Welcome to “Crafty Authors Coffee Time with Tamye”.
Our special guests joining us today for coffee and crafts by the beach is not one but two “Featured Authors” for the upcoming Coastal Magic Convention, B.A. Tortuga and Julia Talbot.
B.A. and Julia are here to share their latest books with us and their part in the special craft project Kiernan started last week to raffle off at Coastal Magic for charity. So hang around to see what they’ve been up too.
First off, let me tell you a little about this dynmic duo.
B.A. Tortuga is texan to the bone and an unrepentant Daddy’s Girl, BA Tortuga spends her days with her basset hounds, getting tattooed, texting her sisters, and eating Mexican food. When she’s not doing that, she’s writing. She spends her days off watching rodeo, knitting and surfing Pinterest in the name of research. BA’s personal saviors include her wife, Julia Talbot, her best friend, Sean Michael, and coffee. Lots of coffee. Really good coffee.
You can also find B.A. and Julia on the Evil Plot Bunny website.
Julia Talbot lives in the great Southwest, where there is hot and cold running rodeo, cowboys, and everything from meat and potatoes to the best Tex-Mex. A full time author, Julia has been published by Torquere Press, Dreamspinner Press, Resplendence (as Minerva Howe), Changeling Press, and Samhain. She believes that everyone deserves a happy ending, so she writes about love without limits, where boys love boys, girls love girls, and boys and girls get together to get wild, especially when her crazy paranormal characters are involved. Julia also writes as Minerva Howe.
in Daytona Beach February 2 -5, 2017.
You still have a chance to join B.A., Julia, and more awesome authors as well as some of your fellow readers for beachside bookish fun! Single Day and Combo Registrations are now available, but are limited! Choose the day (or days) that work best for you! We’d love to see you by the beach!!
B.A. & Julia shows us their contributions in the shared project they and fellow Club Raven author, Kiernan Kelly created to be raffled off for charity at Coastal Magic this February.
The sheets were drenched, the world a violent place filled with tremors and waves of agony. Patrick twisted, trying to drive himself up, away from the sea of bites that covered his skin. He groaned when skeletal hands reached up from the depths to pull him back down. No. He wouldn’t go back.
Bébé. Bébé, you are a fighter, aren’t you? So strong.” The voice was soft, melodic, welcome. It had a lilt to it that pleased him, soothed him.
“Sing to me?” That voice could draw him up.
“Please.” He couldn’t see the face that went with the voice but he knew it. Hot golden brown eyes, a strong jaw, wicked mouth. Hair like a raven’s wing. It made promises of things that were simply phantasms, but the sounds… Oh. The voice began to sing, a simple French lullaby, but so sweet. His tortured brain held onto the song, the melody a salve.
The grasping, bony hands clawing at him withdrew, and a kinder, warmer pair of hands began stroking his skin with a cool, wet cloth.
“Am I?” He laughed, but the sound was dry as dust.
“I don’t feel well. I feel awful and guilty somehow.” He felt as if he’d gone and done something wicked and evil.
“Guilt is not for men like us, bébé. Let it be gone and you will feel better.” Remy stroked the cool cloth over his burning skin again.
The cloths were changed, the cool rags making him gasp. He clenched and unclenched his hands, trying to adjust.
“Indeed. Guilt is…” He had so many reasons for it—Henry, Caroline, his father’s eternal disappointment.
A tingle made his muscles twitch and he pulled away from the wicked thoughts the dark hand on his chest drew forth.
“Did I hurt?” Remy asked, concern clear.
“No. No.” No, that was a comfort, down deeper than skin.
“Ah, good.” Remy began to hum again, that voice smoothing over every rough nerve.
The peace made him blink, made his eyelids heavy. All he did now was sleep and dream, but he was so tired. Remy was there watching over him.
You help.” The words popped out, and he tried not to worry about saying them.
“Thank you.” He blinked again and again, but couldn’t focus, so he finally let his lashes fall since they were so heavy.
“Stay with me.” He shouldn’t ask, but he did. He needed Remy with him.
You can also get it from the Evil Plot Bunny website which offers a variety of book formats.
Max Bellame is working his way through 1870s Baltimore as a medium, even if he knows nothing about spirits. He uses the power of his mind to move objects, convincing his clients he’s the real thing. He’s making a living, but sooner or later he always has to move on. Something always happens. Usually a disaster.
Andrew Meechum works for Club Raven, a gentleman’s club that doubles as a paranormal research facility. He sets out to debunk Max, only to be fascinated by the man. Can Andrew convince Max to take a chance on love, and to find his true calling as a medium, or will their personal demons force them apart?
The low gaslight in the creaky old parlor cast the perfect glow on the round table, lending atmosphere to the cheap crimson cloth Max had draped over it. A candle or two would complete the look, but he wouldn’t light them until immediately before the family assembled in the room.
He surveyed the seating. Seven chairs.
Max blinked, then frowned. He’d been told five family members and himself. Where had the extra chair come from and why?
He ducked back across the hall into the men’s parlor, where he’d asked the family to allow him to be alone to prepare for the séance. Max took a deep breath, rubbing his fingertips over his watch chain, which hung across his waistcoat. Changing the plan was against the rules. The Marsten family should know that. He’d been incredibly clear. After another inhalation, he knelt beside the large carpet bag holding all his tricks and pulled out a piece of white cheesecloth and a small glass orb. Those would serve as his floating spirit. The glass orb would be far more mysterious than the rubber balls some of his contemporaries used. He needed these and a picture of the deceased.
Many men had tried to debunk the Mesmerizing Maximillian and failed. That was because, while he might not be able to talk to the dead, Max didn’t have to resort to wires and dressed up actors for his tricks. He rubbed his fingers against his thumb, feeling his calluses slide together. Then he stopped, glaring at his hand. No tells. No nervous habits. Get this over with, get the other half of his payment, and move on.
Closing his eyes, he rubbed his hands on his pants, then nodded sharply. Time to set up. Max grabbed some tallow candles scented with a tiny bit of sage, the orb and cloth, and a few other tricks from his bag.
Thank God the parlor was still empty. The family waited in the dining room for his signal, sipping port or brandy in an effort to steel their nerves, no doubt. Contacting a dead relation always gave people pause, and for good reason. Inviting such things into your home, finding out information you didn’t want to know, was always a risk. Even with a charlatan like him, there was a chance of summoning something real. When that happened, if it did, his only backup plan was to run.
He thought of what had happened in Philadelphia and shuddered.
Max couldn’t think of that now. Candles, drunkards’ matches, the orb hidden behind the biggest chair. He placed a few atmospheric touches about, then lowered the gas lamps in the chamber.
Time to go get the family. He needed to lead them in, sort them out so they sat where he needed them to.
He strode to the dining room and knocked on the door, which swung open easily. Clearly the portal was meant to allow servants easy access with trays. This had been a proud house once, beautiful. Now it was run down and sad.
“I’m ready, Mr. Marsten,” Max murmured in a low, respectful tone.
“Thank you.” The gentleman of the house rose, his moustache twitching with distaste. Clearly he was indulging his wife with this séance; the lady in question still wore deep mourning rather than the gray and lavender sported by the other family members, so even though the death had been some time ago, she was unwilling to let go.
A man Max hadn’t met rose from the table with the daughter and two spinster aunts. Tall, broad through the shoulders, he had the carriage of a soldier, not a bit of slouch about him. He held his hat in his hand, and his hair, cut too short for fashion, shone bright gold under the gas lamps. His handsome face creased in a smile, lines crinkling up beside his blue eyes and his mouth.
“Maximilian.” He nodded curtly, noting that Mr. Meechum didn’t specify which Miss Marsten had asked him along. Both spinster aunts and the daughter went by that designation, so the ruse was a clever one, since all three ladies wiggled and fluttered when Meechum said the name. “I wish I had been informed ahead, but no matter if you come with an open mind.” Max gave a strained smile.
“Mmm.” Max turned on his heel and left the room, the ladies preceding the gents as they all trooped over to the parlor. He stopped to light matches, touching them to the candlewicks. One of the spinsters, he could remember neither name, lowered the gas lamps even more, and the atmosphere changed immediately.
Don’t miss your chance to meet over 50 fabulous urban fantasy, paranormal, and romance authors at Coastal Magic! This super casual book-lover weekend happens on Daytona Beach and gives everyone the chance to hang out with fellow readers and amazing storytellers.
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Thanks for sharing with us B.A. and Julia. I look forward to seeing you both in Daytona.
Thanks to everyone who joined us today. I always want to know what you think.
What do you do with the swag you get from conventions and book signings? Have you ever used them in a craft? We’re going to be playing “Swag Bingo” or something of that nature at the convention next weekend. Sounds like fun. I’ll be sure to tell you about everything after I return.
Please feel free to leave a comment and a picture of anything you’ve made with some of your author swag.