Virtual Book Tour & Giveaway: The Last Fatal Hour by Jan Matthews

THE LAST FATAL HOUR

by Jan Matthews

May 4 - 29, 2026 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

For Leona Gladney, former woman soldier of the Union Army, life goes on despite the echoes of the battlefield in her heart. Now a suffragist and budding socialite in Brooklyn Heights, she yearns for a literary life and family. But her husband’s business partner embezzles their money and disappears.

The society matrons of Brooklyn Heights turn a gimlet eye on Leona after the suspicious death of a wealthy friend. Leona will do anything to find justice for her friend and clear her own name, but she finds only secrets, seances and murder.

Book Details:

Genre: Historical Mystery
Published by: Coffee&ink Press
Publication Date: April 7, 2026
Number of Pages: 320
ISBN: 9798232470982
Book Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads

Read an excerpt:

CHAPTER ONE

The blot of ink stuck to her finger, tacky like drying blood. Leona scrubbed at it with her handkerchief as the clock chimed two hours after midnight. She capped the inkwell, and while the ink dried on her most recent entry, she organized the copies with ribbons. Blue for Daphne and red for Ruth. With shaking hands, she slipped the copies into stiff cardboard folios and tied them closed. Sighing, she set them on the desk in front of her.

The flames in the hearth beckoned. This wasn’t the first night she’d yearned for obliteration. It wouldn’t come if she gave in to the urge to throw her labor into the fire. Only paper and ink would vanish, leaving the memories behind.

Pen and ink or back to the laudanum.

A grim thought, the grimmest of all.

The words had clawed their way out tonight. She’d begun the memoir of her time as a Union soldier months ago with the hope her drowning spirits would revive once the words dropped to the page. Yet the foreboding crept through her and tightened around her throat as the little study filled with familiar shadows. This old terror had become a second skin, like the tattered and dirty uniform she’d once worn.

Over the monotonous chatter of the rain, the clock ticked away the seconds until her husband came home. Leona moved to the window, pushed aside the heavy velvet curtains, and looked out at night-shrouded Cranberry Street. A lamp glowed in a window across the street. Homesickness for Boston, for life before the war, for herself before the war, settled on her. The wind threw a heavy splash of rain against the window, and she jumped back, letting go of the curtain.

Pacing the study, her restless thoughts rushed on without fatigue. To keep the memories inside only fed the persistent mental return to the battlefield, and the outpouring of words somewhat tamed her tormented soul. She stopped and touched the folio. Work would save her: work, family, friendship, and love. Maybe she’d write a story about two clocks. A natural clock which kept good time and a mad clock that twisted time out of true.

The street door below opened and closed. At last Gil, home safe. She couldn’t even bring herself to scold him for being so late. Leona listened for his footsteps as she crossed the room to tuck the folios into her desk drawer and locked it. She closed the gaslight apertures in the study and turned up the flame on the wall sconces in the drafty hallway so he could find his way. In the bedroom, she shed her dressing gown, stepped out of her slippers, and kicked them under the bed. Gil made his clumsy climb up the stairs. When he stumbled into the room, she pulled the covers back. He fell into bed fully clothed beside her, mumbling and fretful, the sharp ripe scent of whiskey lacing his breath.

She laid her hand on his shoulder. Beneath the cloth of his shirt, his skin was cold and damp. “Rest now, go to sleep,” she whispered.

***

At first light, Leona had dressed in a blue and cream day gown and made her way downstairs for breakfast. The creeping dread of the night before had waned. She rubbed her gritty eyes and yawned again. Mrs. McCarthy poured coffee from the silver pot, the familiar, civilized table a welcome sight. The scent of bacon made her stomach growl.

“Are you well, m’um?”

Leona glanced into the broad face of their cook and housekeeper, a sturdy and mature woman with a comforting Irish burr. She wore her fading blonde hair in a crown around her head.

“I didn’t sleep much.” Leona yawned again behind her fingers.

Gil’s heavy tread on the stairs made them both jump, and Mrs. McCarthy squeaked.

“I’ll bring more breakfast in a jiffy.” She fled through the side door to the kitchen just as Gil ducked through the hall entrance.

Leona rose and smiled at her husband. He’d made a great effort to come down early after returning so late. She accepted his peck on the cheek, poured him coffee and set it between them, wifely mask in place. He glared with bloodshot eyes at the letter in his hand, and her stomach clenched.

“It’s not all bad news, Gil.” She’d read the contents of the letter before leaving it on his desk in his study, as Grandfather had addressed it to both.

He raised his hazel eyes to her. “You recall Henry has absconded with all our funds?” he asked in a sarcastic tone, squinting at the letter, then back at her.

She no longer knew what to say about Gil’s former business partner, Henry Caldwell-Jones. The police were still looking for him. It put the devil in Gil’s eyes to speak of it, so she tried to let it be, not wanting to distress him even more.

“Of course, I remember, Gil. I—”

“And now your grandfather won’t give me a second loan. I’ll have to go back to the bank and ask them again.”

“He only wants to speak with you face to face about our situation,” she said, in her grandfather’s defense. “He’ll help us, Gil. He did offer to speak at the lyceum on his return from Ohio, to help raise funds. It isn’t as if—” Or was it? “We won’t lose the house, will we?”

The muscles in his lean face twitched as Gil fought to hide his disappointment, and her heart broke a little more to witness it. “Your grandfather does not bring in the interest he once did.”

It was true Leona’s grandfather, poet, abolitionist, and Transcendentalist, didn’t bring in the money he used to at readings in New York and Brooklyn, but he didn’t suffer for it.

Gil raked his fingers through his thick, brown hair and opened his mouth. Mrs. McCarthy entered with his breakfast, apparently stopping what he meant to say next. He reached inside the pocket of his trousers and pulled out a small notebook and pencil. Laying them on the table, his frown deepened.

Once Mrs. McCarthy had bustled out again, Leona said, “I could write to Aunt Louisa.” Who was not truly an aunt, but a friend of her mother’s.

He opened the notebook and touched the tip of his tongue to the pencil. “We cannot afford to feed and house a man of Bronson Alcott’s caliber,” he replied with heaviness. He bent his head to the columns of numbers on the pages.

His confidence and spirits were usually high, and it hurt to see him laid so low. She did mean Louisa Alcott herself, not her father Bronson Alcott, as the speaker for the lyceum to draw a crowd. Her novel, Little Women, published two years before, had become hugely popular.

“I’ll sell the lyceum, that should help,” Gil murmured, eyes downcast.

Leona winced. It was where they’d met nearly a year before. At a loss again, she glanced down at her lapel watch—9 o’clock already. She stood and set cups and plates on the tray.

“Let Mrs. McCarthy do that.” His pencil went on calculating their precarious position.

“I don’t mind. I’m off to see Daphne this morning. I won’t be home until the late afternoon.” Taking a deep breath, she dared to ask, not expecting an answer. “How much do we owe?” She blew out her held breath, apprehension biting at her. “Why won’t you tell me how much Henry has stolen?”

“He’s made me a laughingstock.” His handsome lips formed a tight smile, but he didn’t look at her. “Don’t you worry, Leona, leave it to me. This will all be over by Christmas.”

***

On the street, she began to walk, then turned to observe the window where Gil labored, smoke curling from the chimney. The image stayed with her as she made her way to the newsstand around the corner and waited patiently for her turn to buy a paper. The sunny day, though cold, had driven people outdoors, well wrapped in fur-collared coats and wool scarves. Woodsmoke and the sharp tang of the river mingling with the scent of baking bread drifted on the breeze. She chewed on the frustration that he wouldn’t share their financial details with her. It made her more fearful not to know. Though she kept the memoir and chapter stories a secret from him, this was hardly the same.

Passing the newsstand, an article about the new bridge caught her eye so she bought the latest Brooklyn Eagle. The previous summer, the four of them, Henry, his wife Helen, herself, and Gil, had stood at the end of Noble Street to watch the construction of the giant caissons in the naval yard. Though approval of the bridge was a long-foregone conclusion, the article was typical of the Eagle’s awful anti-consolidation fear mongering. The article repeated the claim linking the boroughs would only bring the dregs of Manhattan’s Lower East Side into Brooklyn’s pure white Heights. The wrongness of such an attitude churned her stomach.

Leona folded the paper and tucked it under her arm with the folio, sighing. Who would save the poor of this world from the hatred of the rich? Her spirits drooped lower.

She breathed deep the November air on familiar, tree-lined Remsen Street, where she’d lived for two years before marrying Gil in August. The red door of the brownstone opened, welcoming her in. Timothy, the butler, took her hat and coat. Before he disappeared with them, his eyes met hers with a familiar blue twinkle.

“I’ll tell her you’re here,” he said.

“Thank you.” She inhaled the sweet smell of hothouse roses set in vases along the long hallway and waited for word of her arrival to reach Daphne and her nurse Audrey.

Audrey approached from the depths of the house. Her eyes, though hooded, were a pure delphinium blue, blonde hair pinned tight to her head. She wore a plain uniform of dark gray with long cuffed sleeves and a white apron.

“Mrs. Van Wyn is in the Lavender Room.” With a curt nod, she turned away.

When they first met, Leona and Audrey had often shared tea and conversation, but of late Leona felt nothing but a wall of smothered animosity between them. They hadn’t argued, as such, though she had an idea where the strained relations came from.

“Is she well?” Leona asked.

For a moment, she didn’t think Audrey would answer, but the woman turned toward her again. “She passed a quiet night. The laudanum helps.”

Leona frowned. Audrey flicked a dismissive hand and went on her way.

The introduction of laudanum in Daphne’s life began not long after Leona moved to Cranberry Street with Gil that summer. The spas and cures Daphne’s grandson Benedict and his wife arranged didn’t seem to help anymore. The family hired Audrey, who administered the laudanum, a common enough panacea. Laudanum’s presence always disturbed Leona, and she had protested to the family, but no one listened. Audrey had become cold after this discussion. Leona believed some of Daphne’s pain came from her daily battle with grief. Leona often feared her own grief and the overuse of laudanum, prescribed by a respected doctor in Boston, had killed the child from her previous marriage to Jack Davenport. Poor dead Jack.

***

Excerpt from The Last Fatal Hour by Jan Matthews. Copyright 2026 by Jan Matthews. Reproduced with permission from Jan Matthews. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

Jan Matthews is an American expat living in the sunshine in Portugal.

She is (finally) retired from HIM and writes historical mysteries from the Middle Ages to World War I. When not writing or drinking coffee and wine in nearby cafes, she knits and crochets for charity and reviews books on her blog.

Catch Up With Jan Matthews:

coffeeandinkbooks.wordpress.com
Amazon Author Profile
Goodreads - @coffeeink
BookBub - @coffeeandink1
Instagram - @coffeeandink197
X - @coffeeandink2
BlueSky - @coffeeandink2.bsky.social

 

Review:

5 stars!

A newlywed society matron’s secret investigation into the mysterious death of an old friend uncovers more than she ever imagined. 

The Last Fatal Hour is an excellent new historical mystery by author Jan Matthews and follows the efforts of newlywed Leona Gladney to discover what caused the death of her elderly, longtime friend, society matron Daphne Van Wyn, who died suddenly one night under suspicious circumstances, and her jewelry was stolen. Warned away from involving herself in the police investigation by both the lead detective and her husband, Leona is unable to leave it alone when Daphne’s grandson and heir accuses her of taking the jewelry. Shunned by all of Brooklyn society, her determination to find out what happened the night of Daphne’s death is further cemented when the grandson’s wife approaches her with suspicions that her husband is somehow involved in his grandmother’s death. 

Leona Gladney is one of the most intriguing main characters I’ve encountered in forever. The granddaughter of a renowned poet, abolitionist, and Transcendentalist, Leona, at age 17, ran away from her boarding school, disguised herself as a young man, joined the Union Army, and fought alongside regular soldiers until she was discovered after being wounded at Gettysburg. She struggles with what is now called PTSD, suffering moments where she believes she’s back on the battlefield. Her mother’s family comes from the social elite of Boston, who covered for her absence from school and home by claiming she was serving as a nurse for the battlefield wounded. She met, married, and eventually lost her beloved husband, Jack, and their only child. After a period of mourning, she has recently remarried. Her new husband, Brooklyn businessman and widower, Gil Gladney, is charming and quite taken with his wife’s social status. She adds to her household budget by writing essays and reviews for a local paper, but secretly pens a military-adventure series featuring two young soldiers, Ned and Zed, based on boys she served with who come home. She is interested in publishing her wartime memoirs, but anonymously, as she has never revealed that part of her past to her new husband. 

Gil is a traditionalist in their marriage and does not share his burdens with his new wife easily, such as how bad their current financial situation is since his business partner absconded with all their liquid assets. He does not understand Leona’s strengths or determination to uncover the truth behind Daphne’s death, and spends too much time away from home, working in the city. Throughout the book, I wondered what secrets Gil was keeping from Leona, but I enjoyed their early but infrequent cozy evenings at home together.

 Once compelled to take up her own inquiries, Leona makes some major headway in discovering who was behind Daphne’s death, answers seemingly denied to the professional police investigator, Detective Gideon Day. I enjoyed how her friend, Ruth Appelman, insisted on accompanying her on her more questionable forays when she could. But her going alone into the house of the spiritualists had me on the edge of my seat every moment. Major plot twists elevate this historical mystery to a 5-star reading experience for me. 

I recommend THE LAST FATAL HOUR to readers of historical mysteries.

Tour Participants:

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Review Tour & Giveaway: Weird Stories of Strange Women by Christine Hart

WEIRD STORIES OF STRANGE WOMEN

by

Christine Hart

Mixed Speculative Short Story Collection (SFF/mild horror)
Publication Date: June 26, 2026
Page count: 182 pages

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by

Goddess Fish Promotions.

Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

SCROLL DOWN FOR GIVEAWAY!

SYNOPSIS:

Twelve stories, separated into seasons of life, are told through the perspectives of maidens, mothers, and crones. Each one shows us how a fractured reality-or a fractured mind-can warp even the most mundane of events into a bizarre tale.

 

From a twenty-something office worker trapped by a mountaintop cult to an unstable mother trying to resist the urge to flee to another dimension, one by one, these women step to the edge of what they know and see the impossible looking back at them.

 

This speculative collection meanders through genres including urban fantasy, science fiction, magic realism, steampunk, folk horror, and cosmic horror. Perfect for readers who are, themselves, strange and unusual.

CLICK TO PRE-ORDER OR PURCHASE!

| Amazon | Apple Books | BAM! | Barnes & Noble | Bookshop.org | Indigo | Kobo | Walmart |

ENJOY AN EXCERPT:

From "Her Lunar Bloom" (Crones) 

The growing moon emerged from behind a cloud. It bathed the yard in soft white light, illuminating a figure standing where the purple fern should have been. A moment later, Marie saw that the figure wasn’t a person but a small tree. It was covered in white flower buds that opened to the moon and drank in its light.

 

Marie’s heart pounded as she rummaged in her living room cabinet for her binoculars. Whether it was coyotes or killer plants, she wasn’t going back to the edge of the property.

 

She focused the binoculars on the strange shrub. The flowers were the same as she’d seen on the purple shrub, and the limbs of the figure had vines spiralling around each one.

 

The shrub turned to face Marie. She dropped the binoculars and gasped.

 

“It’s me, Marie. You don’t have to be afraid.” Rachel’s voice seemed to be in Marie’s head, despite it seemingly coming from the plant.

 

Marie’s wound itched. She pushed up her sleeve to scratch it. Horrified, Marie stepped back as though trying to retreat from her wrist. The marks where the plant had bitten her looked aggressively infected, deeper, weeping plasma into the fabric of her shirt.

 

“I just need a bit more, Marie, and then I’ll heal you. We can be together again.”

 

Endorphins surged through Marie’s body, followed by a pang of desire. Marie closed her eyes and felt Rachel’s lips brush her own. She felt her wife’s hands on her body, warm and tender. Marie panicked and opened her eyes to find herself alone in her living room. She sat down on the couch and gave in to the urge to lie back. An overwhelming fatigue forced her eyes closed.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Christine Hart is a writer of speculative fiction for youth and adults. She also runs an online metalsmithing shop, Hart Fabrications.

She holds a BA in English and Professional Writing, as well as current membership with the Federation of BC Writers. 

Christine’s backlist includes YA, NA, and MG titles. Her debut novel, Watching July, won a gold medal from the Moonbeam Children's awards in the mature issues category.

Her first collection of adult fiction, Weird Stories of Strange Women, is coming in the summer of 2026.

She lives in Langley, BC with her husband and two children. Learn more about Christine and her work at hart-fabrications.com and christine-hart.ca.

| Website | Amazon | BlueSky | Instagram | TikTok |

REVIEW:

4 stars!

A great collection of spooky short stories featuring women at various stages of their lives. 

Weird Stories of Strange Women by Christine Hart is an enthralling collection of unusual, spooky tales featuring women at various stages of adulthood: maiden, mother, crone. These bite-sized stories are perfect for reading when you don’t have a lot of time to delve into longer works, and are so well written and self-contained, you’ll still come away satisfied from every entry. Hart provides four stories of varying lengths and plots for each phase of women’s adult lives, and each delivers an entertaining reading experience. 

While the maiden stories focus on younger protagonists and the mother tales, of course, feature women in their child-rearing era, the crone phase may be something of an oddity or unfamiliar to some readers. These stories tell of women in their middle or later years who have embarked on new independent lives, focused on themselves, having done their time as caretakers. I enjoyed all the stories, no matter the life phase they represented, though elements of some will resonate more with readers going through similar stages of life. “The Crystal Miners,” the first story in the book, and “Her Lunar Bloom” really gave me the shivers, though. 

I recommend WEIRD STORIES OF STRANGE WOMEN for readers of short stories with a spooky twist.

GIVEAWAY! GIVEAWAY! GIVEAWAY!

Christine Hart will be awarding a $25 Amazon/BN gift card to a randomly drawn winner.

Book Tour: The Guilt of Others by Sara Burrell

The Guilt of Others

by

Sara Burrell

Mystery

Publisher: Seacoast Press

Publication Date: February 25, 2026

Page count: 332 pages

SYNOPSIS:

The Guilt of Others opens with the sound of a gunshot in an overcrowded office. But who was shot—and who pulled the trigger—remains a mystery. Told through the intertwined perspectives of multiple characters, each harboring secrets and scars from past and present, the story slowly unravels the emotional and psychological web of trauma, secrets, and buried motives binding them together. With nine suspects, three possible weapons, and a detective whose instincts are starting to betray her, the search for the truth unearths secrets no one was prepared to face.

 CLICK TO PURCHASE!

| Amazon | BAM! | Barnes & Noble | Bookshop.org | Walmart |

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Sara Burrell grew up in Mableton, Georgia. She is a graduate of Young Harris College and The University of Georgia. Sara is in her twentieth year of teaching, and is currently a teacher at an elementary school in Georgia where she is the gifted program coordinator for third, fourth, and fifth grade students. Her husband of 18 years, 2 children, 2 hound dogs, and 2 cats provide plenty of adventure and excitement to her already-busy days. Through all that, she also writes books. The Guilt of Others is her second novel. Her first, Newsworthy, released in 2023, was praised for its suspenseful plot and surprising twists.

| Website | Facebook | Instagram |

REVIEW:

5 stars!

Riveting reading, with surprising plot twist upon surprising plot twist! 

The Guild of Others, a thrilling new mystery by author Sara Burrell, is an absolutely riveting tale, as one plot twist after another pummels their way to a satisfying conclusion. Told from multiple first-person points of view, the book opens with a shocking shooting at an elementary school and proceeds to lay out the backstories of each narrator, all with ties to the school and roles in the unfolding drama. However, while a terribly tragic event, it is the complex and surprising relationships between the characters that had me glued to the story from start to finish. 

The story is revealed in engaging, alternating chapters, by one of the nine main characters; each person telling how they came to be involved in the shooting, until the lead investigator takes up the story as she tries to unravel what really occurred that day. The elementary school behind-the-scenes setting is full of the kind of drama found at most educational facilities, but doubly so because of the principal, a heinous, tone-deaf, and sexist man in both his professional and personal life. The author does an amazing job juggling the many diverse storylines involving him, staff members, students, and ancillary workers while masterfully guiding their surprising revelations for maximum effect. Consequently, this book will go on my list of those I wish I could read again for the first time! 

I recommend THE GUILT OF OTHERS to readers of mysteries and thrillers.

Virtual Book Tour & Giveaway: Last Dance Before Dawn by Katharine Schellman

LAST DANCE BEFORE DAWN

by Katharine Schellman

May 25 - June 19, 2026 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

The Nightingale Mysteries

 

Vivian Kelly has finally created a home and a family at the glamorous speakeasy known as The Nightingale, where no one cares who you are in the daytime. After all, in the underground world of 1920s New York City, everyone has a secret to keep, and they’re on the Nightingale's dance floor to leave those secrets behind. But sometimes it takes more than a dance to escape your past.

When a stranger from Chicago shows up at The Nightingale looking to settle old scores, Vivian and the Nightingale's owner, the mysterious and alluring Honor Huxley, send him packing. They soon discover, though, that the stranger was just a warning. Slowly, the people who have made The Nightingale their home realize that someone is following them. Hunting them. And that someone won’t stop until they unravel a mystery that’s been cold for years: a missing girl, a boy out for revenge, and a truck full of cash that disappeared in a job gone horribly wrong.

Vivian just wants to protect the people she loves, and she's willing to dig into the dirt of the past to make it happen. But some questions are safer left unanswered, and now that Vivian has built a family for herself, she has more to lose than ever before.

Now experience this Edgar Award–nominated historical mystery in paperback!

Praise for Last Dance Before Dawn:

"A lively, sprawling crime story that captures the vibrancy of the Roaring ’20s."
~ Kirkus Reviews

Book Details:

Genre: Historical Mystery
Published by: Minotaur Books
Publication Date: May 26, 2026 | Paperback
Number of Pages: 350
ISBN: 978-1250325822
Series: The Nightingale Mysteries, Book 4 || Amazon, Goodreads, Macmillan Publishers
Book Links: Amazon | Kindle | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | BookBub | Macmillan Publishers

Read an excerpt:

Manhattan, 1925

Everyone came to the Nightingale looking for something.

They didn’t have much else in common, the folks who snuck down the alley toward a single electric light that flickered like it had been forgotten for years and could burn out at any moment. You never knew who would whisper the password at the door under the light, who would make their way through the midnight velvet curtains that muffled loud laughter and louder jazz.

Maybe your family could have bought half of Fifth Avenue, or maybe you couldn’t even buy new shoes. More likely, you lived somewhere in between, with work that paid your bills and the hope, one day, of something a little more. At the Nightingale, it didn’t matter who you were in the daytime. If you could hold your booze and let loose on the dance floor and keep a secret for a stranger, you were in.

They came looking for excitement, for the thrill of breaking a law that no one liked anyway. They came to dance and drink and maybe find a new friend, the sort of friend who—¬ after a glass or three of champagne—¬ would meet them in a quiet corner to get a little bit friendlier.

They came because they loved the music, the way it curled through the air and carried them across the floor, the way the singer’s voice filled the room and made their hearts ache.

They came for the party. They came to escape.

If they were lucky, they could pretend that whatever waited for them back at home didn’t exist. They could lose themselves in the music and the arms of someone new. They could feel free, even if it would never last, because in that moment nothing mattered but the next dance, the next drink, the next hour.

If they were lucky, they found what they were looking for, and they left before trouble could find them.

But not everyone was lucky.

***

Vivian recognized the sound of danger before she even realized what she was hearing.

Twilight had settled on the city, humid and heavy and speckled with the glow of streetlamps. She and Beatrice Henry—¬ Beatrice Bluebird, as she was known at the Nightingale, where she sang six nights a week—¬ moved through it with the practiced carefulness of two women who were used to navigating New York’s streets alone. Their steps were quick, but their eyes were quicker, always on the lookout for a man who might be trouble or a cop who might be trailing them.

The Nightingale paid off the police weekly, like any other dance hall or juice joint. But everyone who worked there knew to be wary just the same.

It was that wariness that sent a prickle of warning down Vivian’s back when they were two blocks from the Nightingale’s back entrance.

“Bea—¬ ” Vivian tossed out a hand to stop her friend in the middle of the sidewalk. A few steps ahead of them, a cat yowled as it ran out of a narrow alley. “You hear that?”

For a moment, the only sound out of the ordinary was the distant grumble of thunder. Then Vivian heard it again.

“Look a little closer, pal.” The voice was low and menacing, snaking out of the shadows and clearly not meant to be overheard. “I want to make sure you and me is on the same page.”

“Viv—¬ ” Bea hissed, but Vivian couldn’t help herself; she took a step forward, just enough to peek down the alley.

Halfway down the narrow stretch of filthy brick walls, two men were just visible in the fast-¬ fading light. One had his back against a wall. He was the taller of the two, but he still shrank back from the menacing bulk of the second figure. That one loomed toward him, his wide shoulders cutting off any escape as he shoved some kind of paper toward the nervous man’s face.

“—told you, when I have something, I’ll let you—”

The menacing man shoved him against the wall, the gesture nearly careless enough to hide the violence of it. The voice broke off with a grunt of pain, but it had been enough. Usually, Vivian would have stayed far away from anything that sounded like a beating and wasn’t her business. But she recognized that voice.

“Don’t interrupt,” the menacing man snarled. “My boss don’t take kindly to rude fu—”

“It’s Spence,” Vivian hissed.

Bea tried to pull her away. “It’s not our business. We can tell Silence or Benny,” she whispered, naming two of the bruisers who worked at the Nightingale keeping customers—¬ and anyone else who needed it—¬ in line. “They’ll come handle it.”

“That’ll take too long.” Vivian shook her head, pulling away from Bea’s cautious hand and running down the alley toward trouble. “Hey! Leave him alone!”

The bruiser barely glanced over his shoulder at her, just cocked his fist back and drove it, almost casually, into the nervous man’s stomach. He doubled over, heaving and gasping for air, as his assailant tipped his hat mockingly. “We’ll be seeing you soon, boyo. You can count on it.”

He was gone before Vivian could reach them. She stood, panting and staring at the gap between buildings where he had disappeared. A drizzling rain began to fall, plastering her hair against her cheeks. She wasn’t dumb enough to go after him.

“You okay, Spence?” she asked instead, turning toward the remaining man as he braced his hands on his knees.

“Swell,” croaked the Nightingale’s second bartender, a lanky, mouthy, handsome grump. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Apparently chasing off the fella who was about to beat you to a pulp,” she said, stung. Spence had been working at the Nightingale all summer and still hadn’t managed to endear himself to any of the other staff. But Vivian had expected at least some gratitude. Instead, he scowled at her like she was the one who had just punched him in the stomach, not the one who had run the attacker off. “But no need to say thanks or anything.”

He hauled himself upright, wincing. “I had it handled, you know,” he said, still sounding resentful. “I didn’t need a rescue.”

“Sure you did, pal,” Bea said, joining them at last. “That was a stupid thing to do, by the way,” she added, glancing at Vivian as she opened her umbrella and held it over both their heads. “Be glad he didn’t have a friend waiting to beat the stuffing out of you too.”

“My stuffing’s doing just fine,” Spence groused, pushing his wet hair off his forehead and straightening his jacket and tie.

“What was that about?” Vivian asked, laying a hand on his arm. “Spence? Are you in trouble?”

***

Excerpt from LAST DANCE BEFORE DAWN by Katharine Schellman. Copyright 2025 by Katharine Schellman. Reproduced with permission from Katharine Schellman. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

Katharine Schellman is an award-winning author of historical crime fiction, including the Nightingale Mysteries and the Lily Adler Mysteries, whose work has been called “worthy of Rex Stout or Agatha Christie” (Library Journal). Her books have been nominated for an Edgar and a Silver Falchion, and she has won a Zibby Media National Book Award for "Best Book for the History Lover." A former actor, onetime political consultant, and graduate of William & Mary, Katharine lives and writes in the mountains of Virginia.

Catch Up With Katharine Schellman:

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Book Review: Migrant Crisis by John Steel

Migrant Crisis: A Political Thriller on power, migration, and decisions made behind closed doors. by John Steel
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Riveting behind-the-scenes political thriller about illegal migration and the deadly actions taken to halt it.

Migrant Crisis is the riveting new political thriller by John Steel that shines a spotlight on illegal migration into the UK and France and imagines the desperate actions some are willing to take to halt it. The author takes readers behind the scenes at Whitehall as the fictional leadership puts all their cards in play to stem the flow of illegals attempting the treacherous Channel crossing, not realizing they are about to disappear into even worse living conditions than those they were trying to escape in their country of origin. Government officials take unprecedented, morally unfathomable steps in their plan to regain control of their shoreline, actions that, if uncovered, would bring down those at the highest levels.

What an awesome and complex tale this turned out to be! The story unfolds from multiple points of view, including those in leadership roles of government, the criminals taking advantage of the desperate migrants, and the migrants themselves: some legitimately seeking safety but others aiming to game the social systems or preparing to infiltrate and destroy the UK from within. As the story progressed, I found my sympathies for individual characters changing. Although I did not care for her at first, my favorite character turned out to be Maya Linford, the morally off-kilter mastermind behind the British government's response to the flood of migrants. On the other hand, Charlotte Dale, the PM's wife, was my favorite for most of the story, and I really wanted to know more about her and her life in the intelligence service before voluntarily stepping back after marrying Kamran. However, there is a whole plethora of interesting characters throughout. I initially questioned the sudden focus on several individuals in one boatload of immigrants, but I was nonetheless glued to their stories. However, while we learn the disposition of the group of young men deemed "problems" in the UK, we don't find out if the others find their hearts' desires after release from the Border Force lockup or if they get snapped up by the criminal organizations waiting for them outside the gates.

As an American unfamiliar with the UK government or political parties, I thoroughly enjoyed the fictional inner workings of the Prime Minister's Office, its staff, senior Cabinet members, and assets who operate from the shadows. The recreation of a volatile Prime Minister's Questions session in the House of Commons was frightening and chaotic. However, it is clear that the problems, impacts, and best responses to illegal immigration are universal.

With its riveting plot and complex characters, I recommend MIGRANT CRISIS to readers of political thrillers.

I voluntarily reviewed this after receiving an Advance Review Copy from Reedsy Discovery.

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Book Review: Sophia Freeman and the Mysterious Fountain (Sophia Freeman, #1) by T.X. Troan

Sophia Freeman and the Mysterious Fountain by T.X. Troan
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

Imaginative and exciting middle-grade fantasy adventure!

Sophia Freeman and the Mysterious Fountain is the first book in author T.X. Troan's middle-grade fantasy series featuring the poor little rich girl left alone on a mysterious island. The author has created a magical world filled with mythical beings and talking, walking trees, all working to defeat an evil and powerful island demon.

The main character is Sophia Freeman, the motherless daughter of a wealthy and often too-busy business tycoon. While able to have any physical object her heart desires, what she wants most is the love and understanding of her workaholic father. Despite the fulfillment of her every whim, Sophia is a kind and compassionate child, showing entitled or bratty behavior only on rare occasions, even after being left behind on her father's newly acquired island.

Sophia's main supporter in her predicament is the fledgling island guardian, a tree boy named Silimon. Adventure ensues as he tries to get her the help she needs to survive until her father returns to rescue her and take her home. As the two youngsters make their way around the island, they encounter its many magical and mythical inhabitants, including the spirit of the entrapped island demon whose curse has long affected all who have set foot on his former island domain.

The plot moves quickly with exciting twists and turns as the island's secrets and Sophia's reason for being stranded there come to light. The ending isn't a final resolution to Sophia's story but a jumping-off point for the next adventure in the series.

I recommend SOPHIA FREEMAN AND THE MYSTERIOUS FOUNTAIN to upper elementary and middle-school-aged readers who enjoy stories of adventure, magic, and mystery, and for reading aloud at home, school, or after-school settings.

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Children's Book Review: My Friends and I Spot Time Travel by T.X. Troan

My Friends and I Spot Time Travel: A Puzzle Picture Book by T.X. Troan
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Fun, well-done collection of observation puzzles that even adults will enjoy!

In My Friends and I Spot Time Travel, the story linking the pictures together features Jason Li and Mary Harper, who find themselves in a series of adventures set in the present or at different times in history, with each new setting containing interesting or scary objects, including birds, ancient weapons, treasure, and magical items. Each page has a list of objects, all in plain sight, that the reader is to hunt for in the drawing. The drawings are fun and BUSY; there's so much to see! It took me a while to find some of the items, and it was entertaining the entire time. I especially liked the spooky cemetery and the underwater adventure! One nice thing is that there are plenty of pictures in the book. While other similar picture books give 4-5 puzzles to solve, Time Travel has more than double that, and the solution for each one is included at the end of the book.

I recommend MY FRIENDS AND I SPOT TIME TRAVEL to children and adults who enjoy picture puzzles.

I voluntarily reviewed this after receiving an Advance Review Copy from the author through Goddess Fish Promotions Book Tours.

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Children's Book Review - My Friends and I Spot Fantasyland: A Puzzle Picture Book by T.X. Troan

My Friends and I Spot Fantasyland: A Puzzle Picture Book by T.X. Troan
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Fun, well-done collection of observation puzzles that even adults will enjoy!

In My Friends and I Spot Fantasyland, the story linking the pictures together features Evan Jones and Page Brown, two friends trekking through a cool parklike venue with nooks, pastoral spaces, and even a cave, containing interesting or scary objects, including birds, insects, treasure, and magical fairies. Each page has a list of objects, all in plain sight, that the reader is to hunt for in the drawing. The drawings are fun and BUSY; there's so much to see! It took me a while to find some of the items, and it was entertaining the entire time. One nice thing is that there are plenty of pictures in the book. While other similar picture books give 4-5 puzzles to solve, Fantasyland has more than double that, and the solution for each one is included at the end of the book.

I recommend MY FRIENDS AND I SPOT FANTASYLAND to children and adults who enjoy picture puzzles.

I voluntarily reviewed this after receiving an Advance Review Copy from the author through Goddess Fish Promotions Book Tours.

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Book Tour & Giveaway - The Chimera Snare: Reflections (Chimera Snare, #2) by S & E Black

Witness the vile acts of a monstrous heart.

Feel the vicious clash of duality in conflict.

Know the light of protection through valiant courage.

The Chimera Snare: Reflections

The Chimera Snare Book 2

by

S & E Black

Genre: Dark Epic Fantasy

- Winner: 2026 Literary Titan Gold Book Awards: Fiction
- 2nd Place: 2026 BookFest Awards - Fiction- Dark Fantasy
-Book Nerdection "Must Read"
-Readers' Favorite: 5 Stars

 

Von is cast into the pages of Ananael, the Order's tome of secret knowledge. However, his venture into the past takes an unexpected turn as he awakens within a cosmic void in the presence of the eternal being, who grants him perspective through others woven through his existence. Yet before he may commence his time-altering quest, a trial of discovery, revelation, and horror surrounding his origin awaits him.

Benson's monstrous heart sews the seeds of a vile past brimming with betrayal and hate. Through unimaginable deceptions and buried secrets, familial bonds once forged from love, honor, and acceptance are upended and broken forever. The souls of integral births, sprouting from pillaged and neglected foundations, unfurl a path towards disarray.

Distorted memory fragments challenge Von's grip on reality, and the reveal of a horrid truth ignites a vicious fury of vengeance. Though his quest for answers falters along the way, he finds help from an unexpected ally. Meanwhile, a mysterious power awakens within Navaryn, putting her at odds with both her friends and herself. And as the motivations of Celestine's leader become questionable, her suspicions involving her role within the Halryn continue to grow.

As the disparate worlds of Celestine and Daeva teeter on the brink of war, Von and Navaryn are drawn together by unseen forces. Two destinies, once parallel, now collide. But where bloodshed beckons, a valiant act of courage challenges the course of their fates.

 

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At last, an uneasy silence fell upon the sopping wet grounds, though the shambled arena creaked eerily. Von quickly Paralleled to the ground and proceeded to walk toward Navaryn’s limp body lying in a muddy crater several meters away. As he gradually brought his power down, his claws began to retract, and his horns receded into his skull. Clutching his side as he trotted along, he heard clamoring voices in the distance and a distinctive pair of boots running through the mud towards him.

“Von!” shouted a sober Claymar. “Wow, you’re alright.” He ran to his side and acted as a crutch to hold him upright. “That was, uh, really something back there. Care to explain what all that was?”

“Later,” said Von exhaustedly. “Where’s your uncle?”

“On his way, most likely. He nabbed Illiya and had her scout for other Celestines while you were off playing with the shimmery blue one. Why do you ask?”

“I need to know how much time I have,” Von replied.

“Time? For what?” he asked, peering ahead at Navaryn. His eyes widened as she slowly began to stir.

“Hold it, Clay,” ordered Von, pressing his hand against his chest to break his stride.

“What are you worried about? You got her!”

“It’s not that.”

Claymar scrunched his face and asked suspiciously, “Then what is it?”

“She’s strong,” said Von. “Immensely strong. She very well could have killed me.”

“Uh, but you’re the one still standing, are you not? Can’t be that strong,” he teased.

“Something happened, though. She lost control. Her power spiked with mine, but didn’t stay with her.”

“Ha! You almost sound like you feel sorry for her.”

Von ignored Claymar’s remarks and walked towards Navaryn, who was slowly rising to her knees with her back to him. Claymar followed behind, but Von turned to him with a furious eye.

Claymar folded his arms and asked, “W-what are you doing?”

The rain calmed, and the moon peeked through the parting clouds, casting a peaceful light onto the glistening, moist ground. Von drew closer, catching silver scintillations atop the bloodied and scorched wounds on her back.

Navaryn winced in pain as she struggled to rise to her feet, chattering her teeth as the cold, wet mud chilled her bruised skin. As squelching footsteps neared, she spun around. “W-who’s there?” she uttered, shielding the moonlight from her eyes with her forearm.

Navaryn’s inquisition made Von stop in his tracks. As her eyes adjusted to the razor-sharp rays of light over his silhouette, she quickly recognized the warm glow of his crimson eyes.

“Stop! Don’t hurt him!” Navaryn cried out.

Her strange and sudden outburst jolted Von. He looked around to find who she was pleading to, but saw no one.

“Wh-what happened to me?” Navaryn asked herself as she gazed down at her hands.

The confusion in her voice affirmed Von’s earlier assessment. “You’re fine now,” he assured. “You’re back.”

Navaryn’s eyes widened as she looked back up at Von. With the simplest of words, uttered with a palpable coldness, he gave her comfort and validation. In him, she found the first person able to convey an understanding of what she was going through when all others couldn’t begin to. An essence dwelt within her. One that seized control of her body once triggered into play, and left her only with the ability to spectate. A similar plight rang true for Von regarding his notorious beastly transformation. Yet, as his second encounter with Navaryn unfolded, his energy had learned to work in tandem with the essence that would otherwise overcome him. Von and Navaryn became locked in a stare just as before, only this time without the presence of aggression. They saw themselves in each other, in a reflection no longer distorted.

“Hey, Von!” Claymar called out. “Um, not sure what you’re doing over there, but you should know the cavalry is incoming.”

Sidwell approached with his entourage of soldiers and a vexed group of eastern Daeva in tow. As the last of his squadron funneled out of the arena, many of the ceremony attendees emerged from hiding within the surrounding brush and trees. Mixed in among the crowd were the rest of Daeva’s leaders, Killian, Morgan, Adair, and Godric, with Merisek alongside them. Weaving through the approaching crowd was Joro, whose surreptitious footsteps evaded the spotlight. Although the chattering among the crowd was indistinct, even for Von’s hearing, he could feel the tension steadily rising.

Sidwell stroked his gray, scraggly goatee, suspicious of the pair’s peculiar exchange. Marching with mighty strides, flaunting his prowess, Illiya approached him from the side.

“Have you done what I asked?”

“Yes, sir,” Illiya replied. “I’ve scouted thoroughly, and there’s no sign of any Celestine formations in the surrounding area. She seems to be the only one.”

“A spy. Just as I suspected. And a dumb one at that. She tipped a bartender with Celestine coin,” he replied with a chuckle as he dismissed his lieutenant.

Sidwell and his entourage moved in to surround Navaryn.

“Well, it took you long enough. But you managed to take down the Celestine without incident to life. That’s as much of a ‘thank you’ that you’ll get out of me,” Sidwell uttered to Von before addressing the chattering crowd. “People of Daeva! You’ve now witnessed our realm’s very threat with your own eyes…”

The Chimera Snare: Fragments

The Chimera Snare Book 1

- Winner: 2025 International Impact Book Awards - Fantasy
- 2nd Place: 2025 BookFest Awards - Fiction- Dark Fantasy
- Winner: 2024 Indies Today Awards - Best Urban Fantasy
- Winner: 2024 Literary Titan Gold Book Awards: Fiction
- Finalist: 2024 Literary Global Fiction/Debut & Dark Fantasy Sci-fi
- Book Nerdection "Excellent Read"

 

For Rayshell and her best friend Trish, senior year of high school is going to hell in a handbasket. The feud between Celestine and Daeva is bleeding into their world. When a mysterious visitor infiltrates her dreams, Rayshell is thrust into a realm of profound, otherworldly secrets. Together, Rayshell and Trish uncover the unbelievable—they are the living vessels for two banished Celestine guardians.

Amidst mystical recollections and a wondrous magic system that shatters the veneer of their everyday lives, the two friends embark on a journey against time to connect with the Celestine guardians' allies in hopes of freeing them from their imprisonment. Simultaneously, the shadows cast by Daeva darken. The notorious outlaw, Merisek, has positioned himself to claim dominion over the Order of Existence—a trio of powerful artifacts capable of reshaping reality. Armed with two of these relics, Merisek races against the emergence of the Celestine guardians to claim the third. The stage is set for a showdown that will determine the fate of existence itself.

Rayshell and Trish are all that stand between Merisek and his unhinged desire to twist the fabric of reality into his making. As the threads of destiny unravel, the question looms: who will be the author of existence, and what profound truths will be unveiled in the final, decisive act?

 

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Breathing anxiously, Navaryn clomped atop a patterned runner carpet in her dirty boots. The gilded elements within the maroon corridor flashed as she passed under the waving candlelight of each chandelier. Though she tried her hardest to refrain, her eyes wandered back to the series of haunting paintings hanging on the walls. From treasured times with Von, Lowenna, and Claymar to bouts of training and battles in Opiri and Celestine, each painting depicted a memory from Navaryn’s past, seen through her eyes. Brimming with tears, she continued down the damned corridor with no end in sight and no way to turn back. Behind her, a cloud of darkness kept a close pace and consumed all that she passed.

Navaryn’s heart fell to her toes as the next painting came into view. Captured inside the ornate golden frame was Von lying shirtless on his back, in a moment of ecstasy. His lips, delicately parted, wore the glossy sheen of her passionate kiss, and his tense red eyes were rolled toward the headboard behind him. The very memory was etched within her mind so profoundly that looking upon it in such an outright fashion set her heart ablaze. Confused, distraught, and with no other choice but to press forward, Navaryn sprinted ahead unheedingly.

The corridor eventually ended at a remarkably ornate, dark wooden door. With the cloud of looming darkness twisting behind her, Navaryn wiped away her tears and steadied her breathing as she pushed it open. Amidst the scant candlelight, the gilded elements within the capacious room twinkled like gems inside a cave. She carefully scanned the room until she happened upon a curvy figure cloaked in elegant red and golden brocade standing by the far wall.

“Hello?” she called, but no answer came.

Navaryn turned back to the door and found a wall in its place. Apprehensively, she placed her fingertips where she remembered the doorjamb to be only moments before. As she motioned to approach her obscured, gilded companion, her gaze fell upon an immense painting hanging in the middle of the joining wall. One after another, the candles around the room caught fire.

With a racing heart, Navaryn muttered, “What is this?”

Standing arm in arm in garish, clinquant garb, Navaryn saw herself beside Kumiko as they gestured proudly to a Celestine crowd below. The false instance and her disturbing, unfamiliar expression, painted as if captured through a spectator’s eyes, sent chills down her spine.

Navaryn turned away but found the very same toothy, prideful smile mocking her from within the other paintings hanging on the walls. Her face soured in disbelief as she skimmed over them. She was depicted prominently, boasting her pristine Celestine wings beside Benson and Kumiko, sitting tall above the Halryn council. Just as well, she found herself pictured beside Kumiko in a catalog of moments when they had started a family. Yet, not a single painting in the cursed room housed her beloved friends Lowenna and Claymar, her dearest Von, Aalrija, Fallon, or the number of others who held a special place in her heart.

Dizzy from a fit of rapid respiration, Navaryn struggled to maintain her composure. When her eyes fell back upon the painting of her pregnant belly, draped in fine silvery velvet and lace, she frantically ran toward the embellished figure. Through teary eyes, her vision quaked with a white blur, and she lost her balance under her clumsy feet.

“What is this place?!” shouted Navaryn as she gripped the shimmery train of the woman’s dress.

The sound of Navaryn’s incessant crying filled the silent room. Lost in her despair, she felt the fabric slip from her hands as the woman turned around, gently hushing her. Her eyes jolted open once the delicate coos caught her ear. Fearful for what she knew she would see, she slowly raised her face to the woman.

“Everything that surrounds you here in this room will now be set into motion,” said the woman, placing her decorated hands upon Navaryn’s cheeks. “For our imperator commands it.”

The gentle voice and placid countenance, framed in a headdress of gemstones and twinkling gold, was undeniably her own.

Navaryn recoiled in disbelief. “Our imperator? Benson?”

She watched the sparkling ruby-painted lips of her doppelganger curl into a smile. “Look around you. Your imperator is no longer Benson.”

The ominous statement immediately coaxed heavy tears to her eyes. “I want nothing to do with anything here!” she roared with flashing white eyes. “This is not my life!”

Navaryn’s decorated doppelganger gestured toward a multitude of paintings that suddenly materialized from the shadows. Following a light chuckle, she replied, “You’ve never had a choice in the matter. It’s a shame you didn’t realize it sooner.”

One by one, the paintings morphed perspective, appearing as though they were moments Navaryn had experienced firsthand, like the ones that hung in the corridor.

“What’s happening?!” Navaryn shouted, then jumped to her feet.

One haunting image in the distance immediately grabbed her attention. While she approached the painting in disbelief, her doppelganger strolled to the far wall, placed her hand against a door concealed by darkness, then saw herself out of the room without another word.

Husband & Wife author duo Shannon Vierra & Edward Ayllon write under the pen name S & E Black. Together, they craft the award-winning series, The Chimera Snare. They share a deep appreciation for music and credit a great number of bands and artists for inspiring their writing journey. Currently, they live in the greater Chicago area amidst a rich and diverse culture with their clowder of rescue cats.

Shannon is an urban gardener and an avid seed collector. In the makeup community, she goes by the moniker zoomzoommacaron and hosts an international, zombie-themed makeup collab called the #zombabescollab. She also enjoys anime, horror movies, craft beer & kombucha, cooking (and eating), sunbathing, photography, and singing badly. Music fuels Shannon's many passions, especially writing and creating art. She credits music with saving her life on multiple occasions in her teenage and young adult years.

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Born and raised in the San Francisco Bay Area, Edward first discovered the joys of creative writing through his early high school studies,and has spent many years exploring and developing a deep appreciation for the arts. Since first collaborating with his wife, Shannon, he has sprouted a passion and true affinity for storytelling and crafting literature. In addition to refining his skill in creating written works, his other interests include playing bass guitar, listening to music, and dabbling in photography.

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