red, and white impatiens was lit up as in the noonday
sun.

Ryann was fully awake now and quite positive that the
dazzling aura facing him from in front of his window was not the hall light
from his parents entering the bedroom. Golden hues flowed out of the
whiteness, showering itself on everything in the room. It reminded Ryann
of sprinkles of pixie dust in some of his favorite childhood books. His
blue eyes grew wide trying to capture the unbelievable event unfolding
before him.

“Fear not, Ryann,” a confident, yet kind, voice
began. “I have come to do the bidding of one much greater than I and
who you have found favor with.”

Rapid pulses in his chest
gripped Ryann as he struggled to understand what was happening.
Instinctively he grasped his navy blue bed sheets and pulled them up so that only
his eyes and the top of his head peeked out from his self-made cocoon.
Squinting to reduce the brilliance before him, Ryann stared into the
light, trying to detect a form while questions scrambled around his mind.
What had the voice meant by “finding favor,” and who had sent him? As
Ryann struggled to work this out, the center of the whiteness began to
take the shape of a man. Human in appearance, he looked powerful, but
there was a calmness about his face, like that of an experienced
commander before going into battle. Ryann recalled hearing about angels in his
Sunday school class at church. He wondered if this could be one.

“Ryann, thou have found favor with the One who sent me. You will
be given much and much will be required of you.”

Still
shaking, Ryann was fairly certain he was safe. “S-s-s . . . sir, are you an
angel?”

“You have perceived correctly.” “And . . . I’ve been
chosen by someone . . . for something?” Ryann asked.

“The
One who knows you better than you know yourself,” the angel answered.

Ryann knew he must be talking about God, but what could God
possibly want with him?

“What am I supposed to do?”

“Thou must search out and put on the full armor of God so that you can
take a stand against the devil’s schemes. For your struggle is not
against flesh and blood, but against the powers of this dark world and
against the forces of evil in the heavenly realms.”

“The devil?
Forces of evil? I’m just a kid,” Ryann said. “What could I possibly
have to do with all of this? You’ve got to be making a mistake.”

“There are no mistakes with God. Thou have heard of David?”

“You mean the David from David and Goliath?” Ryann asked.

The angel nodded. “He was also a boy chosen by God to accomplish great
things. God chooses to show His power by using the powerless.”

Ryann tried to comprehend the magnitude of what this mighty being
was saying to him. Realizing he was still sitting in his bed, covers
bunched around him, he pulled them aside and swung his feet out, never
taking his eyes off the angel. Landing firmly on the carpet, Ryann’s
wobbly knees barely supported him, the bed acting as a wall between him and
the angel.

“Who are you?”

“I am Gabriel and have
come to give you insight and understanding.”

“Wow!” Ryann
couldn’t believe this was the same angel who had appeared to Joseph and
Mary in the Christmas story he heard every December. The lines of
excitement on his face drooped as he fidgeted, thinking about the angel’s
words. “I don’t want to . . . seem . . . ungrateful,” Ryann hesitated,
“but . . . is there any way you can . . . ask someone else?”

“Only you have been given this trial, Ryann, yet you shall not be
alone.”

“Who will help me?”

“As the young shepherd boy
David spoke, ‘The angel of the Lord encamps around those who fear Him,
and He delivers them. For He commands His angels to guard you in all
your ways.’” Gabriel’s twinkling gaze rose as he stretched his arms
heavenward, “And these will assist you along the way.”

Beckoning Ryann from behind the bed, the angel glided
effortlessly forward to greet him. Walking to within a foot of Gabriel,
Ryann bowed humbly, basking in the radiant glow that emanated all
around him. Reaching out, the angel grasped Ryann’s left hand firmly and
slipped a gold ring, topped by a clear bubble-like stone, onto his
finger. Before he could inspect it, the angel took his other hand and placed
a long metal pole in it. Ryann’s hand slid easily up and down the
smooth metal finish. Its shape and size were similar to a pool cue.
Bone-white buttons protruded from just below where he gripped the staff. They
were numbered 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, and 7. Mesmerized by the gifts that
begged for more attention and questions, Ryann hardly noticed Gabriel loop
a long leather cord through his arm and around his neck. From it a
curved ivory horn hung loosely below his waist, resting on his hip.

As Gabriel finished and backed away, Ryann continued marveling at
each of the gifts. Reaching down to inspect the horn, he ran his hands
along its smooth, yet pitted surface, until he reached the small
gold-tipped opening. He wondered how old the horn was and if it had been used
before.

“What do I do with these? How do I use them?”

“It is not for me to reveal,” answered the angel calmly. “You
shall find out in due time.”

“But what do I do now?”

“Thou must seek the King’s sword.”

“How? What King? Where do
I look?” Ryann blurted out, panicking as questions continued to pop
into his head.

“The Spirit will lead you, and the ring will
open the way,” the angel replied as he began floating backwards, the
light peeling away with him.

“Wait, wait! Don’t leave—I don’t
know enough—where do I go now?”

“Remember,” Gabriel’s clear
voice began to fade, “all Scripture is God-breathed and is useful for
teaching, rebuking, correcting, and training in righteousness, so that you
may be thoroughly equipped for all good works.”

Clutching
the mysterious heavenly gifts he had been given, Ryann collapsed in a
heap on his bed, body and mind drained from his supernatural encounter.
He drifted into a welcomed sleep.

***

It seemed
Drake’s bedroom no longer existed. Only his bed remained, an island
floating in a sea of darkness that completely surrounded him. His eyes
bulged, darting about for anything that would give him a hint of what was
going on. A cool draft drifted down his neck, chilling him despite the
safety of his covers. Caught between reality and a nightmare, he let
loose a scream that normally would have been heard throughout the house and
beyond, but now was absorbed into the heavy darkness enveloping
him.

“Who’s there?” he said again. He pinched himself to see if he
was dreaming.

With a loud swoooooooosh, huge wings shot out
of the darkness surrounding his bed. Drake dove for the safety of his
covers.

A thunderous, commanding voice ordered, “Come out
from hiding and stand up!”

Drake hesitated, knuckles tense and
white as they curled tightly around the edges of his blanket.

“Now!” the voice thundered.

Jerking his covers off, Drake
scurried to the edge of the bed, lost his balance, and awkwardly fell
face-first onto the cool floor. Petrified at what he might see, yet too
scared to disobey, he raised his head slightly. Half expecting some
hideous beast, Drake was surprised at what he was facing. The
black-winged warrior towering over him was imposing enough to paralyze anyone with
fear, but his face was what captivated Drake. Instead of a hideous
three-eyed ghoul with fangs, like Drake imagined, he stared into one of
the most ruggedly handsome faces he had ever seen. Drake froze,
mesmerized.

“Sit up and listen closely, human,” the dark angel began,
closing his wings in an effortless swish. Lowering his voice, he spoke
in a precise, but less threatening tone. “I have chosen you to carry
out my wishes.”

Drake raised himself to a clumsy crouch. The
face he looked intently into was perfect in almost every way, except
for a long thin scar that traveled from his left ear to his jaw. He was
convinced now that this wasn’t a monster trying to devour him.

“Why me?”

The angel’s scar became more noticeable when he
smiled at Drake. “I have been here before with great success and have
reason to believe you will serve me well.”

“What do you want
me to do?” Drake blurted.

“The one who seeks to bind me must
be stopped!”

Drake stumbled backwards, putting a hand on
the floor to keep from falling. Swallowing hard, he could feel the black,
penetrating eyes staring deep into his.

“You are the one,”
the creature said confidently.

No one had ever chosen Drake
for anything, yet this powerful being wanted him. He didn’t know if he
could trust the dark angel or not, but the chance for power excited
Drake. “How do I do it?”

The dark angel continued to smile,
sensing the blackness in Drake’s heart spreading murkily throughout his
body.

“I will be your eyes and ears, a guide to lead you in
the right direction, and,” he hesitated, “I will give you these.”

The dark-winged angel stretched out his hand, his index finger
pointing toward the empty floor in front of him. Immediately three items
appeared before Drake’s eyes. He blinked again. They were still there.
Drake’s hand shot out in a blur to grab the closest item.

“Stop!”

Drake froze, and then cowered, his eyes shifting back to
the booming voice as he slowly retracted his hand. His eyes darted
back and forth between the three items and the dark angel in the awkward
silence.

“You move when I tell you to move. Now . . . kneel
before me, child of the earth, while I make you ready for your task.”

Still hunched-over, Drake pitched forward onto his knees with
his head bowed, eyes glancing upward in anticipation.

“My
first gift to you is a cloak of darkness. It will provide you with cover
at night. You and the night shall become one.”

Drake reached
out his hands to receive the cloak. It felt smooth and slippery.
Looking intently at it, the cloak seemed several feet thick, as if it was
projecting darkness.

“My second gift to you is a ring of
suggestion. With it you will have the ability to project persuasive thoughts
to those who are weak-willed or in the midst of indecision.” Powerful
hands with long curled fingers took hold of Drake’s hand, spreading an
icy chill from the tip of his fingers to his wrist. As the creature
slipped the black band onto his finger, Drake briefly noticed a red blotch
on the top. His hand felt stiff, then the numbness traveled up his arm
and throughout his body. Chattering clicks from his own teeth broke
the silence as he awaited the angel’s next words. “Lastly, I provide you
with a bow and arrows of fire. These arrows were formed in the lake of
fire and will deliver physical and mental anguish to those they
touch.”

“Thank you . . . uhh . . . what should I call you?” Drake
asked.

“I am one of the stars that fell from heaven. My
master is Shandago and I am his chief messenger. You may call me Lord
Ekron.”

“Thank you, Lord Ekron, for these gifts. I may be young,
but I’ll do as you ask to the best of my ability.”

“It is
expected. Also, these items I have given to you are not for use in this
world. When the time is right, you will find a passage into another land.
There you will put these gifts to work.”

The darkness in
the room began to rush toward Lord Ekron, as if he were absorbing it,
except he wasn’t getting bigger—only darker. Drake kept staring at him,
trying not to blink, so he wouldn’t miss anything. Despite his efforts,
the dark angel began to fade, and Drake found himself peering into the
darkness at the blank wall. When he was sure his eyes weren’t playing
tricks on him and enough time passed so that he felt safe to move, he
stood up.

Drake would have thought this was all a bad dream,
but the items he held in his hand were proof that it was real. He ran his
hands through the dense blackness of the slick cloak, wondering how he
might use it. Drake was anxious to try the bow and arrows as well. He
didn’t dare pull the arrows out of their quiver right now, but decided
that he would have to buy a regular bow and quiver of arrows as soon as
possible so that he could begin practicing. Looking down at his hand,
he examined the unusual ring he now wore. The entire band was a glossy
black, except for the unusual red marking on the top, which resembled a
flying dragon.

Not much had gone right for Drake during the
first thirteen years of his life. “Now things are going to be different,”
he thought. The smile inching across his face looked evil. He knew with
Lord Ekron at his side no one would be able to tell him what to
do.


BUY THE BOOK AT
WWW.RYANNWATTERS.COM/

Tuesday, April 01, 2008