About Featured Book: The Breaking of Time: Chronicles of the Arvynth by J. J. Hebert One father's desperate choice fractures time and reality itself. To everyone around him, Daniel Ward is a mild-mannered accountant, devoted husband and father in a quiet New England...
Angels don’t say things like that…. Cantor doesn’t want to go see the angel, even though she’s supposed to enhance his sparse magical skills; the process sometimes fails, badly, ending in insanity, or death. Unfortunately, the summons comes as a compulsion that can’t...
The House of Gold by Joni Parker She’s done playing by the rules. Lady Alexin Dumwalt—Alex to those who know better—just got booted from her mortal-world job. Her response? Return to Eledon, reclaim her title as Keeper of the Keys, and dive headfirst into a mission...
Rick Waugh is a writer of fantasy books and the music that accompanies them. His fiction is neither steamy nor stabby, not explicit in either subject. It’s aimed at adults, with adult themes, and includes LGBTQ characters. It’s always full of adventure, a bit of romance, and a healthy dose of humor.
Rick lives in the Greater Vancouver area on Canada’s west coast, and is happily married with three wonderful daughters. He spent his career in Information Technology, before retiring into creative pursuits, writing, playing guitar and composing music.
The Death Wizard Chronicles: Volume 1 by Jim Melvin (For mature audiences 18 and older.. Contains graphics violence and sexual scenes.) Enter a world where death is not final—it's a magical fuel. In the desert kingdom of Triken, sorcery is feared, power is brutal, and...
Prologue
Such darkness he had never known. In all the centuries of his long life, the wizard had felt nothing as loathsome as this. Torturous days and weeks lay behind, endless horror ahead. He was helpless in the grip of doom.
For a millennium he had freely roamed the planet Triken, using his prodigious powers to unite the forces of good. But now a sorcerer held him captive in a pit bored into the solid rock of a frozen mountain. Beyond the walls of his prison, a war would soon take place that would dwarf all others. An evil had arisen that threatened not just Triken but the fabric that held together the universe. Only the wizard could stop it. But first he had to survive.
The pit was 200 cubits deep but only three cubits in diameter. The prisoner lay curled at its bottom like a snake in a well. Fetid dankness swirled about him, creeping in and out of his nostrils with every breath. A chill like no other clung to his body, freezing his heart.
All he had left were his memories, which provided his only relief from the relentless blackness. He immersed himself in them, focusing on the past instead of the present. Doing this went against all that he held true. But it kept him sane.
For a fraction of a moment. And another. Another …
About The Never King (Vicious Lost Boys Book 1): Recommended Age Group: Adults The stories were all wrong — Hook was never the villain. For two centuries, all of the Darling women have disappeared on their 18th birthday. Sometimes they’re gone for only a day, some a...
About Zephyr's Flight: An Epic YA Fantasy Adventure with Dragons (The Dragons' War Book 1): Recommended Age Group: Young Adults A thousand years after the Chaos erased history, a rebellious village girl and her dragon challenge an empire. Astria's only dream is to...
About Monstrous Allies: Recommended Age Group: Adults Sometimes your best ally is your worst enemy. Harlow, Camila, and Caspian finally head to the Collective’s Tower. Though Sorceress Rhiannon bought them some time, stalling time is over. The sorcerers need each of...
About Fearful: A Powerless Story (The Powerless Trilogy): Recommended Age Group: Teens Set during the time of Fearless, a mysterious figure arrives in the kingdom of Ilya to witness the fight for the throne and the price it costs those sworn to defend the land in this...
About While the Dark Remains (The Winter Dark Book 1): Recommended Age Group: Young Adults In an icebound palace of magic and menace, a young woman plots to outwit a cruel king in a bracing fantasy about love, found family, and immeasurable revenge. Brynja spent her...
About Featured Book: The Stobrimore Chronicles - The Beginning by Matthew Johnson After losing his parents at an early age, Jack Stobrimore was raised by his grandfather, Artemis. Artemis loved to tell fantasy stories of a world of magic, filled with heroes and...
About Featured Book: The Eye of Nefertiti: A Pharaoh's Cat Novel by Maria Luisa Lang Now a New Yorker, the Pharaoh’s cat--the ancient Egyptian feline with human powers--travels back in time to free Egypt’s legendary Queen Nefertiti from a horrific curse, discovering...
About Featured Book: The Pharaoh's Cat by Maria Luisa Lang Suddenly talking and walking upright, a stray tomcat in ancient Egypt becomes the young Pharaoh's intimate and, when accused of his murder, time travels to New York City and learns how to raise him from the...
It’s summer, and I’m stretched out on a windowsill in my bedroom with the sunlight warming the fur on my back. It’s quiet except for the drone of traffic on the Henry Hudson Parkway and the occasional whir of a helicopter flying along the river.
I once shared this bedroom with my friend Gato-Hamen, the High Priest of Amun-Ra. He and I had fled ancient Egypt on his magic boat. It was only supposed to carry us to a foreign land, but it took us through time as well as space here to Elena’s house in twenty-first century New York City.
Elena’s late father had been a renowned Egyptologist, and she immediately recognized us as ancient Egyptians. She was surprised we were speaking English. We explained that the prayer which had launched the magic boat also gave us the power to speak the language wherever we arrived.
She was also surprised that I, a cat, could talk and walk like a man. That would be explained later. Overjoyed at the prospect of excitement in her life, she invited us to stay with her.
Now the High Priest shares her bedroom, and I share this one with their child, who’s the reincarnation of the Pharaoh I loved thousands of years ago. He’s on the floor, playing contentedly with his building blocks. It’s hard to believe he’s already a year old.
Elena is reading and keeping an eye on him. “Wrappa-Hamen, are you recharging?” she asks, as she always does when she sees me basking in the sun. “You lazy old cat!”
“Lazy, yes. Old, not yet,” I reply, too drowsy to say more.
Water is filling my ears.
“Useless beast. I should cut . . . tail. Drowning’s too good . . . you . . .”
Egyptians revere cats, but there are exceptions.
A week ago the brute snatched me from the streets, put me in a sack, and brought me on board to protect the load of grain he’s taking down the Nile to Waset.
Cats hunt rats, but there are exceptions.
Which the brute realized this morning. He picked me up by the scruff of my neck and threw me over the side.
If I never see a boat again it will be too soon . . .
I swim toward the river bank. Exhausted, I lie on the shore and let my fur dry in the warmth of the sun. Now that I’m free, I intend to resume roaming from village to village, seeing new things, meeting new cats, tasting new foods. But first I’ll eat the perch I caught during my swim.
I’m licking the smell of fish off my paws and face when I spot a pyramid in the far distance. I’ve heard a lot about them, but I’ve never seen one before.
I can’t take my eyes off it. It seems to be beckoning me.
It’s my destiny to go there!
Tail on high and a heart full of expectation, I begin walking.
Summer, 1277, deep in the rain forest of the Chivit Continent
It wasn’t my best day.
I tore through the curtain of cobwebs like they weren’t even there, then bolted for the doorway. The doors were still open, but the wood I had jammed between them and their doorframe wasn’t going to last long. A pathetic groan echoed through the ante-chamber around me, followed by the staccato sound of wood splintering.
Correction, those wooden braces weren’t going to last another few seconds. I ran faster.
Stone dust was like a fogbank. My clothes and hair were stiff with it and seeing past it felt like a bad joke. Specifically, on me. Gulping down air, I lengthened my stride, sprinting like a madwoman for the only way I knew out.
Then I was through. Past the stone dust, thick cobwebs, and pale-skinned, giggling, scrambling nightmares with too many arms. Little things that were all too eager for me to sit and stay awhile. I threw myself forward into the wall of heat and humidity that was part and parcel of Anestri’for, the ‘Great Jungle’ on Chivit.
Landing on my hands and knees, I drank in the smell of wet grass and foliage. The feel of damp earth was a delight. Best of all? The sound of the stone doors slamming shut on the writhing mass of bodies with too many arms trying to follow me. They weren’t giggling as the doors shut in their face, but snarling.
I hauled my aching body into a sitting position, then placed a dust-covered satchel in front of me. Thunder rolled around in the clouds overhead. I glanced up.
“Hourly thunderstorm. Right on time. At least it’s not a magic storm.”
“Good job, Tela.” I congratulated myself. “Alive, limbs in one piece, and you found it.”
Shaking my head, I reached for the flap on the bag to check the condition of my find. The last thing I needed was to get it back to Ishnanor in a thousand pieces. I didn’t manage to open the bag. A yell to my right gave me better things to think about.
A man dressed in mercenary leathers, and a belted tunic had shoved his way out of the underbrush. Dirty, mud-stained, he leered at me like a prize or fresh caught prey. I shot daggers back at him with a glare. Sad to say, he didn’t seem impressed.
“Here!” he bellowed. “She’s here! Tell Vargas! I’ve found the Windtracer! She’s got the relic!”
“Hells!”
I was on my feet and past a stand of briza-taeda ferns to my right before the mercenary took another step. Shouts filled the Anestri’for jungle air behind me. I ran faster.
It’s summer, and I’m stretched out on a windowsill in my bedroom with the sunlight warming the fur on my back. It’s quiet except for the drone of traffic on the Henry Hudson Parkway and the occasional whir of a helicopter flying along the river.
I once shared this bedroom with my friend Gato-Hamen, the High Priest of Amun-Ra. He and I had fled ancient Egypt on his magic boat. It was only supposed to carry us to a foreign land, but it took us through time as well as space here to Elena’s house in twenty-first century New York City.
Elena’s late father had been a renowned Egyptologist, and she immediately recognized us as ancient Egyptians. She was surprised we were speaking English. We explained that the prayer which had launched the magic boat also gave us the power to speak the language wherever we arrived.
She was also surprised that I, a cat, could talk and walk like a man. That would be explained later. Overjoyed at the prospect of excitement in her life, she invited us to stay with her.
Now the High Priest shares her bedroom, and I share this one with their child, who’s the reincarnation of the Pharaoh I loved thousands of years ago. He’s on the floor, playing contentedly with his building blocks. It’s hard to believe he’s already a year old.
Elena is reading and keeping an eye on him. “Wrappa-Hamen, are you recharging?” she asks, as she always does when she sees me basking in the sun. “You lazy old cat!”
“Lazy, yes. Old, not yet,” I reply, too drowsy to say more.
When I first met the Pharaoh, he was sixteen, and I was a stray tomcat. I’d wandered into in a looted tomb and was kicked by the Vizier, his uncle. I spat a cat amulet at him, hitting him on the forehead. He accused me of trying to kill him. The High Priest arrived and tried to reason with him.
Then it happened. I suddenly had human powers! I stood upright, walked over to the Vizier, and debated with him. The Pharaoh entered the tomb to hear me wise-cracking and laughed for the first time since his parents’ death. He took me to live with him at court, and we became inseparable.
A year later the Vizier poisoned him and accused me of the murder. He was going to put me to death when the High Priest rescued me. We fled Egypt on the magic boat and ended up in Elena’s living room . . .
Water is filling my ears.
“Useless beast. I should cut . . . tail. Drowning’s too good . . . you . . .”
Egyptians revere cats, but there are exceptions.
A week ago the brute snatched me from the streets, put me in a sack, and brought me on board to protect the load of grain he’s taking down the Nile to Waset.
Cats hunt rats, but there are exceptions.
Which the brute realized this morning. He picked me up by the scruff of my neck and threw me over the side.
If I never see a boat again it will be too soon . . .
I swim toward the river bank. Exhausted, I lie on the shore and let my fur dry in the warmth of the sun. Now that I’m free, I intend to resume roaming from village to village, seeing new things, meeting new cats, tasting new foods. But first I’ll eat the perch I caught during my swim.
I’m licking the smell of fish off my paws and face when I spot a pyramid in the far distance. I’ve heard a lot about them, but I’ve never seen one before.
I can’t take my eyes off it. It seems to be beckoning me.
It’s my destiny to go there!
Tail on high and a heart full of expectation, I begin walking.
Jim is the author of nine award-winning novels, three novelettes, and thousands of magazine and news articles. He now lives in a valley surrounded by mountains in the Southern Appalachians. He was previously an award-winning journalist at several national newspapers and a communications director at Clemson University.
Jim grew up on the shores of western Florida where he spent much of his childhood swimming in shark-infested waters long before the movie “Jaws” put a scare into everyone. At the time, he probably was too skinny to attract a bull shark’s attention. About ten other boys Jim’s age lived on his same street, and they hung out morning, noon and night playing the usual sports that young boys love — football, baseball, “kill the carrier,” etc. — but as a group they also played fantastical games that contained magic, monsters and superheroes. It was in this setting that Jim’s imagination was born and nurtured.
