Friday, May 22, 2026

Running with the Orc by Loretta Kendall #MonsterRomance


DIY Mini Book Charms

If you’re an eBook reader like me, you miss out on having those pretty bookshelves lined with books. Space can often be a factor, so book charms can be a great way to fill that need and have a keepsake of your favorite books.

You can create a mini bookshelf, book bangle bracelets, keychains, and more in just a few minutes, which you can save as a reminder of your favorite reads.




To get started on this crafty bookish project, you’ll need:

  • Mini Book Cover Photos printed on photo paper, sized to your mini book charm (I suggest doing this in Canva)
  • Clear Self-Sealing Laminating Sheets
  • Vinyl scraper tool
  • Color inkjet printer
  • Mod Podge (or glue stick)
  • Cutting mat
  • Hobby craft knife
  • Paper cutter or detail scissors
  • Mini book charms (My favorite is the Bead Treasures Fairy Tale “Once Upon A Time” Book Charm from Hobby Lobby)

Create and Print Your Covers

Choose the book covers you want to turn into charms. Resize them to fit your mini book blanks or your desired charm size. Printing on glossy photo paper gives the covers a more realistic bookstore look and helps the colors stay vibrant. Let it dry to avoid smearing the image in the next step.

Laminate the Covers

Place self-sealing laminating sheets over your printed covers. Smooth out any air bubbles using your vinyl scraper tool. I like to use these to seal the color from the printer to avoid smudging.

Note: You can substitute clear Mod Podge here, but I find it leaves an uneven surface and looks less like a real book cover. Resin may be a better option if you want that high gloss shine.

Carefully Cut Out the Covers

A paper cutter works well for straight edges, while detail scissors work here as well.

Fold the Spine

Gently fold along the spine area so the cover begins to take shape like a real miniature book.

Attach the Cover to the Charm

Apply a thin layer of Mod Podge or glue stick to the mini book charm base. Carefully line up your laminated cover and smooth it down firmly to avoid wrinkles or bubbles. Once dried, you will need to clean up the edges with a razor tool.

Turn Your Mini Books into Accessories

After everything dries completely, attach your charms to bracelets, keychains, mini bookshelves, bookmarks, or display jars. They also make adorable gifts for book club friends, librarians, and fellow readers.



Helpful Tips

  • Use high-resolution cover images for the sharpest results and use the cover for both sides. Often, the back cover blurb on physical books will be blurry at this thumbnail size.
  • Print out multiple books on one sheet to save on paper waste.
  • Use a Sharpie to clean up the craft book edges to blend with your cover.

______

Check out more of my bookish crafts at https://loretta-kendall-shop.square.site/s/shop

And don’t forget to check out my new book release, Running with the Orc, available on Amazon and all major retailers.


Running with the Orc
Loretta Kendall

Genre: Monster Romance
Publisher: Loretta Kendall
Date of Publication: May 15th, 2026
ISBN: 9798234054067
Number of pages: 244
Word Count: 75,000
Cover Artist: LK Creative Designs

Book Description: 

Daisy survived two years in orc captivity with one rule: Don't get caught during the run. 

Sassy burlesque comedian, Daisy LaRue, always believed her orc captors kidnapped their pretty victims for nefarious reasons. Humans, fairies, pixies, and other beautiful beings, all taken from their homes and forced to survive in a world built on a brutal game of hunter and the hunted. 

But do the orcs want them for lunch… or love? 

When Daisy is finally caught during the orcs' quarterly run, she discovers the so-called monstrous men might not be the villains she pegged them to be. The one who caught her may turn from enemy to temptation. 

In a world where nothing feels certain, she’ll face a battle far darker than captivity when her captor, Commander Bramwell Grognak, reveals the truth of a twisted history built on the study of eugenics. With the handsome orc at her side, Daisy takes a stand against the hidden evils of a society once built on honor and tradition. 

As love becomes the greatest challenge they face, this world may be worth fighting for.

Amazon     BN


Running with the Orc: Excerpt 3

“Let me down, you fucking asshole!” she yelled, kicking and screaming.

I hate what I was about to do, but I was already stressed, so I dropped her to her feet and spanked her ass hard. When I let go, she just looked stunned. Almost… turned on?

Her wide eyes flickered with a confusing mix of outrage and unwanted desire. “Uh…” she swallowed hard with a rosy blush on her cheeks. Surprised at herself to be aroused in such an awkward moment, she turned toward the house and started walking away in a huff.

I saw that same look the night she cut my face. The more danger she was in, the more turned on she was. I think that’s why she kissed me so hard my eyes almost popped out of my head that night.

No woman has made me feel the way she did from that kiss, and even with a cut on my face and blind in one eye afterwards, I wanted her so badly I thought I’d go insane. It’s the only reason I kept my distance from her for so long. Wanting her and protecting her has become a battle I’ve chosen to fight every day. I couldn’t understand for the life of me why I wanted a woman who cut me up like a raging lunatic and screamed like a psychopath as she did it.

Sure, I do. I still have orc in me, and a strong woman gets our fire going. Daisy had more spunk in her than most warriors I’d fought beside in battle. I knew right now she was struggling between wanting to care for me and hating my guts. I knew it wouldn’t be long before she’d be back to her old self, causing trouble and taking a stand.

I bit my lip trying not to laugh. Even though she was mad at me, she still liked that little tap. Naughty woman. “You have a little fairy in you, Daisy.”

“Shut up, asshole.”

 

 

About the Author:

Best-selling, award-winning romance author Loretta Kendall is an Indiana girl at heart, splitting time between writing steamy, swoon-worthy love stories and keeping up with her comedic sidekick husband. When she’s not lost in a world of words, she’s probably in the movie theater watching the latest release or trying to keep her poor, defenseless Venus flytrap plants alive. ~ RIP Molly Sue, Poe, and the twins.

Outside of writing, Loretta has a soft spot for vintage horror monsters, pinup fashion, and multimedia art. As a former pageant queen, celebrity makeup artist, photographer, and talent agent spanning twenty-two years in fashion and entertainment, her life experience gives a unique spin on her stories and their lively characters. 

Loretta’s love for storytelling shines through in every book, blending real love with the perfect touch of comedy, glamour, and outright chaos to captivate her readers.








Tour Giveaway 

1- Book box giveaway of a signed copy of the 
printed edge edition with bookish merch 

Must sign up for Loretta’s newsletter between 
May 15th -22nd at www.lorettakendall.com  

Winner will be announced May 23rd 
through a random drawing. 
(Must be in the US to enter) 



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Tuesday, May 19, 2026

The Great Dick and the Dysfunctional Demon by Barry Maher #SupernaturalThriller



The Great Dick and the Dysfunctional Demon
Barry Maher

Genre: Supernatural Thriller
Publisher: Crystal Lake Publishing
Date of Publication: 09/2025
ISBN: 978-1968532130
ASIN: B0FKWK2K7C
Number of pages: 464
Word Count: 125,000

Tagline: A wickedly funny, dark humor. supernatural thriller, blending horror with a thrilling murder mystery.

Book Description:

It’s 1982. Steve Witowski was once a hero. Now he’s simply a failed songwriter, running from the law. Worse, he’s just killed a man—while almost accidentally saving a woman from what seemed to be the strongest, most blood-thirsty wino in California. 

He should keep moving. But the woman, Victoria, is beyond stunning. Steve stays. And Victoria becomes just a part of a mystery he can’t unravel. Even as the face of the man he just killed slowly, gradually appears on his arm. And what starts out as a gritty crime story spirals into what author David Moody called, “A chillingly funny, hot, sweaty, magic and murder infused rollercoaster.” Complete with open crypts, dark spells, sudden death, and forces more powerful and demonic than Steve understands. Where nothing is what it seems. And Steve may be the next victim.

Excerpt 

Back in the 60s . . .

 

On Wednesday October 13th, 1968, a faculty panel recommended the dismissal of Professor John Harris—in absentia, as no one at Harvard had seen or heard from him in weeks. Harris later bragged about delivering his final lecture on “one shitload and a half of LSD.” According to the recording made available to the faculty panel, this was the sum total of that lecture:

 

“Good afternoon. Wow. American Literature, hunh? Let’s see. Moby Dick today. Right?”

 “Moby Dick?” asked a confused voice. “No. What happened to The Scarlet Letter?”

 “Right. Moby Dick,” Harris continued. “Great book. None of you have read it. None of you are going to read it. Nobody ever does. What you need to understand is that as far as I’m concerned—and I’m the fucking professor—Moby Dick is the same story as The Great Gatsby, which some of you may read. I call it, ‘the half-assed struggle of the individual to put their world to rights in the face of a failure that threatens to define their life.’ I think that’s from my thesis. Though maybe it’s not pretentious enough.”

Harris laughed. “Hey! How about this? Great Gatsby/Moby Dick: same story, different era, right? So, if someone someday tries to write that story for this generation, they should call it The Great Dick. That’d be perfect, wouldn’t it? The Great Dick. Alright, that’s got to be almost fifty minutes. See you next . . . whenever. Wow.”

 

 

SUNDAY, MARCH 21, 1982
Two Women and One Corpse


“Any fool can tell the truth, but it requires a man of some sense to lie well.”
                                                                                        —Samuel Johnson

 

CHAPTER 1

  

            Okay, let me start out by admitting that I was an asshole. I know that. The ludicrous amount of fame and acclaim and money I’ve had dumped on me since that time only makes it more glaring. The fact that we lived in a different world back in 1982 is no excuse. It was the same world. It just wasn’t the world we thought it was.

            I remember it was a Sunday night. Sundays always feel different. Looking back now and Googling a 1982 calendar, I’d guess it was Sunday, March 21st. I remember waking up and within minutes making the decision to leave. Quickly, before I could change my mind, I eased myself out of the rickety hide‑a‑bed.

            Immediately, Maria rolled over into the spot I'd just vacated, breathing loudly through her nose and mouth, not quite snoring. I hate to say it, but she looked every minute of her thirty years. Her thick dark hair clung damply to her face; her heavy arms stretched outward. The cast on her left wrist looked like a giant manacle.

The grandfather clock beside the cigar store Indian read 1:37, though a few minutes before, it had chimed four times. That made as much sense as anything else in my life. I was thirty-five years old, a Harvard grad who’d spent the previous two years faking his way through a $13,500 a year job as an territory rep for the Richmond Tobacco company. That $13,500 was the most money I’d ever made. You’re probably thinking that when you adjust for inflation and translate that $13,500 into today’s dollars, it’s a lot more impressive.

No, it’s not.

I slipped on my jersey and my jeans and gathered the rest of my things in my old gym bag. Fortunately, enough moonlight crept in around the edges of the tattered drapes to give the room a dim glow. I wondered if it would be safe to hitchhike out of there, or if Indiana had already notified the California Highway Patrol that I was wanted.

My situation was bad. But not bad enough to, say, crawl into a grave with a rotting corpse.

That would come later.



About the Author:
 
Barry Maher may be the only horror novelist who’s ever appeared in the pages of Funeral Service Insider. In his misspent youth, his articles appeared in perhaps a hundred different publications and, in order to eat, he held nearly that many different jobs. Sometimes he lived on the beach. Not in a house on the beach. On the beach. With the sand and the seagulls. 

Then he started telling his stories to audiences. More important, he started telling his stories to audiences and charging. That took him all over the country and around the world: his client list a Who’s Who of leading corporations, associations and cruise lines. You may have seen Barry on The Today Show, CNN, CBS or CNBC, or read about him in The New York Times, The Wall Street Journal, USA Today or in his own, Slightly Off-Kilter syndicated column.

On the downside, he’s also been incarcerated twice. Once for not making a left hand turn out of a left hand turn lane, and once for aiding and abetting a loiterer. 

He’s deeply repentant. 

Newsletter: www.barrymaher.com
 



 






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Monday, May 18, 2026

Poetry Corner with Katrina Kimball #PoetryCorner #Poet #Author


I write poetry, when the mood strikes. 

I don’t write poetry often and usually the urge to do it comes out of nowhere so I quickly have to go find a notebook and a pen.


~The Sea~

If I tell my troubles to the sea

Do you think it will release in me

That in which I need to let go?

Will the waves wash clean

The troubles I’ve seen

And cure all the hurt so that finally, I’ll feel whole?

I don’t know but I can’t think of a better place to let those tears free.

After all, what’s a few more drops in the sea?

 


(Untitled)

You.

around me-

within me, and without me.

It was always you-

whom I didn’t know,

yet knew so well.

You’ve been camouflaged within me-

since the beginning.

An echo in my laughter here,

alive in a heartbeat there.

I found you at last, recognized you, hidden in a sigh of peace.

 


Transcendence
Katrina Kimball

Genre: Paranormal Thriller, Dark Fantasy
Publisher: Rowan Prose Publishing
Date of Publication: April 28, 2026
ISBN: 978-1-961967-80-9
ASIN: B0F711QN1B
Number of pages: 348 pages
Word Count: 85,482
Cover Artist: Rowan Prose Publishing

Book Description: 

When a demonic entity seeking revenge starts tormenting her family, a young woman must rediscover their shared past and embrace her own divine power in order to save not only those she loves, but the creature bent on her destruction.

If you asked Alexis Ferelli what her biggest challenges are in life, she’d say it’s parenting her daughter, Luna, running her masseuse practice, and deftly avoiding conversations about marriage with her partner, Jack. At least, that was the case before she attended a séance. Now, the spirits are trying to contact her and there’s a demonic entity in her daughter’s closet.

Determined to find answers, she turns to the psychic from the séance and the spirit world for help. As she dabbles in the hereafter, she not only discovers another dimension filled with angelic guides, magic, and wonder, but also learns the shocking truth of her connection to the creature tormenting her daughter.

As the dark entity grows bolder and sets its sights on Jack as well as Luna, Alexis realizes that to save them all, she has to face the creature she once betrayed to bring it out of the darkness and back into the light.

Fans of Alix Harrow’s Starling House or Neil Gaiman’s Coraline will enjoy Transcendencs by Katrina Kimball.

Amazon     Books2Read

Excerpt:

Luna woke to a tapping sound coming from her closet. She knew closets weren’t supposed to make tapping sounds. She also knew that’s where monsters hid, in the back of dark closets or under your bed. Maybe that’s where aliens hid, too—waiting to catch you in your sleep.

The silvery light spilling through her parted curtains and pooling on the floor did little to soften the shadows. Through the gloom, she could see the outline of her closet. The door was shut. She cast a wary glance at the windowsill and the visible line of salt that gleamed in the faint moonlight. The salt was undisturbed, her window still closed against the night.

Tap, tap, tap.

She ducked under the covers and scooted to the far side of the bed. Tucked into the corner with her back pressed against the wall, she peeked out from under the blanket, her eyes glued to the closet.

Tap, tap, tap. The sound came again, swiftly followed by the soft click of the closet door as it started to inch open.

As she lay there, huddled in the darkness, too scared to breathe, a tall shadow, darker than the shades of night in which it had hidden, slowly stepped forward. Its red eyes reminded her of Aunt Dani’s cawing raven, the one with eyes like fire that scared you when you walked in the door. But these eyes were worse. Bright red flames surrounded a pupil an even deeper shade of red. And they were looking straight at her.

Frozen in fear, she watched as it glided closer, its footfalls silent, its eyes terrible and bright.

“Hello, little doll,” it whispered. 

Luna couldn’t tell if the thing had a mouth, for its entire face was black except for its terrifying eyes, but she heard the words just the same. A little voice in the back of her head was screaming at her to move, but it was too late, the thing was now between her and the door.

She remembered the bowl of salt on the nightstand next to her bed and finding her voice, tried to be brave.

“I am not a doll.”

“Oh, sweet child,” it sighed as it stepped into the puddle of moonlight, impossibly tall and darker than the nighttime shadows, “I shall make you my little doll. That’s all you’ll ever be.”

Its long arms ended in hooked fingers that looked as sharp as claws. Beneath eyes of flame ran a jagged slit where its mouth should be, as if someone had tried to draw a mouth, but had gotten it all wrong.

The scream that had been building for some time in the back of Luna’s throat finally worked its way free as the creature reached for her, talons grasping, eyes of flame leaping in the night.

She lunged for the salt next to her bed. Flinging the bowl itself at the creature, her eyes widened as it sailed right through it as if were truly just a shadow. Grains of salt flew through the air as the bowl shattered violently against the hardwood floor.

The creature jerked its head in the direction of her mother’s room and stared, its slash of a mouth widening into a gaping smile that made her stomach hurt. She could hear her mother’s footsteps racing down the hall.

Its head swiveled back in her direction, eyes alight with fire as its hideous smile somehow grew. Tears slipped down her cheeks.

“I’ll be seeing you little doll,” it whispered as it glided soundlessly back into her closet and snapped the door shut.

 

About the Author:

A horror enthusiast and lover of all things mysterious and unknowable, it was only a matter of time before author Katrina Kimball picked up her pen and mashed the paranormal, fantasy, and horror genres into one with her debut novel “Transcendence.” When she isn’t working on a novel or binge-watching shows about Bigfoot, ghosts, or aliens, she’s probably thinking about any one of those three things. She lives in the Pacific Northwest with her two children and her adorable Boston Terrier, Beaux.








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Friday, May 8, 2026

In the Kitchen with Mildred Abbott #ParanormalMystery #InTheKitchen


In the Kitchen: Why Food Matters in Cozy Mysteries (and a Taste of New Orleans)

Thank you for inviting me into Creatively Green to talk about my new Whispering Witch cozy mystery series. These books are set in New Orleans (and so am I, the author); therefore, I thought I’d chat with you all about something important to the books, the town, and me. Food!

If you’ve ever been to New Orleans, you know one thing immediately—food isn’t just part of the culture. It is the culture.

It’s in the bakeries that have been around for generations, in the corner restaurants that locals swear by, and in the recipes that get passed down and shared. Food brings people together here in a way that feels both everyday and a little bit magical.

That’s one of the reasons I’ve always loved including recipes in my books. 

Cozy mysteries, at their heart, are about more than just solving a puzzle. They’re about community. Familiar places. People gathering together—even when something has gone wrong. Food naturally becomes part of that world. And, let’s be honest, I’m food-obsessed, it’s a must have in my writing. 

My main character Maeve Hawthorn feels just as strongly about food as me. Her corgi sidekick, Mischief, is even more food-obsessed.

I love including real places and cultural facts into my books, it always deepens the story to me, and it’s so fun to get messages from from readers who visit the real places I write about in my stories. New Orleans is the perfect place for that. And, since Nola is such a tight-knit community (and rather self-obsessed in a charming way), local restaurants and bakeries are giving me recipes to feature in each installment of the Whispering Witch series. 

One small detail that developed naturally as I built this world is that the witches in my series are vegetarian. With animal familiars being such an important part of their lives—always deeply bonded companions—it never quite felt right for them to see animals as both partners and food.


Because of that, the recipes in this series are vegetarian as well, the local restaurants and bakers have indulged me by keeping their contributions in that theme. It was an unexpected layer of the world, but one that ended up fitting beautifully with the tone of the series—grounded, thoughtful, and a little bit different.

And while my books lean more into magic and higher stakes than a traditional cozy mystery, I never wanted to lose that sense of warmth. Including recipes felt like a way to keep that connection—to ground the story in something familiar and inviting.

Because even in a world where magic exists… people still gather in kitchens. They still share food. And sometimes, those quiet moments matter just as much as everything else happening around them.

Thanks for allowing me to visit today! Maeve and Mischief warmly invite you to step into the magical New Orleans world of the Whispering Witch and get swept away in our culinary delights. 



As thanks, I wanted to share one of my own favorite recipes—something simple, comforting, and perfect with a cup of coffee and a good book. These oatmeal chocolate chip cookies were my favorites that my mom would make when I was a kid and remain that way, even as I approach fifty.  I still can’t decide if I like them more as cookies or just cookie dough. Luckily, we don’t have to choose. 

Oatmeal Chocolate Chip Sugar Cookies

Cream:
1 cup white sugar
1 cup brown sugar
1 cup shortening
Add:
2 eggs

Sift:
1 ½ cups flour
½ teaspoon cinnamon
1 teaspoon baking soda
½ teaspoon baking powder
½ teaspoon salt

Add:
1 teaspoon vanilla
2 ½ cups oatmeal
1 ½ cups chocolate chips

Form mixture into balls the size of walnuts. Roll in white sugar, place on cookie sheet and press with a fork that is dipped in water. 

Bake at 350 for 8-10 minutes. 

This recipe is very dry—be careful not to overcook.



Gossiping About Grimoires
Whispering Witch 
Book One
Mildred Abbott

Genre: Paranormal Mystery
Publisher: Wings of Ink Publications, LLC
Date of Publication: March 10, 2026
ISBN: 979-8243417433
ASIN: B0GJTS4272
Number of pages: 400
Word Count: 103,600

Cover Artist: Christian Bentulan 

Book Description:

Maeve Hawthorn writes about witches for a living. They want her to stop.

When a book signing ends in her abduction, Maeve’s only priority is escaping with her corgi, Mischief, alive. That urgency deepens when she learns her captors are real witches, furious that Maeve has been exposing their secrets to the world.

Before Maeve can make sense of how her fiction has become reality, she’s caught in the middle of a murder that leaves her marked by magic she doesn’t understand. When a dying witch’s power floods into her, Maeve becomes the prime suspect in a crime she didn’t commit—and a target for every supernatural being certain she knows too much.

Turns out, magic isn’t a gift. It’s a liability. And clearing her name may cost Maeve far more than her safety.

With danger closing in and no clear allies other than Mischief, Maeve must navigate a hidden supernatural world that wants her silenced… or dead.

Excerpt:

Turning from dawn breaking over the Quarter, I crossed over to the canopy bed where Mischief was having a completely different experience.

After my thousandth time pacing the room, Mischief had crawled on top of the mountain of decorative pillows placed against the headboard and fallen asleep. As normal, she’d started off in a dignified little ball, resting her head on top of her fluffy tail. Barely ten minutes had passed before she flipped onto her back, front legs curved at her chest and hind legs spread in a most un-ladylike manner.

Without thinking, I mimicked her—flopping to the mattress on my back with a cry of terrified frustration.

Mischief snorted in surprise and tried to twist around onto her feet. Instead, she sank between the pillows. She only disappeared for a heartbeat before she thrust her head through a gap at the bottom and shook off a little trail of drool left over from her nap.

“Sorry, sweet girl.”

Mischief only groaned, yawned.

Despite everything, she could still make me laugh. I curled onto my side, snagged under her front legs, heaved her free from the pillow avalanche, and pulled her to my chest.

“Oh, Mischief, what have I gotten us into?”

She snuggled against me and in answer issued a long, relaxed sigh.

“You know, I’m always amazed how much you understand what I’m saying and what’s going on around us. However, you seem completely clueless at the moment, which is surprising.” I buried my face in the large white patch of fur at the back of her neck, tears stinging my eyes. “Although I have to admit, I wish I were clueless right now too.”

Mischief exhaled, sounding annoyed, then squeezed her way out of my embrace, trotted about a foot across the mattress, and plopped down, staring at me.

I laughed again. “Sorry, I wasn’t trying to insult you or anything. I only…”

The expression in her eyes brought me up short and ushered back the memory beside Eudora’s body. How in the world had I forgotten?

“I could have sworn you talked to me earlier.”

Her annoyed expression deepened.

I leaned closer. “Are you irritated because that’s ridiculous or because I’ve been too busy being a stress-mess to remember until now?”

She glared, though not necessarily angrily, but more like another flash of what I thought was annoyance. She leaned closer so her nose almost touched mine and held my gaze, staring so hard had it been anyone else, it would have felt invasive and too personal.

But it was Mischief, so I stared right back. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what you’re trying to tell me.”

She blinked, then stared again.

“You are!” I gasped at the realization. “You are trying to tell me something. Actually, trying to say something… right?”

Though I couldn’t hear even the faintest reply, the expression in her dark eyes was a resounding Yes. Truthfully, it was probably more of a Duh!

“Okay.” In my excitement, I attempted to push aside being captured and my probable purging and scurried up into a sitting position on the bed.

That was instantly too high, so I repositioned to my knees, leaning forward and resting on my forearms, returning our faces to eye level.

Again, I couldn’t hear what she was saying, but I got the impression she was laughing.

Strange. Although I suddenly realized how I must look spread over the bed with my rump up in the air. “Kind of like you when you want to play, huh?”

Her eyes twinkled.

Another thrill shot through me.

I had always felt a bond between us and frequently had the impression we could read each other’s thoughts and feel each other’s emotions. But I’d heard other people who loved their dogs say similar. I figured every doggy parent felt that. But this was different, even though I couldn’t hear any words like I thought I had at the cathedral. This was new, even for us.

“Okay… what’s different from earlier?” I thought back to the moment at the cathedral, trying to recall. She’d been on my lap, and I’d buried my face in her fur, as I so often did for comfort. But… I’d just held her a moment ago. Just had my face buried in her fur while I tried not to cry.

Before I could sit up, drag her into my lap, and try again, Mischief drew closer once more and pressed her forehead to mine.

I started to argue, to tell her of my plan of recreating the scene. However, she seemed to know what she was doing better than I did, so I held my position.

Mischief pushed a little harder against my forehead and took a long, slow breath, then released it. Her breath didn’t smell minty fresh or anything, but the warmth washed over my cheeks and felt as familiar and safe as home.

I attempted a slow breath of my own, but it shook.

Mischief did it again.

So did I—longer, deeper, and slower that time. The tightness in my throat lessened, and the claws gripping around my heart loosened ever so slightly.

Safe.

I scrambled back, startled, as I hadn’t really expected it to work. “You said that, right? Not just my imagination?”

Her scowl was all the answer I needed.

“Okay, you did say it. That’s… amazing. And I love you think we’re…” My turn to scowl. “Wait a minute. Do you really think that, or is safe the only word you can say?”

Her chuff upgraded from mild annoyance to exasperation.

“All right.” Despite our situation, I chuckled, because talking or not, Mischief was Mischief.

I wasn’t entirely convinced, but whether because of hope or delusion, I wanted to find meaning.

“All right, let’s say you really are talking and I can hear you. We’ll go a step further and believe you’re choosing to say safe because you truly think we are.”

She blinked. Maybe confirmation? That seemed like a good sign.

“Great, so… you believe we’re safe.”

Reality broke through. I was sitting here talking to my dog. Although I always talked to Mischief—all the time—I’d never expected her to answer back with actual words.

Was I losing my mind?

Mischief growled softly.

“Okay, good point. We’re surrounded by witches. Plus, black cats, otters, alligators, and opossums while we’re at it. Not a huge leap that you might start talking.”

Her growling stopped.

“I’ll take that as agreement.” I couldn’t help but grin at her, then reached out and stroked her beautiful face. “So you think we’re safe. I guess that’s good, but there’s not a single thing that’s happened that leads me to believe that. Why in the world do you think we’re safe?”

Mischief’s tail began to dance behind her head. Magic.

I gasped again. “You can say more than safe.”

Her wagging ceased instantly.

“Sorry.”

She sighed.

“You think we’re safe because of magic. I don’t see how.” I continued to pet her and try to parse through things out loud, attempting to make sense of it. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m over the moon it’s all real, but magic is what put us in danger—it’s definitely not protecting us.”

Mischief shook her head, pulling away from my touch. She seemed to consider for a second, then stretched out one of her white little paws and placed it on my hand resting against the bedspread.

Magic.

My heart thrilled again at hearing her voice—which mostly sounded like my own voice, my thinking voice or conscience… but… different.

“Yeah, I get it. There’s magic. But it’s being used against us, Mischief, not—”

Magic. She batted my hand with her paw. Maeve. Magic.

“You said my name!” I gasped again and yanked my hand away, covering my heart like a parent whose baby just said “Mama” for the first time.

She rolled her eyes, which… wasn’t new.

“Sorry.”

She scooted close enough to touch again.

Maeve. She glared again. Magic.

Mischief shook her head in what looked like frustration. I didn’t get the sense she was frustrated at me that time, however.

She gave a little hop, then looked back at me before covering my hand with her paw once more. Magic. Maeve. She tapped my hand, one of her claws accidentally—or maybe not so accidentally—scratching my skin. Magic Maeve. Magic Maeve.

“Uhm…”

Mischief shut her eyes, and her tiny little caterpillar brows furrowed like she was straining. Maeve. Is. Magic.

She opened her eyes, looking deep into mine again. Maeve. Magic.


About the Author:

Mildred Abbott writes cozy mysteries filled with humorous and complex characters. Whether brimming with magic or simply an above-average dose of curiosity, Mildred's amateur sleuths solve murders with the cutest sidekicks ever. Fifteen years as a special education teacher and a lifetime of loving rescue dogs result in creating adventures with a ton of heart and the need for lint rollers.









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