✱✱Book Review✱✱ Girls and Their Horses Blog Blitz

 

Set in the glamorous, competitive world of showjumping, a novel about the girls who ride, their cutthroat mothers, and a suspicious death at a horse show…from the author of Good Rich People

When the nouveau riche Parker family moves to an exclusive community in the heart of Southern California, they believe it’s their chance at a fresh start. Heather Parker is determined to give her daughters the life she never had—starting with horses. 

She signs them up for riding lessons at Rancho Santa Fe Equestrian, where horses are a lifestyle. Heather becomes a “Barn Mom,” part of a group of wealthy women who hang at the stables, drink wine, and prepare their daughters for competition. 

It’s not long before the Parker family is fully enmeshed in the horse world—from mean girl cliques to barn romances and dark secrets. With the end of summer horse show fast approaching, the pressure is on, and these mothers will stop at nothing to give their daughters everything they deserve. 

Before the summer is over, lies will turn lethal, accidents will happen, and someone will end up dead.

Momma Says: 4 stars⭐⭐⭐⭐

After reading Good Rich People, I had high expectations for Girls and Their Horses. And Eliza Jane Brazier delivers. Being a Kentucky girl, the world of horses and the competitiveness of the sport is something I'm familiar with. The author did a great job of bringing that out, and some of these characters are absolutely ruthless. The story has the feel of a domestic thriller with its slow burn, and it's full of all those things you find in a small community of people, especially the kind who don't mind a bit of backstabbing and drama. It also feels a little like watching a reality show, only those don't go quite as dark as this. It's that whole peeking-through-the-windows vibe of watching these people and learning their secrets. The more I read, the more hooked I became on these characters and what they'd do or say next. I thoroughly enjoyed every page, and I'd certainly recommend it. 

Maple stepped into the cool shade of the breezeway. The horses stuck their heads over the doors and watched her. One noticed the carrots and whinnied. Then they all started whinnying, pacing around their stalls and tossing their heads. One even bucked and cantered a tight circle. They were freaking out. It was kind of scary.

Maple had a sense, always, that something terrible was about to happen now. Right now. She called it prophecy; her therapist called it generalized anxiety disorder.

"What are you doing?" A girl slipped out of a stall and into the aisleway.

She seemed older than Maple, but she was small and delicate. She was wearing a bright red coat, like a girl marked for death in a horror movie. But she had the face of the killer.

"You can't be here," the girl continued. "Didn't you read the signs?" She noticed the carrots. "Oh my God! Are you giving the horses carrots? Don't you know you can't do that? They could have Cushing's disease. Or bite you. I know this girl, and her mom got her finger bitten off by their horse, and the horse swallowed it. Seriously, I'm not fucking kidding."

Maple dropped the heavy bag on the ground. Her whole face burned. She wanted to run, but her legs felt weak. She was dizzy. She wished her mom were there.

Heather never seemed to be bothered by drama. In fact, she often seemed drawn to it. If there was a kerfuffle at a restaurant, if gunshots rang out, Heather drifted steadily toward it, clutching her purse and smiling benignly. Can I help?

"My mom-," Maple started.

"You need to leave," the girl said. "Seriously, you're actually trespassing. And why are you wearing riding clothes? It's Monday."

Maple burned up even more. She'd tried to warn her mother about this, when she had dressed Maple up like a doll.

A woman who must have been the other girl's mom appeared. She shared her daughter's red hair.

"What are you doing here?" she said. She also shared her attitude.

"My mom's here," Maple said, not answering the question. "I have to go get her." She took off like a lunatic toward the offices. She abandoned the carrots in the barn aisle.

"Hey!" the girl yelled after her. "You can't run around horses!"


Maple found her mom practically in the middle of breaking and entering. It would never have occurred to Heather that the office wasn’t hers to open.

"Why are you running?" Heather asked, trying a combination on the lock. "I was thinking I could write them a note. I think this is the main office. I've already left seven voice messages."

Heather had been trying to contact this barn since before the move. Instead of giving up, she got only more determined.

Maple was breathing hard. She was on the verge of tears. "They said we can't be here!" Her voice rose precipitously. "They said we're trespassing."

Heather perked up. "Who said that? Is someone here?"

Heather started in the direction Maple had come from, but then the red-haired woman appeared, matching daughter in tow. When she saw Heather, she smiled so fast it was like a quick draw in a shoot-out.

"Why, hello there!" Her eyes ran fast over Heather, like she was calculating the value of everything she saw-Heather herself included. "I'm Pamela and this is my daughter, Vida."

"I'm Heather. Parker. And this is my daughter Maple."

"I was just telling your sweet girl that unfortunately this barn isn't open to the public." Pamela was holding Vida's hand, their fingers laced, like they were best friends instead of mother and daughter.

"Oh, we're not the public," Heather said. They had been rich for a short amount of time, but Heather had adjusted beautifully. "We're here to sign up for riding lessons."

"It's Monday," Pamela said. "No one comes in on Mondays. And this isn't a lesson barn. They don't have school ponies or summer camps."

Heather stepped forward, crossed her arms neatly. Since she had become rich, Maple's mother had changed, although not completely. The root of what she had always been was still there. But she had become more herself.

"We just bought a house a mile from here," Heather said, as if that had anything to do with it.

But Maple could see Pamela's expression change. It softened a little, like the Parkers were closer to belonging not just there but everywhere.

"How lovely! That makes us neighbors," she said. "But I will warn you, this probably isn't the barn for you."

Maple knew the woman couldn't have tempted her mother more.

"There's a good riding school in Olivenhain. I can give you their number."

"No, thank you. I like this one. It's closer to our house. I want Maple to be able to walk to the barn if she wants to," Heather said. As if Maple would ever walk a mile. "Would you mind taking my number? Then you can pass it along to the owners for me. I've been trying to reach them."

"Kieran Flynn," Pamela said, like the name meant something to everyone. "He's the owner and the head trainer."

Pamela clearly didn't want to take her number, but Heather just waited. Pamela finally took out her phone. She typed Heather's number in quickly.

Then she added, "This is a show barn. Last year, we outperformed every barn at the Southern California International Horse Show. We demand total commitment to the program. We're a very tight community. You have to have your own horses, and your horses have to be in the training program. That means all of your rides are supervised by a trainer, and your horse is schooled by a Professional rider. It's really not a place for fun."

"Good," Heather said, taking Maple's hand like she was aping Pamela. "We don't want to have fun."

There was nothing Heather loved more than the word no.

Excerpted from Girls and Their Horses by Eliza Jane Brazier Copyright © 2023 by Eliza Jane Brazier. Excerpted by permission of Berkley. All rights reserved.

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✱✱Book Review✱✱ Blog Blitz: The New One by Evie Green

 

A suspenseful, cutting-edge novel about two parents who finally get the daughter they’ve always wanted—it’s too bad she isn’t real. From the author of We Hear Voices.

For Tamsyn and Ed, life is tough. They both work long hours for very little money and come home to their moody, rebellious daughter, Scarlett.

After a tragic accident leaves Scarlett comatose and with little chance of recovery, Tamsyn and Ed are out of options until a lifeline emerges in the form of an unusual medical trial. In exchange for the very best treatment for Scarlett, a fully furnished apartment, and a limitless spending account, the family must agree to move to Switzerland and welcome an artificial copy of their daughter into their home.

Suddenly their life is transformed. Tamsyn and Ed want for nothing, and the AI replacement, Sophie, makes it feel just like having their daughter back—except without all the bad parts. Sophie is engaged, happy, and actually wants to spend time with her parents.

But things take a turn for the worse when Scarlett makes a very real recovery and the family discovers that the forces behind their new life are darker than they ever could have imagined.

Momma Says: 4 stars⭐⭐⭐⭐

Admittedly, I don't read a lot of sci-fi, medical thrillers, or futuristic-type books, but The New One intrigued me - and it delivered on all fronts. This book kept me turning pages while giving me that spine-tingling feeling. You know the one; the one that makes you look over your shoulder because it feels like someone's watching. Logically, I know no one was watching, and this is fiction (right?), but that didn't stop me from being all kinds of creeped out. Evie Green's writing style and storytelling pull you in and hold on tight, and if you don't white-knuckle your Kindle a few times, you're stronger than I am. I was holding on for dear life, knowing that this whole thing had to go horribly wrong. This may not fall into the genres or tropes I usually pick up, but this is definitely my kind of thriller. If you like a bit of intensity and some chills, you need to give The New One a read. 

PROLOGUE

I listen for a long time before any of the words make sense. When they do, I can grab only a word here or there. Soleil. Le weekend.

I try to hold on to the other words but I can't reach them. Everything comes and goes. I am floating.


After a while I realize I am not floating. I have a body.

I am in a body.

I am a body.

My eyes are closed, and after a long time I think that since I am back in my body, I might try to open them. After some more time, I try. It doesn't work.


I know there is noise, but I can’t make sense of it. My sense of smell seems as if someone switched it on, and it is unbearable. The smells crowd into my head and I want them to go away. It smells like medicine, clean things, chemicals. Not home.


Things hurt. People do things to me. They poke me and move me, and sometimes it hurts and sometimes I don’t feel anything. I sense light outside my eyelids. It goes away and comes back. It gets darker and then lighter. I drift back to my dark place, and I come up again.


One day the sounds start to form shapes and I find that I know a word. I know that it is the word for the person I need, the person who will pull me out of here.


I try to make my mouth say it: “Mum.”

Chapter 1

Five months before

November

She had been daydreaming. The water had evaporated and the cauliflower was sticking to the bottom of the pan and the potatoes were burning, because she'd forgotten all of it. It was salvageable, but she didn't want it.

"Oh, shut up," she told it nonsensically, and turned off the gas ring. Everything annoyed her.

She tried to focus on the television. It was a reality show, one that usually distracted her just enough. Tonight, though, it wasn't working.

Scarlett wasn't missing. She was out. If she hadn't overdone the cover story by throwing in Leanne, it wouldn't have been worrying yet. It was still all right.

She messaged her. Please just send a text. Nothing happened. She messaged again and called her phone and she didn't answer.

She turned the TV off and messaged Ed, hating the fact that she was admitting defeat again. He replied at ten forty-five.

Fuck's sake honey! Again?!????
Yeah, I'll find her.

At least he replied to her when it was about Scarlett. Since he worked late nights and she worked early mornings, they hardly saw each other. That was why they were still together.

She looked at the photo on the wall. They had been happy once.

It was a picture of the three of them taken when Scarlett was about four. They had been on the beach at Perranporth, standing in front of the Atlantic Ocean, the beach wide and sandy around them. Their hair was blowing around and they were laughing. Scarlett stood between them, holding their hands.

They had been happy because Scarlett had been a dreamy child. They had been happy because their relationship was newer, and they weren't ground down by life. Scarlett had been an adorable little girl, always asking questions about everything. They had kept her supplied with books from the library, had tried to find the answers she needed, had done everything they could to help her have a better life than they did.

She had learned to read before she went to school, and together they had all learned a bit of French from an app. Her parents agreed (as all parents probably did) that their daughter was exceptionally bright and brilliant, and as the years went by, they encouraged her to do her homework, to be top of the class, to excel at everything and keep her options wide open.

She was exactly average-sized for her age, which seemed like a good thing: she could never be teased for being too big or too small. She had curly dark hair and intense brown eyes, and she would climb into bed with them at night, cuddling up and whispering, "I love you so much, Mummy." She used to ask for a baby brother. Her favorite color was blue. She wanted to see snow. She wanted to have snowball fights, to climb mountains, to see the pyramids. She wanted to do everything.

She had been the best child ever. And then, a few weeks before she turned thirteen, Scarlett had changed.

 

Excerpted from The New One by Evie Green Copyright © 2023 by Evie Green. Excerpted by permission of Berkley. All rights reserved.

Evie Green is a pseudonym for a British author who has written professionally for her entire adult life. She lives by the sea in England with her husband, children, and guinea pigs, and loves writing in the very early morning, fueled by coffee.

✱✱Book Review✱✱ Blog Blitz: BURNER by Mark Greaney

 

Court Gentry is caught between the Russian mafia and the CIA in this latest electrifying thriller in the #1 New York Times bestselling Gray Man series.

When you kick over a rock, you never know what's going to crawl out. 

Alex Velesky is about to discover that the hard way. He's stolen records from the Swiss bank that employs him, thinking that he'll uncover a criminal conspiracy. But he soon finds that he's tapped into the mother lode of corruption. Before he knows it, he's being hunted by everyone from the Russian mafia to the CIA. 

Court Gentry and his erstwhile lover, Zoya Zakharova, find themselves on opposites poles when it comes to Velesky. They both want him but for different reasons. 

That's a problem for tomorrow. Today they need to keep him and themselves alive. Right now, it's not looking good.

Momma Says: 4 stars⭐⭐⭐⭐

When a series is at number 12, and it's still this good, still this fresh and exciting, it's here to stay. It has been a minute since I've read an international espionage thriller, and to be honest, I'd forgotten just how nerve-wracking they can be. Burner was quick to remind me, and I found myself white-knuckling my Kindle for a whole lot of the 500+ pages. The story is fast-paced with loads of action and adventure. There are so many colorful characters - some to love and some to love to hate - and the writing is some of the best I've seen in the genre. The storyline is current, and for the most part, it's plausible, which is kind of scary when you think about it. The only drawback for me was the way the author portrays some of the women, even ones that are a major part of the story. I'd like to see the women come into the light, so to speak. Women can be very much the hero, and I just kind of felt like they were relegated to sidekick status for much of the story. That said, I still enjoyed the book. Greaney's writing is top-notch, and his gift for drawing a reader in is about as good as it gets. If you enjoy the genre, I'd certainly recommend this one.

Mark Greaney has a degree in international relations and political science. In his research for the Gray Man novels, including Sierra Six, Relentless, One Minute Out, Mission Critical, Agent in Place, Gunmetal Gray, Back Blast, Dead Eye, Ballistic, On Target, and The Gray Man, he traveled to more than thirty-five countries and trained alongside military and law enforcement in the use of firearms, battlefield medicine, and close-range combative tactics. With Marine LtCol Rip Rawlings, he wrote the New York Times bestseller, Red Metal. He is also the author of the New York Times bestsellers Tom Clancy Support and Defend, Tom Clancy Full Force and Effect, Tom Clancy Commander in Chief, and Tom Clancy True Faith and Allegiance. With Tom Clancy, he coauthored Locked On, Threat Vector, and Command Authority.

Visit him online at www.markgreaneybooks.com.

✱✱Book Review✱✱ Blog Blitz: Harmony of Lies by Brian Feehan

 

Danger threatens to shatter the hope for a new beginning in a world of angels and demons in this explosive paranormal romance by author Brian Feehan, son of legendary #1 New York Times bestselling author Christine Feehan.

After being forced away for seventeen years, Alice is finally home. But home isn’t what she thought it would be, and every day the secrets she holds from her parents grow with weight. But how do you tell your mother and father that you’re not normal? That the world is a far more dangerous place than they have ever known and you are anything but the small, innocent child who was torn from their arms all those years ago?
 
Owen can’t say goodbye, and Alice can’t hold on to him tightly enough as the pressures of danger and obligation grow stronger and stronger. With a broken heart, Owen is headed to San Francisco with his crew of musicians. But the Golden City is filled with history and secrets, and brutal deaths are just lying in wait for Owen and his people. To survive these trials and this city, Owen will need everything he has—even the broken parts he gave to Alice—to have any hope of doing the impossible one more time.

Momma Says: 4 stars⭐⭐⭐⭐

It's back to Brian Feehan's intriguing world of magic for Harmony of Lies. This is the second book in the Alice & Owen series, and I do feel the best reader experience is from starting at the beginning. The author does give us what we need to get the gist of the characters and everything going on, but it's still a better experience, in my opinion.

As far as this book goes, it's as exciting as I expected, and Feehan gives us a good mix of humor with the heavy, so it's a well-rounded, engaging story. I just love the originality of this series and its characters, and Owen and Alice are so easy to root for.

As with any urban fantasy, world-building is essential, and while the introduction to this world was in book one, this one still has plenty of world-building. It's very well done, which is another area I expected greatness and got it. From scene setting to dialogue, Brian Feehan is showing just how talented he is. This second Alixe & Owen book is a solid addition to this new series, and I can't wait to see where it goes from here. 

An old wooden ladder led up toward the space Owen had claimed for himself. More importantly, it was private.

“We aren’t going up there tonight.” Owen smiled, and in that smile it was easy to see he had been looking forward to this moment.

“We aren’t going up to your bed? That’s a first. Where are you taking me?”

“This way,” he said, leading beneath the loft and deeper within. They moved past a trove of shovels and tools until she spotted a door she hadn’t used before. Owen pressed hard, and hay and dust fell off the frame as another wave of the night air broke over them both.

“So what’s out here?”

“It’s a surprise. It took a little work, but Max and I finished it this morning.”

Alice’s eyesight adjusted to the low light as Owen shut the barn door behind them. She took a glance around. She had thought this side of the barn was just where the farmer parked his rusted tractor and broken-down truck. Toss in a couple of old oil barrels and some leftover parts, and there wasn’t much to look at, particularly at night. She couldn’t fathom why Owen had brought her out here.

“You know I’m not really a tractor kind of girl. If you’re thinking we are getting kinky on that old thing, you’re far better off taking me back up to the loft.”

Owen laughed, and she felt it down deep.

It was nice spending time with the others, but every time they found a chance to be alone she saw it was easier for Owen to be himself.

“Back here. I set this up for us,” Owen said.

They weaved around an old rusted oil barrel and some empty propane canisters until she spotted a large something covered up by a sheet of old gray plywood and blue tarp.

“It’s not jewelry or a gun. For the record, I like both those things. What is it?” she asked.

“Patience,” he said, letting go of her hand and moving around the side. With practiced ease, Owen spread his long arms and grabbed both the old plywood and tarp beneath. A gentle pull and lift and a large, curved wooden hot tub was uncovered.

“How in the world did you find this? We are in the middle of nowhere.”

“We found it right off. It took some heavy lifting and more than one hour of cleaning. But the real problem was the pump and heater. You like it?” he asked.

“It’s clean?” she asked.

“Of course.” Owen used his foot to flip the metal switch that started the pump. Already there was steam rising into the air.

“And bubbles. Owen, I feel you’re giving me the full treatment.”

Owen didn’t answer.

There was something about the night sky mixed with the back-glow of the barn that framed Owen. He stood there watching her but was lost under the weight of leaving, leaving her. She could see it as clearly as his deep green eyes and strong face.

Owen reached over toward an instant propane heater and clicked it on. She heard the whoosh as gas met spark.

“Owen?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“I have never met someone like you.”

And I don’t want to say goodbye.

It was his thoughts that drifted in the air between them, but she thought she could hear him and understood his view. For the last couple of weeks, he had made a point of talking about the chaos of his life. How every road traveled twisted and turned, and those devoted to living as a musician changed with every trip. In short, he was saying that now that it was time to leave, this could be the end of their relationship. That he didn’t know where he going, but he was sure he couldn’t come back.

Excerpted from Harmony of Lies by Brian Feehan Copyright © 2023 by Brian Feehan. Excerpted by permission of Berkley. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.

photo credit to Michelle Greene Photography

Brian Feehan lives in his mind, creating vibrant characters who talk very loud and far too often. When real life comes knocking, it is likely to be the love of his life, Michelle, or their son, Dylan. The three of them live on the northern coast of California, which is far different from any other part of California. Learn more online at brianfeehanauthor.com.

✱✱Book Review✱✱ Blog Blitz: Back in a Spell by Lana Harper

 

An awkward first date leads to a sparkling romance between one of the most powerful witches in town and a magical newbie in this rom-com by Lana Harper, New York Times bestselling author of Payback’s a Witch.

 
Even though she won’t deny her love for pretty (and pricey) things, Nineve Blackmoore is almost painfully down-to-earth and sensible by Blackmoore standards. But after a year of nursing a broken heart inflicted by the fiancée who all but ditched her at the altar, the powerful witch is sick of feeling low and is ready to try something drastically different: a dating app.
 
At her best friend’s urging, Nina goes on a date with Morty Gutierrez, the nonbinary, offbeat soul of spontaneity and co-owner of the Shamrock Cauldron. Their date goes about as well as can be expected of most online dates—awkward and terrible. To make matters worse, once Morty discovers Nina’s last name, he’s far from a fan; it turns out that the Blackmoores have been bullishly trying to buy the Shamrock out from under Morty and his family.
 
But when Morty begins developing magical powers—something that usually only happens to committed romantic partners once they officially join a founding family—at the same time that Nina’s own magic surges beyond her control, Nina must manage Morty’s rude awakening to the hidden magical world, uncover its cause, and face the intensity of their own burgeoning connection. But what happens when that connection is tied to Nina’s power surge, a power she’s finding nearly as addictive as Morty’s presence in her life?

Praise for the Witches of Thistle Grove novels by Lana Harper

“I am happily and completely under the spell of The Witches of Thistle Grove series.”

—Emily Henry, #1 New York Times bestselling author of People We Meet on Vacation

 

“The third in Harper's 'Witches of Thistle Grove' series is just as suspenseful and action-packed as the first two installments.”

—Library Journal, STARRED review

 

“These books are intensely queer, honest, and essentially kind. I adore them so.”

—Seanan McGuire, New York Times bestselling author of That Ain't Witchcraft

 

“With each book in the series, Harper's characters and community inspire more delight.”

—Booklist

 

“The only flaw in Lana Harper's magical, whimsical, sexy-as-hell The Witches of Thistle Grove series is that I can't set up shop in Thistle Grove myself right this second! These books truly do cast a spell.”

—Erin Sterling, New York Times bestselling author of The Ex Hex

Praise for Payback’s a Witch

“The sexy Sapphic modern Gothic I didn’t know I needed…fresh, sharp, and often frankly hilarious…a perfect winter read, highly recommended for one of the longest nights of the year.

—The New York Times Book Review

 

“This magical joyride manages to feel both vibrantly current and timelessly mystical while avoiding the typical queer rom-com stereotypes.”

—Publishers Weekly, starred review

 

“The bonds of both family and friendship shine from start to finish, and Harper balances the different clans and captures how, together, they make Thistle Grove the magical place that it is.”

—BookPage, starred review

Praise for From Bad to Cursed

“Enemies-to-lovers set among rival witch families in a magical town—say no more.”

—USA Today

“Harper continues ‘The Witches of Thistle Grove’ series strong, delivering a second installment packed with mystery, danger, lots of love-to-hate-you foreplay, family drama, and an identity crisis thrown in…Highly recommended.”

—Library Journal, starred review

“Atmospheric and lush, this captivating story ignites the senses…The romantic relationship is emotionally rich and deliciously sexy.”

—Kirkus, starred review

Momma Says: 5 stars⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

I fell in love with Lana Harper's The Witches of Thistle Grove Series from the first book, and I still can't get enough of this magical town. Like its predecessors, Back in a Spell is fast-paced, witty, sexy, and loads of fun. Lana Harper's descriptive writing paints a vivid picture of Thistle Grove and its inhabitants, and we even get to visit with some from the first two books. It's like catching up with old friends! This book focuses on Nina and Morty, and even with a rocky start, they have chemistry. Boy, oh boy, do they have chemistry. Of course, it's going to take more than good chemistry to get to a happy ever after for this pair, especially with Nina's new heightened powers - powers that can be addictive as well as troublesome. So, if you haven't been introduced to this magical world, I highly recommend a visit to Thistle Grove. It's a place you'll want to visit again and again. I know I'm already looking forward to my next trip! 

Chapter One

Let It Snow

I've never been what one might call a winter person.

Witches are supposed to feel naturally aligned with the Wheel of the Year, receptive to the charms of every season-and nowhere is that easier than in Thistle Grove, where every type of weather is utterly and gorgeously flamboyant, the most extravagant cosplay version of what it might look like anywhere else. In theory, I could appreciate the extremeness of its contrasts; all that diamond-faceted white, blazing against the blue of windswept skies and the stark black silhouette of Hallows Hill. I could even get behind winter chic, when it came to sleek après-ski wear. And then there was Yule, with its fragrant wreaths and crackling logs and sea of candlelight. Arguably the most luminous and magical of the solstices.

But in practice? Winter is horribly inelegant and messy, almost impossible to calibrate. One too many layers leaves you sticky and sweltering, while one too few lets the chill creep into your bones. Your hair turns into kindling, or poufs into a staticky halo immune even to glamour spells. You can't even run properly in winter, unless you're a die-hard marathoner with no self-preservation instincts left intact.

All around cruel and unusual. At least we rarely suffered more than two months or so of such yearly punishment in Thistle Grove.

But this year, strangely, winter seemed to suit me. This year, I found every fresh snowfall soothing, almost meditative. There was one raging right now beyond the frost-rimed window of the Silver Cherry, where I was grin-and-bearing my way through a jewelry-making class; a feathery whirlwind, like being inside a shaken snow globe filled with drifting down. It felt hypnotic, a chaotic escapade of white that made it hard to hold on to any single thought for long. Which, these days, was more than fine by me.

These days, my thoughts and I didn't tend to be on the best of terms.

"Sweetheart," Jessa said, in that delicate tone she'd taken to using on me, like one harsh note might topple me over, damage me in some irreparable way. She didn't have to be quite that careful with me, but I loved that she wanted to be. "You're doing your depressed mime face again."

The words themselves didn't tend to match up with the spun-sugar tone all that often, because she was still Jessa, and I loved her for that, too.

"What?" I mumbled, finally tearing my eyes from the window. "My . . . what?"

"You know." She rearranged her adorable, ringlet-framed features into a truly dismal expression, drooping puppy-dog eyes and a dramatically downturned mouth like a melancholy bass. "Like you're about to perish of chronic woe. Or possibly planning to re-create that scene from The Giver where the kid and his little brother escape into the snow to die with their emotions."

"It's been a while since middle school English class, but even so, I'm fairly sure that wasn't supposed to be the takeaway," I told her with a snort. "And hard pass on that cold demise. If I absolutely have to die somewhere with my emotions, I'd rather go all nice and toasty."

Dragging my attention back to my little work tray, strewn with a glittery mishmash of wire and beads, I saw that I'd been halfheartedly tooling around with making earrings before the blizzard got the best of me. Once upon a time, I'd have crafted something gorgeous given an opportunity like this, painstakingly applied myself until I had it just right. Too bad "once upon a time" felt like several eons and an infinity of wrong turns ago.

"Burn you at stake, then, noted," Jessa quipped-though of course, thoroughly normie as she was, my best friend had no idea how close to home that hit. As far as I knew, Jessa had never once seriously considered the notion that our charming postcard of a town really was settled by witches, exactly like Thistle Grove legend would have you believe.

To her, I was just Nina. Best friend and partner in crime from our shared law school days, now in-house counsel to my family's extensive business interests. Not Nineve Cliodhna of House Blackmoore, second in line to the most powerful witch dynasty in Thistle Grove.

"Don't worry, buddy," I assured her. "I do still have considerable will to live. Just not, like, enough zest to care about these earrings, apparently."

Jessa pooched out her lower lip, abandoning the complicated (and suspiciously BDSM-looking) beaded choker she'd been working on.

"But that's the point," she insisted, smooth brow wrinkling with concern. "That's what these classes are for, Nina. We're supposed to be nurturing our creative selves, meeting new people, rediscovering your zest. Unearthing it."

She looked so crestfallen that for the barest moment, I entertained the idea of assembling the pitiful bead hodgepodge into something pretty with a simple transmutation spell of the pumpkin-into-carriage variety, but even more basic. The raw materials were already right in front of me, half-threaded. I could have done it with just a few words, using a single, purely distilled thought as a vehicle of my will.

But that wouldn't have been honest or fair, which was part of the reason I never did magic in front of my best friend. For the safety and the continuing preservation of our town, as per the Grimoire-the spellbook that also held sway over the conduct and governance of Thistle Grove's witch community-only long-term, witchbound partners were permitted access to that secret. And for all that I adored Jessa to pieces, our friendship wasn't the kind of love the founders had had in mind when deciding who should be privy to our magic.

Letting the oblivion glamour that was cast over the town take hold of her, erasing her memory of whatever spell I'd worked, would have felt . . . traitorous. A little gross, even.

And it would have been a cop-out at best. Jessa was the kind of delightful whirlwind of a person who effortlessly transformed strangers into friends-or short-lived partners, as the case may be-wherever she went, and I knew she'd been hoping a little of that joie de vivre might rub off on me. Tonight's jewelry-making class was the fourth hopeful outing of its kind, following a disastrous wine-and-paint night (during which I'd gotten the not-artistically-conducive kind of wasted), an equally catastrophic pottery class that had reminded me of Sydney's love of ceremonial teacups and sent me spinning into a meltdown, and a flower-arranging class that had only managed to unearth memories of the ivory-and-rose-gold palette I'd chosen for the flowers at my own wedding.

A wedding that was never going to happen, much like the perfect life with Sydney that had been meant to materialize thereafter. A life that now seemed not just fictional, but so fantastically unbelievable that I, a flesh-and-blood descendant of the sorceress Morgan le Fay, couldn't conceive of it as a reality.

"You're talking about me like I'm some archeological dig, Jess, and we're troweling for ancient potsherds of joy. What if there's no zest to unearth? What if I'm just a barren wasteland?" I dropped my chin, the familiar, hateful well of tears pressing against my eyes. I was so damn sick of crying at the slightest provocation, like some weepy damsel stuck in a mire of never-ending distress, but I'd apparently won the sob lottery. Team #Leaky4Life over here. "Permanently broken?"

Excerpted from Back in a Spell by Lana Harper Copyright © 2023 by Lana Harper. Excerpted by permission of Berkley. All rights reserved. 

✸✸✸✸✸

Lana Harper is the New York Times bestselling author of Payback’s a Witch. Writing as Lana Popović, she is the author of four YA novels about modern-day witches and historical murderesses. Born in Serbia, she grew up in Hungary, Romania, and Bulgaria before moving to the US, where she studied psychology and literature at Yale University, law at Boston University, and publishing at Emerson College. She recently moved to Chicago with her family.

✱✱Book Review✱✱ Blog Blitz: Sleep No More by Jayne Ann Krentz

 New York Times bestselling author Jayne Ann Krentz returns with the first novel of the Lost Night Files, an exciting new romantic suspense trilogy about a night that changed three women forever—but that none of them can remember.

Seven months ago, Pallas Llewellyn, Talia March, and Amelia Rivers were strangers, until their fateful stay at the Lucent Springs Hotel. An earthquake and a fire partially destroyed the hotel, but the women have no memory of their time there. Now close friends, the three women co-host a podcast called the Lost Night Files, where they investigate cold cases and hope to connect with others who may have had a similar experience to theirs—an experience that has somehow enhanced the psychic abilities already present in each woman.

After receiving a tip for their podcast, Pallas travels to the small college town of Carnelian, California, to explore an abandoned asylum. Shaken by the dark energy she feels in the building, she is rushing out when she’s stopped by a dark figure—who turns out to be the women's mysterious tipster.

Ambrose Drake is certain he’s a witness to a murder, but without a body, everyone thinks he’s having delusions caused by extreme sleep deprivation. But Ambrose is positive something terrible happened at the Carnelian Sleep Institute the night he was there. Unable to find proof on his own, he approaches Pallas for help, only for her to realize that Ambrose, too, has a lost night that he can’t remember—one that may be connected to Pallas. Pallas and Ambrose conduct their investigation using the podcast as a cover, and while the townsfolk are eager to share what they know, it turns out there are others who are not so happy about their questions—and someone is willing to kill to keep the truth from coming out.

Momma Says: 4 stars⭐⭐⭐⭐

Eye-catching cover, fascinating blurb, paranormal romantic suspense - Sleep No More by Jayne Ann Krentz is all that and then some. It took me a chapter or two for the story to really grab me, but once it did, I thoroughly enjoyed this introduction to the Lost Night Files. The characters are interesting, and I love the psychic abilities. The podcast is certainly prevalent these days, and it's one I would listen to in real life. I liked our romantic couple and found them easy to root for, but my favorite part of this one was the investigation. This author knows her stuff when it comes to building tension and keeping the pages turning, and turn they did. Rather than give away the book's secrets, I'll just sum it up by saying that Jayne Ann Krentz has pulled me into this intriguing world of mystery and paranormal abilities, and I can't wait to see what's next for the Lost Night Files.

The bones of the Carnelian Hospital for the Insane still stood, surrounding her on all sides. The four-story structure had been constructed of stone and stout timber but the interior, now sunk in an eternal gloom, had been slowly crumbling for decades. She was forced to scramble through a minefield of broken chairs, rusted bedsprings, sagging doors, shards of broken glass, and the discarded medical equipment of another era.

The scene came straight out of her nightmares. At least this time the place wasn’t on fire. She probably ought to see another therapist about her little obsession with scary old buildings but she craved answers and she had concluded no therapist could provide them. She also knew she would not be able to let go of her morbid fascination until she got the answers.

She was halfway through the rubble of the hospital lobby when a figure detached itself from the shadows and came toward her, blocking the path to the door.

Focused on escape, her senses still in an adrenaline overload, she yelped in alarm, swerved to the side and tried to change course. Her intention was to steer a path around the stranger but the sudden move caused her to stumble into a three-legged table. It toppled under her weight. Of course it did. Sometimes she wondered if every stick of furniture in the world was out to get her.

She knew she was going down. She thought about the jagged chunks of glass that littered the floor. This was going to be a bad fall. She could only hope the messenger bag would protect her from the worst case scenario.

The man who had been in her path was suddenly at her side. A strong hand gripped her forearm, steadying her.

She was shocked by the speed with which he had moved. It was as if he had known she was going to change course and run into the table.

“It’s all right,” he said. “I’ve got you.”

The physical contact sent an electrifying jolt of intense, intimate awareness across her senses. Maybe she was still in the automatic drawing trance. Maybe this time she really had stayed under too long.

“Let me go,” she screamed.

She was amazed and reassured when the ear-splitting cry escaped her throat and echoed through the ruins. In her dreams she was always voiceless.

“Shit.” The stranger released her, clamped his hands over his ears and took several steps back. “I’m not going to hurt you. I just want to talk.”

Freed, she headed for the front door again. She reached into the messenger bag, groping for the Taser she had carried religiously since Lucent Springs.

She managed to grab the electroshock weapon but in her frenzy she dropped it. The stranger scooped up the device. Simultaneously he used his free hand to keep her from tripping over a door that had come off its hinges and was now on the floor.

Another flash of breathtaking intimacy rattled her nerves.  She had never experienced anything like it. She froze, frantically trying to figure out what was happening. Before she could recover from the shock the stranger released her and stepped back.

“We’re getting off on the wrong foot here,” he said. He held the Taser just out of reach. “If you’ll give me a minute, I can explain.”

He was still between her and the door. She launched herself at him, hoping the head-on attack would catch him by surprise.

He didn't appear surprised but he moved out of the way.

“Don’t touch me again,” she said. “You’ll be sorry.”

Clutching the messenger bag she rushed past him. Miraculously she did not stumble this time.

“I’m the reason you’re here,” he called after her. “Ambrose Drake. I sent the email about the asylum to the Lost Night Files.”

She shot through the doorway, out of the ruins and into the foggy daylight of the rugged Northern California coast. His words began to sink in. They did not register fully until she was a few feet away from her car.

The mention of the podcast made her scramble to a halt. She recognized his name, too. She was here today because of a listener named Ambrose Drake.

She realized there was one other vehicle parked in front of the asylum. Drake’s car, no doubt. She should have heard him arrive. The asylum stood on an isolated cliff above a cove, connected to the main road by a long, narrow, graveled lane.

Yes, she ought to have heard his car but she had been so deep into the trance she had been oblivious to the warning sounds of gravel under tires and footsteps on the creaking, groaning floorboards of the asylum.

The realization of just how vulnerable she had been while in her other vision was unnerving. In the old days—before Lucent Springs—she had never gone so deeply into the drawing trance.

She retreated a few more steps and flattened a hand on the side of her car to steady herself. Drake was on the front steps now. He had the Taser in his hand but he made no attempt to pursue her.

He didn’t need to chase her to make her nervous. His slick, fast reaction ability aside, he looked like he had barely survived a shipwreck followed by a long stretch of time lost at sea on a life raft. He still had some muscle on him—the line of his shoulders beneath the windbreaker was strong and sleek--but it was obvious he had lost too much weight in the recent past. The fierce planes and angles of a face that at one time had probably qualified as interesting, even intriguing, could only be described as haggard now. He had the eyes of a man who was haunted by ghosts.

“You’re Ambrose Drake?” she said, trying to process the swiftly moving events.

“Yes. I didn’t mean to scare you. I apologize. I’m the one who suggested this old hospital would make a good series for the Lost Night Files podcast.”

Excerpted from Sleep No More by Jayne Ann Krentz Copyright © 2023 by Jayne Ann Krentz. Excerpted by permission of Berkley. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.

Jayne Ann Krentz is the author of more than fifty New York Times bestsellers. She has written contemporary romantic suspense novels under that name and futuristic and historical romance novels under the pseudonyms Jayne Castle and Amanda Quick, respectively. Jayne currently lives in Seattle, WA. Learn more online at jayneannkrentz.com.