All That Remains...

Hey! It's my second favourite season! And to celebrate, a story of some terrible things that hold lifelong grudges, my Witch Bitch Mical, a Spanish redhead (they exist. I have witnessed the glory!), and the loveliest Romanian I will ever write. Light your candles my dears, it's about to get dark...

Remains on Amazon

Remains on AllRomanceeBooks

What's left of a blurb

Considering her husband would happily strangle her on sight, Mical Wentworth has a battle on her hands to win his trust back. Jamie believes she betrayed him in the worst way possible, when all she had tried to do was to protect him from the horror that has stalked her family for decades. Now all her avenues of escape are fading away, she is desperate to make it up to him. She can accept her fate as long as her husband can forgive her.

Strangulation is far too good a death for Mical, and Jamie Santillan has thought of all the ways he’d kill his estranged wife for what she did. But when she turns up on Jamie’s doorstep almost a year after disappearing, the possibility of murder slowly leaves his mind. She’s running away from something. The Mical he knows isn’t afraid of anything, in any world. And nothing should get to her before he does… 

What's left of an excerpt

Barely dressed in one of Jamie’s shirts that carried the faintest scent of him, worn in the hope that it would lull her to sleep. She wandered into the kitchen in search of coffee, following the scent like a Bisto kid.

“Morning,” she said on a yawn. “Do you mind if I have what’s left?”

Jamie barely looked at her, only started sifting through his mail. “If you want.”

She poured herself a cup and blinked several times to wake up. “Busy day today?” she asked into the silence.

“If that’s you asking, if I’ll be leaving the house empty, the answer is no. I work from home.”

She turned around to spread butter and jam on her toast. “No need to crucify me, it’s just a friendly morning question.”

He looked up, mouth open and ready to start a war, when he clocked the shirt. “What the hell?”

“What?”

“That’s my shirt!”

“Yes,” she mumbled around her toast. “I borrowed it.”

His jaw worked furiously. “Get it off. Now.”

She couldn’t help it; she gave a tinkle of surprised laughter. “Oh, come on. I haven’t stolen it. You can just wash it if you think I smell that bad…”

“You didn’t have any nightwear in that Titanic of a suitcase?” There was a vein in his temple that looked fit for bursting.

“Jamie,” she said, as if calming a serial killer. “You’re being…”

“Just take it off now!” His voice thundered in the kitchen.

“Fine.” She stripped the shirt off and threw it in his face. “Why do you have to be so petty? It is a lousy shirt.”

He wrestled the shirt from his face, “No, it is you taking the…” He realised that she wasn’t wearing anything, but silk shorts. In the cool air of the kitchen, her nipples began to tighten. Jamie’s eye level dropped.

“Hello!” Kelly burst into the kitchen, and saw Mical standing there topless.

Her lips pursed. “I see you’re settling in.”

“Don’t mind me,” Mical said evenly. “It’s nothing Jamie hasn’t played with before.” She flashed them both a tight smile, and took her tea and toast to her room.

She heard the beginnings of their argument, and perversely noted that it was quite turning her on.

***

Kelly exploded. “What the fuck was she doing? Have you just shagged her?”

“Kel,” Jamie sighed, rubbing his face in brisk strokes, trying to banish the image of Mical’s breasts from his sight.

“Just say it!” She folded her arms, tapping a beat of annoyance with a trainered foot. “I knew it. I knew it was a bad idea you letting her stay here.”

“Kel, she is winding you up.”

“Then why are you letting her walk around naked?” she screamed, picking up a side plate and smashing it onto the floor. Jamie let her rage on, glancing at the cheque he received for his article in Criminal Law Weekly. There was also a cheque from a crime writer whom he had met through Twitter, funnily enough, and was helping with his research. Maybe if he took Kelly for a shopping spree, she would stop her god-awful racket.

“Kelly,” he said finally, as she started on his dinner set. “There is nothing going on. I told her off. She is trying to play me. I am not having it. You yelling at me will make her happier, so please stop it.”

She abruptly closed her mouth. “I’m sorry, babes.” She sat next to him and dotted kisses over his cheek. “She’s just really pissing me off, acting like she owns this place.”

Jamie gave her a reassuring kiss to her temple. “It’s okay.”

She rubbed a hand over his back. “Do you even know where Madam disappears to all day?”

“As long as she’s not here, I don’t care. Here, look. I just got paid.” Kelly’s eyes widened. “Oh my God! How much dough is that?”

“Enough to go shopping. Come on, we’ll go up to London and get you a bag and shoes. Whatever you fancy.”

“Dinner, too?”

“Of course.” He gave another smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “We haven’t spent much time together. Let me have a shower and we’ll go.”

Kelly kissed him and gave a little squeal of joy. “I’ll sweep up this mess and we’ll be on our way to Harrods!”

Jamie stood up and winced. His leg was hurting again. He’d have to take his painkillers and drive. It’d be quicker. The less time he spent on his feet, the better.

***

As Jamie disappeared into the bathroom, Kelly quickly dispatched the broken crockery, then hovered outside of Mical’s room. Even in the corridor, she could smell that rose perfume of her expensive designer candles.

Resolved, Kelly put her hand out towards the door handle, only for it to be pulled away. Wearing a slash neck knit jumper in a vivid blue with sleek-looking leggings and thigh high boots, Mical stared down at her.

“Going to work?” Kelly smirked.

“Can I help you?” Mical asked mildly.

“Just checking you’ve found clothing.”

Mical flashed a grin that made Kelly uncomfortably aware that she was still her boyfriend’s wife. “That’s so sweet of you to be concerned about me. Mind out, I need to shut the door.”

“Got somewhere to be?” Kelly demanded as Mical hooked her coat over her arm, along with her Birkin bag.

“If Jamie wants to know where I’m going or what I’m doing, he can ask me. I have no problem telling him directly.”

“What if he doesn’t see it your way?”

“Then,” Mical closed her door firmly, “he will have to stay in the dark.” Her mobile began to ring and she answered it. “I’m on my way. No, don’t worry. It’s all under control.” She gave Kelly a look of appreciation. “Enjoy your shopping trip.”

Kelly returned the smile with as much muster as she could find and waited for the front door to close. She went back to Mical’s room and opened the door. There was a familiar chocolaty smell along with the rose and underneath… Something slightly rotten. Like an abandoned, moulded tea cup.

On the bedside table sat an array of potions. Crème de la Mer, Elemis, Chanel, Philosophy…that bitch had money falling out of her ears. Just as she edged towards Mical’s hefty suitcase, she heard Jamie call her. She tried to open it, but realised there was a combination on the case. She told herself that she would figure it out on the way to London. Bitch features wasn’t going anywhere.

Change the Game

POST NUMBER 250!!! How exciting that it ends up on this news?!

The joy of finishing a story can never be understated! The relief can be cut into eight and shared among family. No lie. I started and finished 85% of it in November last year, and couldn't figure out how it would end. On, actually that's a lie. I knew, I just couldn't write it. The story was like "and what?" to me, mocking me each time I opened it on Google Docs. And work imploded, so I was doing eleven hour days (I know some people do a lot more, but for me - this was looooooooooong) and I had no energy to be sucked into the emotional vacuum of this tale. I'm sure I've posted this excerpt before, but it seems to have vanished. (I'm watching you Facebook...)

It hasn't got a final title yet, I've been calling it by the initials of the main characters JMAZ.
Jamie or by his Spanish name Jaime
Mical bitch who's a witch
Aaron Jamie's best friend who happens to be a werewolf (hence the name puppy)
And Zlatan who is possibly my most favourite secondary character ever. I love him like I love Hernando from Sense8.

My iPhone repeatedly changed JMAZ to Hamaz, frightening me deeply. Just so you know what has given me so much joy to shove to the side to write anything else, here's a snippet of the hero's best friend getting in the heroine's face. Trying anyway...

Aaron marched up to Mical and said, “What the fuck are you doing?”

She tilted her head to the side. “Aaron! Looking as beastly as ever.” Her midnight eyes ran over him critically. “Didn’t fancy shaving?”

His face flushed with embarrassment. “Why would you…” He leaned across the bar and hissed, “You coming back here… What the fuck? This wasn’t the plan!”

Mical shrugged. “Change of plan.”

“Says who?”

“Says me, little puppy. I asked for your help, because you care about Jamie.” She wrinkled her nose, looking him up and down. “A little more than is healthy for one of your description. So, do me a favour. Shut up, back off, go away. And if you’re a good boy, I’ll leave you a bowl of Pedigree Chum for you.”

Aaron backed off, too aware of what she knew and what she could do to him. What she’d done to him before. His own anger pushed him forward once more. “You don’t get to come here and fuck everything up. Not without an explanation. And not if you love Jamie the way you swear you do.”

Her eyes flashed and at last, the true person behind the shiny, glossy model-like beauty began to emerge, in the lengthening of her chin, the engorgement of her eyes and the tightness in her lips. “Never question my feelings again. I’ve warned you before. Or do you fancy walking on all fours tonight?”

Aaron shrank from her. She wouldn’t dare! “It’s not… It’s not that time.”

“Only because I haven’t made it that time.” She leaned back and her face returned to normal. “Now, you can have a pint, but you need to behave yourself.”

“I’ll be over there. Waiting. Whatever you say, you owe me.” He stared at her until she lowered her gaze, his heart beating frantically in fear. Of course she knew he was right. Why would she deny that, when she knew she’d done a complete U-turn on what they’d agreed?

Mical handed over a pint of bitter. “I suppose I do.”

Rewind

And we're back! Look how pretty my Irish lovely looks on his gorgeous new cover! So I've spruced Playing Dead up, just four days before the end of Women in Horror month, but still in time for the celebrations. If you missed this the first time around, download a sample and see what you've missed. I still blame the heatstroke in Pompeii for the storyline, but it remains one close to my heart. I'm all about healing and revival and starting again. Everything that a man with a brain tumour being prodded by a cheeky ghost from 70s London doesn't have a cat in hell's chance of getting. In an alternative universe, these two met in the same time period and are doing wonderful, amazing, life changing things together. In my universe, one's dead and the other's dying. Sounds joyous, doesn't it? Trust me...

Playing Dead on Amazon

A Blurb

Gearoid McCardle is going to die in peace, if it’s the last thing he does. With his family in Ireland and the tumour that’s plagued him since childhood edging him to his final days on earth, he retreats to his house in South London for dignity and quiet. Instead, he is plagued and disturbed by the ghost of Aoife Boyake, a restless and strangely animated spirit who was brutally murdered in his home forty years before. Any notion of peace whittles away as he battles with not only his mortality but his intense and growing feelings for Aoife. Far from pursuing peace and quiet, Gearoid begins a fight for justice. Justice for someone who, like him, has no future. 

An Excerpt

Sitting down, he turned on the TV and opened the pizza box.

“That looks nice.”

Gearoid paused and glanced to his right. A woman was practically hovering over him, bringing with her a draft of cold.

“Can you leave please?” he asked.

“Whoa, whoa. Wait. You can see me?”

“Yes.”

“Really? See me?” she repeated, waving her fingers before his face. Gearoid leaned away from the waft of cold air.

“Yes! Now, please see your way out?”

She tried to pout full, plum-tinted glossy lips and failed miserably with the smile that was hovering on her mouth. “We’re having dinner, why am I going to leave? Especially when you can actually see me!”

Gearoid fought to ignore her; he’d done it before with ones just like her and they’d left him alone for years. All of them. He turned the volume up on the TV, but she edged closer to him.

“You can’t eat all that yourself.”

Fine, he thought. There’s always the other way. “You’re dead. I can’t help you. Go away.”

“All the Irish people I’ve ever met have been so nice to me and my family. There had to be an exception.” She lay down on the bed and crossed her legs at the ankle. He could fully admit that she was the prettiest to ever approach him, with her smooth, coffee-coloured skin contrasting beautifully with the crushed velvet, emerald green playsuit she wore. Her attitude was all Pam Grier but her hair was Vonetta McGee’s softness in big brushed bouncing waves. Gearoid lost his appetite. He’d been so practised at not being able to see these things, he had no inclination for it to start all over again. So he stared at her. Pointedly. She didn’t move. She only stared back, blinking large dark eyes the colour of iced tea.

“What?” she asked, that smile of hers a whisper from appearing. “It’s because I look normal, isn’t it?”

“No, it’s because I want you to go away.” No one’s that pretty, he thought irritably.

“Maybe you should just eat,” she said, reaching up and touching his temple. The coolness in her touch was a blessing. Even with the morphine he could feel the pressure on his skull, but after the tips of her fingers grazed his skin, the force on his head lessened. “I’ll come back after. Men are always in better moods after they eat.” She grinned at him, nudging the box to him with her thigh.

He glanced back to her but she was gone. There was only the barest indent in his duvet. Oh come on! This wasn’t happening again. He needed his last days to be in peace, not hounded by the very same people he would be one of shortly.

***

His eyelids fluttered open. Why am I under my bed? Five minutes ago, I was asleep. How and what the hell? The same girl as before was lying next to him, her face contorted in terror.

“The fuck’s going on?” he asked gruffly.

She slapped her hand over his mouth. Her palm was warm against his lips. All right, this stopped being amusing a minute ago. This was different. Too different. She lifted her hand and pressed a shaking finger to her mouth. A pair of booted feet came into view. The bedroom light was flicked on above them.

“Eeeeeefaaaaaaa!”

They both cringed as the bed frame was kicked, shaking above them. The light flicked off again. The girl turned onto her back and breathed out. Gearoid’s frown deepened as music sounded from below them.

“Why are you hiding?” Gearoid asked.

“You don’t understand. I–”

She screamed as she was swiftly drawn out of his sight. Rolling out from under the bed, he saw her being dragged out of view. Before he could chase after her the door was slammed in his face. The music sounded even louder, as if it was being blasted through speakers inside his eardrums. Don’t trouble the water... the female voices sang in harmony. He fought with the door knob as she screamed for help. Suddenly silence cloaked the room. The door opened with a click and he cautiously stepped into the hallway.

There she lay, dark eyes wide open, a tear streaking over her cheek. Gearoid knelt beside her, covering the gaping wound in her neck with both his hands. Dampness at his knees made him realise he was crouching in her blood.

“Who did this to you?” he asked.

She made a gurgling sound in her throat, clutching at his wrists. For a moment, she traced the Celtic tattoos that weaved over his left arm in inky black ropes. Her blood pumped warmly between his fingers even as he desperately tried to stop it. Her hands slowly slipped from his arms and the light in her eyes began to fade.

“Wait, wait, wait!”

Before her eyes even closed, her body was dragged away from him. “Stop!” he yelled so hard, his throat pinched. Cold sank into his cheek. He opened his eyes, breathing heavily.

“Did you see?” she asked, trailing the back of her hand over his jaw.

“I’m sorry you died like that. But I can’t help you.” He closed his eyes.

“Yes, you can.”

He breathed out slowly, her scream still echoing in his ears. “Then tell me who killed you and I’ll tell the police.”

She laughed. “You know it doesn’t work like that.”

“Why would you know the rules better than I do?”

“I’ve been around longer than you,” she retorted, turning onto her side.

“How old were you when you died, Aoife?”

She wrapped her arms around his bare bicep and snuggled closer. “Twenty-eight.”

“How long ago?”

“Forty years.” Her smile was sad. “So like I said. I’ve been around longer than you.”

Having her so close was like leaning against a freezing cold radiator. “I’m the wrong person to help you.” I’m dying seemed inappropriate to say to a ghost.

“You’re perfect.” She touched her lips to the corner of his. “You’re the first person to ever see me.”

The cold faded and he knew she was gone. He sat up and glanced at the time. 7.23am. She was wrong. He couldn’t help, he didn’t have the time. If he opened the gate for one, he’d open the doors for all of them.

Addicted

Remember how I mentioned that I have WIPs started and abandoned a while ago? Well Addicted to Witch was one of them. I read it again recently, with the distance of one who isn't questioning every single word under the cloak of edits and proofs. It's er... it's pretty intense. Witches and doctors and musicians and forestry and weirdness in Kent... Intense covers most of what goes on.

My publisher once told me, all of my stories have a strand of survival running through them all. But none more than in Addicted to Witch. Both the hero and heroine (polar opposites in the career and familial stage) have been through damaging, traumatising events and managed somehow to struggle through their issues to the other side where the grass is decidedly more green and less tragic.

While it's a paranormal tale, it's as real as any other story I've written. I was kinda shocked by what came out of my head. You think I wouldn't be any more, but I was. The story will be out this month and I hope you can identify with Auden and Helena. Two messed up people who find each other in a world of magic. There really is hope for us all.

Wild Thing

Shibah's Monster is now available on Amazon! Be gentle with my Polish Beast. He needs love and attention. Lots of it.

http://www.amazon.com/ShibahsMonster