Below The Fold by R.G. Belsky

Below The Fold

by R.G. Belsky

on Tour May 1-31, 2019

Synopsis:

Every human life is supposed to be important. Everyone should matter. But that’s not the case in the cutthroat TV news-rating world where Clare Carlson works. Sex, money, and power sell. Only murder victims of the right social strata are considered worth covering. Not the murder of a “nobody.”

So, when the battered body of a homeless woman named Dora Gayle is found on the streets of New York City, her murder barely gets a mention in the media. But Clare―a TV news director who still has a reporter’s instincts―decides to dig deeper into the seemingly meaningless death. She uncovers mysterious links between Gayle and a number of wealthy and influential figures. There is a prominent female defense attorney; a scandal-ridden ex-congressman; a decorated NYPD detective; and―most shocking of all―a wealthy media mogul who owns the TV station where Clare works. Soon there are more murders, more victims, more questions. As the bodies pile up, Clare realizes that her job, her career, and maybe even her life are at stake as she chases after her biggest story ever.

Book Details:

Genre: Mystery
Published by: Oceanview Publishing
Publication Date: May 2019
Number of Pages: 357
ISBN: 978-1-60809-324-3
Series: Clare Carlson #2
Purchase Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Goodreads

Read an excerpt:

OPENING CREDITS
THE RULES ACCORDING TO CLARE

Every human life is supposed to be important, everyone should matter. That’s what we all tell ourselves, and it’s a helluva noble concept. But it’s not true. Not in the real world. And certainly not in the world of TV news where I work.

Especially when it comes to murder.

Murder is a numbers game for me. It operates on what is sometimes cynically known in the media as the Blonde White Female Syndrome. My goal is to find a murder with a sexy young woman victim to put on the air. Sex sells. Sex, money, and power. That translates into big ratings numbers, which translates into more advertising dollars. These are the only murder stories really worth doing.

The amazing thing to me is not that there is so much news coverage of these types of stories. It’s that there are people who actually question whether they should be big news stories. These critics dredge up the age-old argument about why some murders get so much more play in the media than all the other murders that happen every day.

I don’t understand these people.

Because the cold, hard truth—and everyone knows this, whether they want to admit it or not—is that not everybody is equal when it comes to murder.

Not in life.

And certainly not in death.

It reminds me of the ongoing debate that happens every time Sirhan Sirhan—the man who killed Robert F. Kennedy—comes up for a parole hearing. There are those who point out that he’s already served fifty years in jail. They argue that many other killers have served far less time before being paroled. Sirhan Sirhan should be treated equally, they say, because the life of Robert F. Kennedy is no more or less important than the life of any other crime victim. Me, I think Sirhan Sirhan should be kept caged up in a four-foot by six-foot cell as long as he lives—which hopefully will be to a hundred so he can suffer every minute of it. For God’s sakes, people, he killed Robert—freakin’—Kennedy!

And so, to those who think that we in the media make too big a deal out of some of these high-profile murder stories, I say that’s completely and utterly ridiculous. I reject that argument completely. I won’t even discuss it.

* *

Now let me tell you something else.

Everything I just said there is a lie.

The truth is there really is no magic formula for murder in the TV news business. No simple way to know from the beginning if a murder story is worth covering or not. No easy answer to the question of how much a human life is worth—or what the impact will be of that person’s death by a violent murder.

When I started out working at a newspaper years ago, I sat next to a veteran police reporter on the overnight shift. There was an old-fashioned wire machine that would print out police slips of murders that happened during the night. Most of them involved down-market victims in bad neighborhoods whose deaths clearly would never make the paper.

But he would dutifully call the police on each one and ask questions like: “Tell me about the body of that kid you found in the Harlem pool room—was he a MENSA candidate or what?” Or, “The woman you found dead in the alley behind the housing project—any chance she might be Julia Roberts or a member of the British Royal Family?”

I asked him once why he even bothered to make the calls since none of these murders seemed ever worth writing about in the paper.

“Hey, you never know,” he said.

It was good advice back then, and it still is today. I try to teach it to all my reporters in the TV newsroom that I run now. Check every murder out. Never assume anything about a murder story. Follow the facts and the evidence on every murder—on every crime story—because you can never be certain where that trail might take you.

Okay, I don’t always follow my own advice in the fast-paced, ratings-obsessed world of TV news where I make my living.

And usually it does turn out to be just a waste of time.

But every once in a while, well . . .

Hey, you never know.

***

Excerpt from Below The Fold by R.G. Belsky. Copyright © 2019 by R.G. Belsky. Reproduced with permission from R.G. Belsky. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

R. G. Belsky is an author of crime fiction and a journalist in New York City. His newest mystery, Below The Fold, is being published in May 2019 by Oceanview. It is the second in a series featuring Clare Carlson, the news director for a New York City TV station. The first Clare Carlson book, YESTERDAY'S NEWS, came out in 2018. Belsky previously wrote the Gil Malloy series - THE KENNECONNECTIONION, SHOOTING FOR THE STARS AND BLONDE ICE - about a newspaper reporter at the New York Daily News. Belsky himself is a former managing editor at the Daily News and writes about the media from an extensive background in newspapers, magazines and TV/digital news. He has also been a top editor at the New York Post, Star magazine and NBC News. Belsky won the Claymore Award at Killer Nashville in 2016. He has finished as a Finalist for both the Silver Falchion and David Awards. And his first Clare Carlson book, YESTERDAY’S NEWS, was named Outstanding Crime/News Based Novel by Just Reviews in 2018 and was a Finalist for Best Mystery of 2018 in the Foreword INDIES Awards. His previous suspense/thriller novels include LOVERBOY and PLAYING DEAD. Belsky lives in New York City.

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The Rule of Many by Ashley Saunders

The Rule of Many
Ashley Saunders
(The Rule of One #2)
Published by: Skyscape
Publication date: May 7th 2019
Genres: Dystopian, Young Adult

Born to a death sentence in a near-future America, rebellious sisters herald a revolution—if they can survive.
Twins Ava and Mira Goodwin defy the Rule of One simply by existing. The single-child law, ruthlessly enforced by Texas’s Governor Roth, has made the sisters famous fugitives and inspirations for the resurgent rebellion known as the Common.
But the relentless governor and his implacable Texas State Guard threaten that fragile hope, as Roth consolidates his power in a bid for ultimate authority.
As Ava and Mira relinquish the relative safety of their Canadian haven to stand against Roth, new allies arise: Owen, a gifted young programmer, impulsively abandons his comfortable life in a moment of compassion, while Zee, an abused labor camp escapee, finds new purpose in resistance.
The four will converge on Dallas for a reckoning with Roth, with nothing less than their destinies—and the promise of a future free from oppression—on the line.
Disobedience means death. But a life worth living demands rebellion.

Goodreads / Amazon

—

EXCERPT:

MIRA
Limos and luxury cars line the extensive circular driveway, stuffed with partygoers ready for the welcoming bash. Mrs. and Mr. Cross have already arrived with much fanfare from their son and his doting employees. I wonder if Ciro’s sisters are here.
I hear him get on the microphone, introducing his unwitting parents onto the stage of the overflowing banquet hall, the governor of Alberta and the mayor of Calgary looking on from the front row.
Everything’s falling nicely into place. If only the man of the hour would show.
I look at my watch: 7:30 p.m. He’s late. Ava’s knee bounces furiously, as if she can shake out her anxiety.
“He’ll come,” I say.
From our hideout in the corner of the foyer, shadowed and easily overlooked, we have the best seats in the house. A perfect vantage point to see and be unseen. Ava scans the budding festivities through the glass walls on our left. I keep my eyes on the glass windows straight ahead, seeing past the dazzling flares from the cars’ headlights, holding out for the first glimpse of the president.
A string quartet begins to play, and an electric energy pulsates through the hotel, enlivening the crowd around us with a giddy exhilaration, and I can’t help but feel it too. Eager, I spring to my feet. I pace up and down our tucked-away corner, checking the time, watching Emery from across the room, waiting on her signal.
“Do you hear that?” Ava asks. She stares up at the ceiling. I move beside her as we listen to the muffled roar of whirling blades slicing the air somewhere above the building.
“A helicopter,” Ava says.
“He’s here.”
We look to Emery, who stands near the entrance, her gaze locked skyward. Guests file past as she removes a headscarf from her pocket, drapes the silk over her distinctive curls, and pulls it into a tight knot at the back of her neck. She folds her right arm over her chest, our cue to move.
I feel, rather than see, Barend steal into place behind us, our long shadow, as we push to the end of the foyer. Pawel detaches himself from the crowd and crosses our path as he follows Emery out the front door. “Lots of luck,” he whispers earnestly. Like luck has anything to do with it. It’s all up to us.
Our target is the oversized clock that consumes the entire wall alongside the vacant concierge desk. Ava stops before the number six, and we slip behind a false door and stride side by side down an empty staff hallway. Three right turns, two left, a final door, and we’re outside.
There are no lights behind the hotel and no people. The night is chilly and moonless, but we find the footpath we were directed to take and make our silent way to the small grove of trees just twenty yards out.
Ten paces in, Ava and I turn from the path and weave through the evergreens until we spot the narrow clearing that is to be our stage. We position ourselves in its center, shoulder to shoulder, and wait. Somewhere to our right, concealed within the trees and darkness, Barend stands guard.
When told of the plan, Emery immediately authorized the private rendezvous. She knows pleading our case face-to-face with the president is the only way. Cameras and screens provide a barrier, Emery said. The media paints you solely as American rebels. Let him see how human you are. With Pawel at her side, Emery is to meet and escort the president here, while Ciro entertains his parents and guests, keeping them safely ignorant inside the banquet hall.
The minutes tick off, and Ava starts to shiver from either the cold or nerves. Or is that me shivering? Ava and I brought no weapons with us, to show good faith. No guns, no knives. Just us, with our naked conviction and hope.
This could be our last stop, a final end to the endless chase. A place to plan and plot and devise our crucial counterattack.
Ava nudges me with a sharp elbow. She points to the trees in front of us. Two distinct shapes emerge, a faint silhouette floating behind.
“Ready?” I whisper needlessly. Ava tightens her jaw, and I ball my hands into white-knuckled fists. I take a big gulp of air and exhale slowly. My breath comes out in swirling smoke, reminding me of a dragon. There’s a fire inside me, and suddenly I feel warm and calm. One look from Ava and I know she feels it too.
We’re ready.
The outlines become faces and bodies. Emery appears first, then President Moore, with Pawel a few steps behind. I stare at Moore, transfixed, my eyes glued to the man who can grant us refuge.
He stumbles forward, as if his own eyes have not yet adjusted to the dark. I search his every feature, looking for any hint of surprise, or shock, or understanding. But his face, though startlingly attractive in the starlight, is blank. Indifferent.
“President Moore,” Emery says, “this is Ava and Mira Goodwin.” He looks at us cross-eyed, his round eyes squinting as he takes us in. We all stand motionless, awaiting his response.
“You don’t look identical to me,” the president finally states, his thin voice magnified in the still night air. “One of you’s slightly taller, the other rounder.”
The leader of the free world opens with an insult. My first reaction is to defend my identicalness. Surprising, when all I’ve ever wanted is to be seen as different from Ava.
“Sir—” Ava and I speak at the same time.
The president laughs. “Ah, there it is.” The ground spins as he turns to leave. “This conversation will be moved to a different setting. Just the twins and me.”
Barend detaches from the shadows. Pawel and Emery enclose my sister and me. Ava grabs my arm, her grip tight enough to bruise.
“We do not agree to any change—” Emery starts, but Moore shouts over her.
“Security!”
Everything shatters, all plans and expectations smashed to pieces.
A gunshot rings out, then two more.
“Run!” Emery yells.
The last thing I see is Ava’s face, twisted in fear and fury.
Then something covers my eyes. My mouth.
I’m thrown over a bulky shoulder, the deafening sounds of a helicopter growing louder with every footfall. With every one of my muffled screams.
I’m shoved against something solid. I reach out, arms flailing, but there’s no one beside me. Ava.
I feel the chopper lift into the sky. Two spinning blades taking me higher and higher away from Common ground.

Author Bio:
Hailing from the suburbs of Dallas, Texas, Ashley Saunders and Leslie Saunders are award-winning filmmakers and twin sisters who honed their love of storytelling at The University of Texas at Austin. While researching The Rule of One, they fell in love with America’s national parks, traveling the path of Ava and Mira. The sisters can currently be found with their Boston terriers in sunny Los Angeles, exploring hiking trails and drinking entirely too much yerba mate.

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Freshman Sidekick by Ron Tucker

Freshman Sidekick
Ron Tucker
(High School Sidekick, #1)
Publication date: May 13th 2019
Genres: Superhero, Young Adult

Robbie isn’t your normal high school student. He can teleport. And in King City, if you’ve got a superpower, that means you can sign up to be a sidekick, so he does just that.
Wanting to become a sidekick, and hopefully, a fully-fledged superhero one day has been all Robbie’s dreamed about. But like they always say, be careful what you wish for.
No sooner than his first day of high school, does the balancing act commence. Making time for his best friend? Finally getting to go out with his crush? Training with his superhero mentor? Not to mention, there’s a psychotic villain on the loose and his minion seems to want to kill him.
Yeah, high school can suck. Add superpowers to the mix and it can be downright deadly.

Goodreads / Amazon

—

EXCERPT:

… After years of reading about superheroes, following the ones who had profiles on social media sites, and always keeping up-to-date with the latest sidekick being promoted, you could say I’m a superhero junkie. Not that the rest of the world doesn’t love superheroes. They’re just as famous as movie stars and pro-athletes. Fan clubs, groupies, protestors; superheroes have them all.
“Can you believe it?” Pete asks. “Our first day of high school.”
Before I can answer, a huge guy walks into Pete’s shoulder, almost knocking him down. He has to be at least a foot taller than me, long sideburns, and facial hair. Not just stubble. I’m talking a full-fledged goatee on his chin. If he didn’t have a letterman’s jacket on, I’d swear he was a teacher.
“Watch it, freshman,” he grunts, pushing through and continuing on his way.
“Yeah, awesome.” I roll my eyes.
“Sheesh. I guess we’re at the bottom of the food chain, huh?”
“I guess so.”
I enter my first class and find an empty desk in the back. Pulling my books out of my backpack, I look up as the bell rings, and see Jasmin walk into class. I could call her beautiful, but it’s so much more than that.
It’s like seeing a sunset over the horizon. The rays of the sun shining over the clouds. You could describe the colors, but the words don’t do them justice. Colors you never knew existed, but when we see them, you know it’s something to admire. Something that tells you the universe is a vast and glorious place. That’s what she is.
I haven’t seen her since the last day of eighth grade, but she looks amazing as always. She’s added silver highlights to her wavy, brown hair, which complements her gorgeous hazel eyes. I nearly sigh out loud. She’s maybe an inch or two shorter than me. Liking her as long as I have, I was super embarrassed in sixth grade when she was taller than me. I’m glad that’s over. I came close to asking her out once last year, but I couldn’t spit out the right words. I ended up asking her if she wanted two dumplings. Yeah, brilliant.
Her best friend, Maria, strolls into the classroom with her, and they take two chairs on the other side of the classroom. As she sits down, Jasmin looks over at me, and smiles. I smile back, melting inside, then raise my hand to wave to her.
“Yes?” the teacher says aloud, standing in front of the class.
Eyes turn and stare at me. Jasmin’s eyes widen, jumping back and forth between myself and the teacher. I look up front to find my teacher staring at me with a questioning expression.
“Yes?” he repeats, this time with a stern undertone.
“Oh, uh.” I drop my hand. “No, nothing. Sorry.” Looking back over at Jasmin, I watch as Maria whispers something to her, and they both giggle. Perfect.
The rest of my first day of high school is uneventful. I have algebra, biology, and my last class of the day is history, with Pete. We’re able to find two chairs next to one another; we take our seats as the bell rings. My phone vibrates, and I pull it out, shocked to see an alert from Mr. Mimic.
“What’s up?” Pete asks, seeing the expression on my face.
“Oh, nothing.”
Mimic: Worm – Priority Level Red.
Me: What are you doing texting my phone?
Mimic: Didn’t you install the Justice Alliance code protector yet?
Me: No!
Mimic: Worm, you need to do that ASAP. But right now, we’ve got bigger problems. Priority Level Red.
Me: Right now???
An abrupt cough almost makes me drop my phone. My head snaps up, and I see my history teacher. His stern scowl is only amplified by the thick, horned-rim glasses sitting across the bridge of his nose.
“Mr. Garcia, is it?” he asks, glancing down at a piece of paper. “No cell phones during my class.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
My eyes find my screen again, and I see Mr. Mimic’s last message.
Mimic: Now Worm! Fifth and Main!
Pete lifts a brow, no doubt confused as to why I’m looking around the room, my brain speeding a mile a minute as I try to find an excuse to leave. Deciding to use ol’ faithful as an excuse, I raise my hand.
The teacher lets out a loud sigh. “Yes, Mr. Garcia?”
“Yes, sir, I’m sorry, but I really need to use the restroom?”
“Class just started.”
“Um, yeah. Sorry.” I give an embarrassed cringe, and bob a little back and forth, hopefully selling the seriousness of my bathroom needs.
Grumbling something under his breath, he returns his attention to his piece of paper, impatiently waving his hand in the air.
“Sorry,” I whisper to Pete.
His expression is puzzled, watching me grab my backpack, and I quickly exit the room.
Stepping outside of the class, I look around, double checking for anyone in the hallways. I should probably use the restroom for privacy, but Mr. Mimic said Priority Level Red. With no one in sight, I focus on my destination and in a blip, I’m on the east side of King City.
As soon as I teleport, I dive to the ground, a car flying by my head and smashing into the building behind me. I crouch low, behind a barrier, taking in the situation and my surroundings.
Fifth and Main is a major intersection in King City, so I know the area well, but right now it looks like a war zone. High overhead, floating above a building, Supron flies, dodging a bomb being thrown at him, which ends up exploding about a hundred feet in the air. As nervous as I should be, I’m even more amped up. This is my first mission, so I need to make sure I make it a good one.
“Wor—” Mimic’s word cuts off, hyper speeding over to me. “Robbie, why aren’t you in uniform?”
“I didn’t know I was jumping into a war zone!” I yell back, trying to talk over another exploding car and falling debris.
His cape waves in the air. Mimic wears a tradition superhero uniform, with a light shade of blue accenting his sides, while his top and pants match his dark blue cape. A huge capital M is emblazoned on his chest, and his short, black hair is combed back. His brown eyes hit me, looking through a mask that covers his nose and the top half of his cheeks. It hides his identity but does nothing to hide his annoyance at me.
“You do remember what a Priority Level Red is, right? What did you think was happening?”
Of course I remember what a Priority Level Red is. He’s made me recite the three levels before our training sessions every time. Every. Single. Time.
Priority Level Green is for common legal issues and important meetings with the Justice Alliance.
Priority Level Blue is an emergency code for instances that are serious but don’t involve supervillains. Bank robberies, high-speed chases, assaults, things of that nature.
And Priority Level Red involve supervillains. Basically, the same as blue, but with superpowers.
“Yes, I remember what Priority Level Red is, but it’s my first day of high school, and I just sat down in history class.”
A huge tire flies over our heads.
“Go change!”
There are a ton of factors to take in when you teleport. Making a connection with the astral plane, proper use of manipulating said plane to create a wormhole, while still taking into account gravitational pulls. For the most part, my body seems to just adapt to those things. Like breathing. You don’t think about breathing most of the time, you just do it. That’s what happens when I teleport.
What I’m trying to say is, even though there are a lot of factors to consider, if you want the super easy way of describing my power, it’s this: point and click. If I can see the spot I want to jump to, or if I’ve been there in the past, then I can teleport there. I have jumped to places I can’t see during my training, but not only is it much more difficult, it’s extremely dangerous.
Seeing an empty lobby across the street, I teleport over to it.
With the commotion outside, the lobby is completely empty, so I strip down to my boxers, pulling out my uniform from my backpack. I’m in pretty good shape if I do say so myself, but it’s kind of embarrassing stripping down to your underwear when you’re basically in a fishbowl.
Even if Mr. Mimic did name me Worm, at least I have a pretty cool uniform. Blue boots with shiny gold pants. I thought it was a little too flashy the first time I saw it, but it’s grown on me. My top is the same color navy blue as my boots, with gold accents down my sides. It looks like spandex, but it’s not. It’s a patented mevlar material that’s form-fitting, and thanks to some superhero-tailor upgrades, highly resistant to rips and tears.
Mimic was even cool enough to get me my own logo designed up, which is an eight-pointed gold star in the middle of my chest. The design is based on the shape that appears on the astral plane if you watch me teleport through an astral-scope.
Laced into my sleeves are wrist guards with some awesome gadgets I’ve been itching to use in a real combat situation, and a hidden belt that fits snuggly under my top. I think I love my mask the most though.
It’s not your typical superhero mask, like the one Mr. Mimic wears. Nope, I’ve got an amazing helmet that covers my entire head, except for my mouth and chin, and a black visor to shield my eyes and conceal my identity. As cool as it looks, the way it works is even better. I wear ear communication pieces when I’m in my uniform, which is similar to tiny hearing aids. All I have to do is tap a button on my comm piece, and the helmet comes alive using nanotech. In a matter of seconds, it covers my entire head. It’s amazing.
A quick glance in the window of the lobby to check out my reflection, and I’m ready to go. Time for my first mission. The rampage is coming down the street, so I run through the doors, and I’m about to teleport to the top of a building to get a better vantage point and take direction from Mr. Mimic when—
BOOM!
Everything goes black.

Author Bio:
Raised on a healthy dose of Saturday morning cartoons, video games, and Captain Crunch cereal (with crunch berries, of course), I write books that capture my imagination.
When I'm not writing, you can probably find me plotting my next story, playing video games, or at the movies with a large Diet Coke and a large popcorn--no butter.

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Winging It by Lisa Gail Green

Winging It
Lisa Gail Green
(Destiny Rules, #1)
Publication date: March 30th 2019
Genres: Fantasy, Young Adult

Sixteen-year-old Zach discovers his mom is a fairy godmother. But what’s really freaking him out is the fact that he’s a fairy too. Now that his mom’s been injured, he must finish her assignments before the next full moon or they’re both grounded, meaning no wings, no wands, and no position in the Organization of Destiny Fulfillment (ODF). Sure it would suck to lose his newfound powers, but Zach quickly learns there’s far more at stake. Failure also means messing up the lives of the people he’s supposed to help.
Forever.
Between a fairy-trainee who happens to be the girl he’s been in love with since fifth grade, a boss he doesn’t trust, and a gremlin physics teacher that wants to eat him, Zach’s pretty sure even a magic wand can’t bail him out.
Winging It has been a featured book on WATTPAD and here are just a few of the comments from readers:
“ABSOLUTELY AMAZING! BRAVO BRAVO! I sincerely, really loved this book. What was funny is I went out on a wing from werewolf and tried out fantasy and I love it. Your book inspires me to read more fantasy. Excellent story telling.”
“Amazing, absolutely amazing. What a beautiful ending.”
“I love this ending! It leaves just enough loose ends that imagination can fill in the gaps. Whatever happens next, I’m glad I somehow found this amazing book!”
“This was one of the best books I’ve ever read please make a sequel!!”
“I really enjoyed the book! And i spent like two whole days reading it.. i couldnt put it down at all XD
And like everyone else if like to read a sequel… soo….SEQUEL!!”

Goodreads / Amazon

—

EXCERPT:

Slipping in a puddle under the broken water fountain should teach me to stop gawking at Jenna Macintyre, but I know it won’t. I fell for her when we were ten, and in the six years since, I’ve continued to fall. And stutter. And make an ass out of myself in general.
“Good one, Zachy,” she says, leaning down so that her golden hair swings in my face. She flicks my shoulder, sending shivers down all my nerve endings, straightens up, and heads off toward whatever her next class is. If I had any guts at all I’d call her on all the humiliating things she’s ever said to me, but I don’t. Instead, I wonder if she moves that way on purpose.
Her gaggle of wannabes follow in her wake, blocking the view. Their laughter bounces back down the hall even after I hear the door close behind them.
It’s only after the final bell rings that I realize I should probably breathe if I want to avoid passing out and drowning in an inch of water. So, I shake myself and stand up, leaning on Emmet. I almost forgot he was there. I groan when I feel the heavy material of my soaked jeans clinging to my legs. Nice.
“Loitering now I see, Mr. Slater.” My sixth period Physics teacher’s voice nearly makes me slip again.
“But-” I start.
“Save it for someone who cares. Get to your next class or I’ll be happy to send you to detention.” Mr. Crown slides his Coke bottle glasses up the bridge of his nose and curls his thin upper lip in distaste.
“I had an accident,” I say in a rush.
He raises his eyebrows, taking in my pants, and heat floods my face.
“Not that kind of accident. I slipped in the hall because of the broken fountain.” I ought to threaten to sue.
“That’s what happens when you run in the hallways.”
Is he serious? I draw my hands down over my face, trying to collect myself. “Fine. I’m going,” I say, slinging my backpack over my shoulder.
“Watch that attitude.” He slams the door to his room, and I flip him off before turning back to Emmet, the only other person left in the now deserted hall.
“Take good notes,” I say. “I’m out of here.”
“Thank God,” Emmet says. “I thought you were going to actually go to class like that for a minute.”

Author Bio:
Lisa Gail Green writes paranormal and fantasy because she loves to bring life to the stories in her head. WINGING IT, Book 1 of her new YA fantasy series, Destiny Rules, is NOW available. Sign up for her newsletter for more deals and info at LisaGailGreen.com. Oh -- and she would most definitely have a werewolf for a pet if she weren't allergic.

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Shore Balance by Enrique Rosado

Shore Balance
by Enrique Rosado
Genre: YA Contemporary fantasy
Release date: April 2nd 2019

Summary:

Lahar and Arena have a shot to make it back home, but it comes with a price. Now they must balance Lahar's magic lessons, getting back home, and the hunt for the magical items that control reality known as the "Balances." Arena and Lahar are tested as dark secrets will reveal themselves and Void, the monster who lives below the sand, makes his final move.

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Book One:

Shore by Enrique Rosado

Summary:

Lahar’s life was regular- college, work, then binge watch whatever was in her queue. That was until she woke up in a new land. She meets a young wizard named Arena, who has made a home on the beach. With the help of his massive dog and mystical creatures called wisps, she must find a way back home while she fights the forces of a monster who lives among them. Join this Fantasy adventure, with new creatures to see and adventures to be had.

"4.5/5 Stars ... a truly quirky and unique read that will be a new favorite for fantasy lovers." - San Francisco Book Review

"A parade of whimsical elements reminiscent of early, dreamlike video games" - Kirkus Review

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Excerpt:

How Did I Get Here?

A soft flamingo print duvet cocoons her. The wind blows, gently tickling her nose. She hides under the duvet, trying her best to stay asleep and avoid the responsibilities she pushed off until today. Then, a thought gnaws at her head like a tick.

        Her bedroom smells of half-eaten pizza, and a laundry basket that is in a desperate need of emptying. No windows for the sunlight to shine through, freezing temperatures, and she is sure she left the T.V. on while marathoning a doctor show last night.

        Why does she feel the warm sunlight and coolness of the wind? She lowers the duvet and peers her head out. This isn’t her apartment. No, instead she is in the middle of a field, under the shade of an unnaturally enormous tree.

She tries not to freak out, but to no avail. Her heartbeat is rapid and her breathing shallow. She finds some comfort in the fact that she is still in her bed. She wipes the crust off her hazel eyes and examines her caramel skin on both arms for any marks, bruises, or scratches. They both are blemish-free.

She sits up while taking a deep breath, then proceeds to smack her own face. The stinging sensation on her cheek confirms her worst fear, that this isn’t a dream. The vibrant green grass tickles her feet as she stands up. She looks at her stained shirt with “Do Not Disturb” written on it.

A few steps away from the bed, she looks back to stare at her bed. A vibrant colored leaf from the tree falls onto her pillow. The trunk of the tree is twisted in a strange, yet appealing, way. Each leaf is a different color; each is vibrant and full of life.

She turns to face the vast field surrounding her. There is no sign of civilization, or any life close by. After a few seconds of hesitation, she starts to walk forward. The warm sunlight hits her skin as her legs weaken. Fear coils inside her mind while thoughts ricochet around. Where is she? How did she even get here? Then a sharp stench hits her nose.

The rancid smell fills her nostrils as she searches for the source. Then it dawns on her. She raises her shirt to sniff the fabric. She gags as she finds the source of the smell. The woman can't recall the last time she washed this shirt, fearing it teeters past a week.

She didn’t have a reason to leave her room. Most of her assignments in college courses were either finished or far from their due dates. Not to mention most of her classes were online.

Her parents lived at least five towns away. All of her friends were caught up in their jobs or buried in their own projects. Most of the time, they would head to her place anyway. She can’t even remember the last time she left her apartment for non-school-related purposes.

She lets herself get lost in her thoughts as she wanders the field for what she thinks is hours, until a new scent hits her nose. It is soft and salty, with a crashing noise to accompany the smell.

 It takes her a few seconds to recognize the familiar feelings. “The beach!” She blurts out in excitement. Her feet pound the grass; dirt is flung in the air as she sprints down the field.

If she finds a beach, she may find people. There are always people at the beach this close to the summer. Her heart pounds like a cannon, but her breathing is under control. She stops running when she no longer feels the crunch of grass and starts to feel the burning sensation of sand between her toes.

Her eyes begin to survey the land. The beach stretches with no end on either side. The sand glimmers with their beauty. The ocean waters are the clearest she has ever seen. All of this, but no sign of anyone around.

Her heart plummets into her stomach. Her eyes glance at the ocean as she walks down the beach. The waves crash down upon the sand, with droplets hitting her. The sea foam hits her feet and recedes back into the ocean. The sudden chill sends shivers down her spine. Suddenly, a figure comes into view.

Her eyes squint as she makes out what is on the beach. It’s someone lying down. A sudden rush of energy fills her as she runs down the beach screaming. “Hey, hello!” Then she stops dead in her tracks. Who is this person? They could be a murderer, crazed psychopath, or even the person who brought her here.

Then, a new thought rolls in her head. The person didn’t move after being yelled at; they are still lying on their back. Carefully, she walks up to the person. “Excuse me, are you alive?” She says calmly while moving close enough to make out the figure.

     He is a man with fair skin. The sides of his head are shaven clean, and the remaining espresso brown hair is in the style of a Mohawk. She guesses he is either 21 or 22 years old, two years younger than her. She crouches down close to the man. Usually, she wouldn’t be this close to a stranger, offering them their own personal space, but this is not a typical situation.

With her index finger, she pokes the man’s cheek. It feels warm. His chest moves up and down while he lies there. With this, she can tell the man is alive and starts to shake his shoulder as she softly speaks. “I am sorry to wake you, but this is an emergency."

The man eyes slowly start to open, revealing a shade of blue that matches the ocean he lays next to. “I know it is rude to wake someone sleeping, but I am desperate here. You see, I am lost right now.” The man snaps out of his daze to see the woman in front of him.

His hand slams into the sand as he quickly utters some words that the woman doesn’t recognize. As he jumps back, a cluster of squid tentacles made of sand rise around her. They wrap around each other and harden to stone, trapping her in a cage.

A scream of uncertainty and fear escapes her mouth. This is it, the edge. She must have plunged off the deep end. There is no way this is real. She reaches out to feel the rough yet warm stone cage trapping her. Her sight now on the man standing in front of her. He is almost as scared as she is. His eyes, she could have sworn they were blue a second ago, not this crimson red.

He steps closer to the cage as he asks, “Who are you?”

About the Author

I'm Enrique Rosado, a Puerto Rican who grew up on the island for a bit before landing in Killeen, Texas, a town that cultivated me and made me who I am today. Now I find myself in New York City writing any chance I get.

Social links
Website: erosado.com
Instagram: @thisonefellow
Amazon link: https://www.amazon.com/Shore-Enrique-Rosado-ebook/dp/B077SXK5C9/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1534113343&sr=8-1&keywords=shore+enrique