Friday, October 18, 2013

Sir Stan the Bogeyman by Stacie Morrell (Promotional Tour & #Giveaway)



Sir Stan the Bogeyman
by Stacie Morrell
Illustrated by Elizabeth Berg



About Stacie:
Accomplishments: Started a used bookstore for the Friends of the Wilsonville Library, subject of Oregonian article, published in: Antiques and Collectibles Magazine, Bookman’s AB Magazine, Antique Trader, Writer’s Digest (writing clinic), Book Magazine. Started the E-Commerce collectibles department for Goodwill of the Columbia Willamette. Currently pursuing an Associates of Applied Science in Business and Management at Portland Community College, holding a 3.98 GPA, member of Phi Theta Kappa honor society, on Dean’s and President’s List.
Interests: Reading (pretty much anything even the cereal box if nothing else is available), writing (all genres), family (wife and mother), growing in and spreading my faith, learning (information geek), travel (but I rarely ever get to), volunteering, bargain hunting at garage sales, thrift stores, flea markets, etc.
In one sentence, who am I? Stacie Morrell is an eccentrically entertaining neurotic bibliophile who sells collectibles, tries to have patience with her precocious daughter, fearlessly tries to do everything, and writes because she is driven to as part of her genetic composition.
If I could go back and do one thing over: I would have figured out what I wanted from life way before now and gone back to school to get it (much, much sooner than I did).


Genre: Children's Picture Book
Publisher: Self-Published at CreateSpace
Release Date: September 1, 2013
Amazon - Coming Soon!

Book Description:


Do dark places bother you?
The space under your bed…
The closet, door slightly ajar…
Do you believe in the Boogey Man?
Who is he?
Where did he come from?
What does he want?
Maybe he has a story to tell,
And we should listen.





Excerpt:










Monday, September 30, 2013

Blue Moon Chronicles by Bryant Golden (Book Tour & Giveaway)



About The Author:

Bryant Golden started writing “Blue Moon Chronicles, Book I” when he was twelve years old and sick at home. The story and the genre changed significantly in the seven years it took to finish, hopefully for the better, but the title and the themes never changed. Born and raised in Los Angeles, California, he originally settled his characters into fantasy worlds with magic and creatures to abandon life in the city. When he was rewriting the story for the final time he realized that the story needs to be personal for it to matter, to the writer and to readers, so he created new characters and settled the story into a fictional but realistic world.




Genre: Fiction/Action & Adventure/Young Adult
Publisher: Self-published with CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform.
Released June 4, 2013.

Book Description:

It’s been a century since the Civil War split the continent into two provinces, Sanctum and Alexandria, and now another war is on the horizon: the Continent War. The end of this war means the end of one of the provinces. This is the story of Ian Hirst as he finds himself in the fray and fights to defend his province and loved ones. Isaiah, a young boy from the newest locale in Sanctum, struggles to learn what it means to grow up and become “a proper man” in the middle of it all.



Excerpt #1, “A Night In Sanctum”:


Ian was shown the cheapest inn to spend the night, far out on the outskirts of the city. They get cheaper the farther away from the castle, according to what the man told him. When he got to his room for the night he pulled off his boots and his parka, hung the empty rifle on the bedpost and changed his bandages.
He dozed off for a few hours and woke up to the sound of the doorknob turning. He grabbed the rifle and silently positioned himself behind the door in the blink of an eye. He’s a lot quicker on his feet when he isn’t inches deep in snow.
Hi there,” he said, closing the door with the rifle pointed at the mysterious hooded figure that just walked in. “Don’t do anything stupid or you’ll be dead before you can regret it.”
A deep chuckle, male, Ian thought, then silence. The hooded man turned to face him. He noticed the large beard, definitely a man then.
Who are you?” he asked.
Not your enemy. Well, not yet.”
The man pulled down his hood to reveal an aged face, half of it covered by his large dark beard. “You were given a package by that ridiculous man earlier,” he started. “I’ve been following those fools for days.”
Ian sat down on the floor, still aiming the rifle at the man. “That’s none of my business but I won’t give it to you,” he said. He kept switching his focus between the man and the rucksack to make sure he doesn’t reach for it.
Fool, this is no ordinary delivery. Did you not see the ribbon? It means ‘royalty’. Those ridiculous merchants are only overlooked swindlers, friend.”
I’m not your friend, old-timer. Also, I don’t make a habit of peeking at other people’s mail. Neither should you,” said Ian with a glare. “Wait, so…‘royalty’ then? Did that man expect me to deliver this to the king?” he asked.
No, of course not… You don’t deliver it directly to the king. Why don’t you know that? What kind of courier are you?”
I’m not a courier. I have my own reasons for being in the city. You’d know that if you were better at what you do. I didn’t even see you at the fork in the road.”
You didn’t see me because I’m that good at what I do, you fool.”
Ah, well… I’m not giving it to you,” mumbled Ian, the lack of confidence is embarrassingly obvious.
Well, I’m not really giving you a choice,” said the man with a smile. In one quick motion the man pulled his cloak off, threw it at Ian, disarmed him in the confusion and had it pointed at his forehead.







Monday, September 2, 2013

The Phoenix Blade by Andrew Hess (Book Tour & Giveaway)




The Phoenix Blade
by Andrew Hess

About The Author:

Andrew Hess (1983-present) was born in Lindenhurst, NY where he spent most of his life. After living in the New Paltz/Poughkeepsie, NY area for five years (2003-2008) he returned home to Long Island to pursue his dream of writing. Andrew published his first book, The Chamber of Souls (2011), where he blended free verse poetry and short story into one book.






Genre: Action/Drama
Publisher: CreateSpace
Release Date: April 24, 2013

Book Description:

Follow the journey of Andrew Lancaster and his friends as they are thrown in the middle of the biggest government conspiracy to hit the United States. Andrew is contacted by a man known only as the Benefactor.; claiming to be a government official that has been monitoring Lancaster and his friends. He is told they have enough evidence to arrest them for treason, but would like to hire them instead for a top secret government project. As a bonus the Benefactor says he will reveal something Lancaster has wanted to know for the last six years. Who killed his mother.


Excerpt:


“I keep thinking how so much has changed in the last ten years.” “Here we go again.” “I mean it. When we were kids everything was different. The world was more peaceful. Everyone got along and helped each other. But now everyone’s fueled by greed, corruption, and they get some sick pleasure from hurting others.” “I know what you mean, but there’s not much we can do about it. Too many people think they have to do whatever’s necessary to get ahead in life.” “I still wish we could change it.” “Yeah, it’d be great to get rid of all those people.” Mike reached for the remote to turn the movie back on. “Too bad it’ll never happen.” I knew he was right. Our idea was ludicrous. But at that moment, my cell started ringing. “Talk to me,” I answered. “Yes hi, I’m looking for Mr. Andrew Lancaster,” a stern confident voice said. “Who’s calling?” “Someone who has the power to change your future.” “If this is some telemarketer, you can hang up now. I’m not interested. “I assure you this isn’t a sales pitch and I’m not a telemarketer.” “Then what do you want?” “It’s come to my attention that you and a few friends have been talking about eliminating certain types of people.” “What are you talking about?” “Don’t play dumb Mr. Lancaster. You and your friends have been monitored for some time now. We know everything.” “Who are you?” “I’m someone from the government that would like to give you an ultimatum. We have e-mails and recorded conversations between you and your friends talking about killing people that are as you said evil.” “Look, Mr. we were only joking around.” Mike heard the panic in my voice. My face turned pale white. “What’s going on,” he whispered. I placed the call on speaker and placed a finger to my lips. “Be that as it may. You’ve been under our watchful eye for several months. Now, we can do this the easy way, or the hard way.” “And that would be?” “The hard way is we send our agents to your house and arrest you for conspiracy and possible treason.” “Are you fucking serious,” Mike shouted. I quickly covered his mouth with my hand. “Who is that? Who’s with you?” I didn’t reply. I could hear him rifling through papers. “Ah yes, that is most likely Mr. Santangelo.” “How does he know my…” “What’s the easy way,” I asked. The man cleared his throat. “Simple, we hire you to go through with it.” I laughed it off immediately. “Yeah right, and next you’re going to tell me that I’m the next in line to be King of England.” “I don’t know about that, but I’m very serious. We have a list of targets and evidence that proves their illegal activities. We would like to give you the chance to make the world a better place.” “If you have evidence against them, why not put them in jail where they belong?” “Because they have ways of getting around our judicial system. We all know it’s fallible.” “But why me?” “Who better to lead a team than someone who has never received justice for his own mother’s death?” “But it was ruled an accident.” “That’s what you were led to believe. I have proof she was murdered and know who’s responsible.”









Wednesday, August 21, 2013

Escape: A New Life by David J. Antocci



Escape: A New Life
by David J. Antocci


About The Author:


David J Antocci is a noted wordsmith, blogger and author. His work can be read regularly on the Worcester Telegram and Gazette website where he has spent many years writing about the trials and tribulations of being a real life Mr. Mom.  While his first love is music, he has put down the guitar in recent years in order to pour his passion into writing… and the gentle tap of the keys on his laptop are much less disruptive late at night when the children are sleeping. The ESCAPE books are his first published foray into fiction. He lives in New England with his beautiful wife and children.








Book Genre: Thriller, Action/Adventure
Publisher: Independently Published by David J Antocci
Release Date: June 30th 2013
Amazon

Book Synopsis:

After saving a drowning man during a savage storm, Abby wakes up in a tropical paradise in a fight for her life. She has no idea how she got there, and notices changes in herself that she cannot explain. Haunted by unsettling dreams of her past, she sets out to escape, joined by Eric, who finds himself in the same quandary. Standing in their way is a madman, and his band of willing followers, with a mind set on murdering their unwelcome visitors. An eccentric hermit who has been living there for years offers them refuge, but they must deny his generosity. Escape is their only option.  Yet, they discover this deceptive paradise is harder to leave than they had ever imagined.  One mystery leads to another, until their escape throws them into even greater danger as Abby’s frightening past finally catches up with her.  Her escape is only the beginning.





HER EYES FLASHED open with a start as she gasped for air. Heart pounding, she reached up and felt her moist face. Her eyes were wide open, yet she saw nothing. Blackness surrounded her. She heard what sounded like white noise all around her. Reaching down to feel her body, she found that her skin was cool and wet. A blinding white light streaked across the black sky above, forcing her eyes closed for a moment. Rain. She realized that she was hearing rain beat down all around her.
She sat up, with some effort, her muscles felt very sore. She felt her stomach and thought that it seemed smaller than it should be. Odd. With another flash of lightning, she saw waves pounding the beachhead in front of her. Consumed by confusion, she struggled to remember where she was. How did I get here? Through the haze, she knew one thing. She was soaking wet and feeling a chill. She needed a place to dry out.
Behind her she saw only trees and darkness. Ahead, she saw the blackness of water as far as her eyes could focus. To her left, she spotted a cliff jutting out of the water and up into the emptiness of the sky. There were a number of trees pushed up against what looked like an overhang off the side of the cliff. That’s probably the driest spot around here, she thought. Pushing her wet hair out of her eyes and running her fingers through it, she couldn’t help but think that it seemed a little longer than it should. She assumed that was because it was wet. Where the hell am I? Her thoughts were fuzzy and she could not put the details together, as hard as she tried. She wrapped her hair around itself in a quick ponytail to keep it out of the way.
Still sitting on the sand and looking around, she wondered if there was anyone else out here. “Hello?” The crash of the waves and sounds of the storm drowned out her voice, even to herself. “HELLO!” Listening, she heard nothing. Wait, was that someone calling? Looking left and right as the lightning continued to flash, she saw no one—only empty beach for about a hundred meters in each direction. The sand pushed up against the cliffs on the left, and the tree line came out to meet the water on the right.
She put her left hand on the wet sand and her right hand on her thigh to brace herself to stand. Her right hand felt something hard and leathery. Her fingers traced the object. If she did not know better she would say it was a knife. Perplexed, she wondered, why would I have a knife strapped to my thigh?

She managed to stand, though confusion still reigned over her senses. The rain and waves both let up for a few seconds. There it was. Someone was definitely shouting. It was coming over the water.







Monday, August 19, 2013

Tracy Repchuk 3 Day Book Bash & Giveaway - 31 Days to Millionaire Marketing Miracles



Genre: Self-Help, Business
Publisher: Wiley Publishing
Release Date: August 19, 2013

Book Description:

A marketing blueprint for attracting more leads, getting more clients and making more sales

31 Days to Millionaire Marketing Miracles is a breakthrough blueprint outlining the proven steps for successfully attracting more leads, getting more clients, and making more sales. Author Tracy Repchuk shows entrepreneurs, business owners, and opportunity-seekers what to do, when to do it, and the order in which it needs to be done to build an online marketing presence that is stable, predictable, and expandable. Whether you want to dominate your market globally or locally, this thirty-one-day guide allows you to take your product, service, or message, and turn it into a moneymaking machine.

  • Best Selling Author Tracy Repchuk is recognized as the Top Woman Speaker in the World for Internet Marketing and an entrepreneur in the IT and internet industry since 1985
  • Serves as a reference guide to newbies and entrepreneurs wanting to turn their passion into profits and accelerate business results
31 Days to Millionaire Marketing Miracles guides you along a proven path to profits and shows you an Internet marketing formula that will attract more leads, get more clients, and make more sales.


Excerpts:

"There are hundreds of blog services and some reside within specific niche areas, which may be better suited to your product. Simply go to Yahoo! or Google, and type “your niche” blogs and you’ll have plenty of options to choose from.
When branding your identity, blogs can be a big part of the success for a full-scope campaign. As you may know when you are putting together a campaign for a product launch or company launch, there are a number of pieces for which you should start to lay the foundation. These originate from the four types of websites and their purpose."


Praise for 31 Days to Millionaire Marketing Miracles:

"A step by step process that does not leave me scratching my head!" ~Wayne R. Hagerty, Amazon Reviewer

"This book has been a HUGE help in getting my business started and expanding it! Tracy is very up front and in your face. It is very refreshing and relieving especially after trying a TON of different programs and having nothing work." ~ Desiree P., Amazon Reviewer

"This is not just another internet marketing book! Tracy Repchuk's 31 Days to Millionaire Marketing Miracles is about how to create an online presence that is sustainable and built on practical business principles so you can dominate the internet, get your message out there, and attract the customers you need. Excellent!" ~ Sharon McRill, Amazon Reviewer

About The Author:


Tracy Repchuk is an internet marketing and social media strategist and speaker. She is a best selling author, and has been an entrepreneur since 1985 and has helped thousands of clients get their message out around the world. Tracy is an internationally acclaimed speaker and motivator in over 35 countries. She keeps audiences engaged with her ability to break down complex concepts and turn them into formula based success.

Tracy started her first software business at the age of 19 which still supports Fortune 100 companies. She has been nominated for awards such as Entrepreneur of the Year, Chamber of Commerce Business Woman of the Year, Coach of the Year and Stevie Awards for Business Mentor of the Year, received Provincial Volunteer and software development awards and has appeared in the International Who's Who in 7 categories.

She graduated in Business Computer Systems, and went on to receive a Certified Management Accountants designation. In 2007 Tracy won "New Internet Marketing Success of the Year" from the World Internet Summit and catapulted into success with her best selling book, speaking engagements, and extensive internet experience in web development, software integration and marketing since 1996.
Tracy specializes in online marketing campaigns that build a cohesive corporate or personal brand using an integrated web strategy that helps you attract more leads, get more clients and make more money. Her solutions are done with marketing and results in mind. In addition she has appeared on TV: ABC7, NBC, King5, 7 For Your Money, 4 On Your Side, WBZ, Report on Business Television, CTV news, USA Today, Radio, magazine, newspaper and her work has appeared in over 50 publications including 2 motivational movies.

Connect With Tracy Online:


Thursday, July 25, 2013

Amazon Kindle Free Days - Buzz Kill by Teresa Trent (Cozy Mystery)




Kindle Free Days

July 25 - 28


Buzz Kill
by Teresa Trent


Genre: Cozy Mystery
Release Date: July 2013




Book Description:


Betsy Livingston is planning a wedding so what could go wrong? After publishing a recipe for homemade calamine lotion in the newspaper, the ladies in the community church make a large batch. Everyone loves the stuff until someone in Pecan Bayou is found dead after using it. The town points to Betsy and she starts rethinking her whole career as a helpful hints columnist. Now she must clear her own name in between dress-fitting, cake-tasting, and all those things that turn a bride into a bridezilla. Is Betsy at fault or could there be something else that leads her down the aisle to murder?





Excerpt:

“Okay now, let’s see.” Mr. Andre lowered his head, revealing the roots of his mousse-spiked, bleached hair. He wore a dark maroon suit with a matching jewel-toned silk shirt unbuttoned midway, showing sparse hair on his skinny chest. “Do you have a photographer?”
“Yes,” I ventured.
“No,” Aunt Maggie cut in. “She has some guy who shoots kiddie team pictures.”
“Oh my.” Andre circled something on his clipboard. “No photographer.”
“And you’ve gone for a wedding cake tasting?”
“A tasting? I think I already know what vanilla and chocolate tastes like by now.”
Andre shook his head as if I were a child. “No, my dear. You will be pleased to find out there are other flavors like white amaretto, champagne – girl, you can even get peanut butter if that’s what floats your boat. So I take it you haven’t had a cake-tasting session?”
“You would be correct,” I replied.
“I see.” He circled another line. “And your flowers?”
“She’s using Lenny Stokes, and she’s already put a deposit down,” Aunt Maggie said.
Andre grimaced.
“I see. I’ll need his number and address so I can get in contact with him to put him on my approved vendors list.” He circled another line. “And what is the venue?”
“We are going to have the ceremony at the community church.”
Andre’s eyebrows raised as he nodded and smiled. I had finally done something right.
“Do you have any kind of documentation on this?” he asked.
“Not officially, no,” I said. “I have talked to the pastor about it, though and he says it’s open. We live in a small town, Andre. Documentation isn’t always required.”
“Mr. Andre,” he corrected.
“We just don’t have the same kinds of waiting lists like there are in the big city.”
He clutched his hand to his chest. “Well, that’s a relief.”
“And your invitations?”
“We weren’t going to send those out until mid-January. We were afraid people would lose them. I have them ordered.” Mr. Andre’s eyes slanted toward me. “Well, they’re not exactly ordered, but I do have them picked out.”
A pause hung in the air as Mr. Andre summoned up the strength to go on. “Are you sure we’re planning a wedding and not some kind of country barbecue where they cook a pig over a spit?” He clasped his hands together in front of him to emphasize his point. “You are in crisis mode, Madame Happy Hinter.”
I gulped. So maybe, just maybe, I hadn’t nailed down enough of the details. I felt a tear escape onto my cheek. Andre, used to overwhelmed brides, reached over to a satin-covered tissue box and slapped it down on the table in front of me.
“Dry your eyes, sweetie. We’ve got work to do,” he said. “You should know what a lucky girl you are. I just removed myself from a wedding on the same day. No one – I repeat, no one – does a wedding like Mr. Andre, but even I have my limits on troublesome brides and monster mothers. As fate would have it, I’m yours.”
He walked over to a filing cabinet and pulled out a large white leather binder. Mr. Andre’s picture was on the front, and underneath that, “Weddings Exclusively by Mr. Andre” was embossed in gold lettering.
“I don’t care what religion you are,” he said. “This, lovey, is your new bible. Carry this with you everywhere and fill it with notes, questions, business cards, quotes and everything – I mean everything – that has to do with your wedding. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir,” I said and saluted before I could stop myself. Aunt Maggie broke out into a laugh, but Mr. Andre turned quickly, fixing his eyes on her. She quickly stifled her reaction and stood up a little straighter, becoming just another draftee in the world of white satin.




Wednesday, July 24, 2013

Not All Bubble Baths & Chick Flicks! Glitter by Mona Darling (Book Tour & Giveaway)



Glitter
by Mona Darling

About The Author:

Mona Darling aka Dead Cow Girl, spent close to twenty years as an A-list professional dominatrix before becoming a D-list mommy blogger. After spending many years traveling the world being told that she is fabulous, she now spends her days being told she doesn’t drive fast enough by her three-year-old son.
Dead Cow Girl was a nickname she received in grade school after a humiliating morning involving a mobile butcher and a school bus. She chose to use that name to reclaim the part of her that spent much of her childhood red-faced with shame, embarrassed for her unique childhood. She also likes it because it is readily available on nearly every social media platform.

She writes, sporadically, about food, sex and toddler-related mayhem at DeadCowGirl.com.


Genre: Women's Studies

Publisher: Darling Propaganda LLC
Release Date: Feb 2013

Book Description:

Glitter is about the female sexual experience, which contrary to what the media would have you believe, is not all bubble baths and chick flicks.

Women are constantly judged as slutty, or uptight, but the reality is somewhere in between those two, and sometimes, nowhere near either. We have secret shames and private desires and we all feel we are the only one.

We are good church-going girls with a fondness for the paddle, PTA moms who hire escorts, feminists who like to bottom in the bedroom, slutty virgins, bi-curious married laddies and women with a past. We are gay, straight, and undecided.

We are all over the map, and we are amazing.



Tuesday, July 16, 2013

Promotional Tour & Giveaway: Untimed by Andy Gavin (YA Time Travel)


Untimed
by Andy Gavin

Genre YA Time Travel Adventure/Romance

Publisher Mascherato Publishing
Release Date December 18, 2012

Book Description:

Untimed is an action-packed time travel novel by Andy Gavin, author of The Darkening Dream and creator of Crash Bandicoot and Jak & Daxter.

Charlie's the kind of boy that no one notices. Hell, his own mother can't remember his name. So when a mysterious clockwork man tries to kill him in modern day Philadelphia, and they tumble through a hole into 1725 London, Charlie realizes even the laws of time don't take him seriously. Still, this isn't all bad. Who needs school when you can learn about history first hand, like from Ben Franklin himself. And there's this girl... Yvaine... another time traveler. All good. Except for the rules: boys only travel into the past and girls only into the future. And the baggage: Yvaine's got a baby boy and more than her share of ex-boyfriends. Still, even if they screw up history -- like accidentally let the founding father be killed -- they can just time travel and fix it, right? But the future they return to is nothing like Charlie remembers. To set things right, he and his scrappy new girlfriend will have to race across the centuries, battling murderous machines from the future, jealous lovers, reluctant parents, and time itself.


Excerpt: Chapter One "Untamed"

UNTIMED by Andy Gavin Illustrations by Dave Phillips Advance Review First Chapter Cover Art Not Final Formatting Not Final Illustration Formatting Not Final © 2011-2012, Andy Gavin. All rights reserved. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. MASCHERATO PUBLISHING PO Box 1550 Pacific Palisades, Ca, 90272 publishing@mascherato.com http://andy-gavin-author.com Copyright © Andy Gavin 2012 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. MS version: 3.20a 75,300 words, November 19, 2012, 1:19:29 PM PST Cover Photo-Illustration copyright © Cliff Nielsen 2012 Interior Illustrations copyright © Dave Phillips 2012 E-book ISBN 978-1-937945-05-3 Hardcover ISBN 978-1-937945-03-9 Trade Paperback ISBN 978-1-937945-04-6 Chapter One: Ignored Philadelphia, Autumn, 2010 and Winter, 2011 My mother loves me and all, it’s just that she can’t remember my name. “Call him Charlie,” is written on yellow Post-its all over our house. “Just a family joke,” Mom tells the rare friend who drops by and bothers to inquire. But it isn’t funny. And those house guests are more likely to notice the neon paper squares than they are me. “He’s getting so tall. What was his name again?” I always remind them. Not that it helps. Only Dad remembers, and Aunt Sophie, but they’re gone more often than not — months at a stretch. This time, when my dad returns he brings a ginormous stack of history books. “Read these.” The muted bulbs in the living room sharpen the shadows on his pale face, making him stand out like a cartoon in a live-action film. “You have to keep your facts straight.” I peruse the titles: Gibbon’s Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire, Asprey’s The Rise of Napoleon Bonaparte, Ben Franklin’s Autobiography. Just three among many. “Listen to him, Charlie,” Aunt Sophie says. “You’ll be glad you did.” She brushes out her shining tresses. Dad’s sister always has a glow about her. “Where’d you go this time?” I say. Dad’s supposed to be this hotshot political historian. He reads and writes a lot, but I’ve never seen his name in print. “The Middle East.” Aunt Sophie’s more specific than usual. Dad frowns. “We dropped in on someone important.” When he says dropped in, I imagine Sophie dressed like Lara Croft, parachuting into Baghdad. “Is that where you got the new scar?” A pink welt snakes from the bridge of her nose to the corner of her mouth. She looks older than I remember — they both do. “An argument with a rival… researcher.” My aunt winds the old mantel clock, the one that belonged to her mom, my grandmother. Then tosses the key to my dad, who fumbles and drops it. “You need to tell him soon,” she says. Tell me what? I hate this. Dad looks away. “We’ll come back for his birthday.” * * * While Dad and Sophie unpack, Mom helps me carry the dusty books to my room. “Time isn’t right for either of you yet,” she says. Whatever that means. I snag the thinnest volume and hop onto my bed to read. Not much else to do since I don’t have friends and school makes me feel even more the ghost. * * * Mrs. Pinkle, my ninth-grade homeroom teacher, pauses on my name during roll call. Like she does every morning. “Charlie Horologe,” she says, squinting at the laminated chart, then at me, as if seeing both for the first time. “Here.” On the bright side, I always get B’s no matter what I write on the paper. In Earth Science, the teacher describes a primitive battery built from a glass of salt water covered in tin foil. She calls it a Leyden jar. I already know about them from Ben Franklin’s autobiography — he used one to kill and cook a turkey, which I doubt would fly with the school board. The teacher beats the topic to death, so I practice note-taking in the cipher Dad taught me over the weekend. He shows me all sorts of cool things — when he’s around. The system’s simple, just twenty-six made-up letters to replace the regular ones. Nobody else knows them. I write in highlighter and outline in red, which makes the page look like some punk wizard’s spell book. My science notes devolve into a story about how the blonde in the front row invites me to help her with her homework. At her house. In her bedroom. With her parents out of town. Good thing it’s in cipher. After school is practice, and that’s better. With my slight build and long legs, I’m good at track and field — not that the rest of the team notices. A more observant coach might call me a well-rounded athlete. The pole vault is my favorite, and only one other kid can even do it right. Last month at the Pennsylvania state regionals, I cleared 16’ 4”, which for my age is like world class. Davy — that’s the other guy — managed just 14’ 8”. And won. As if I never ran that track, planted the pole in the box, and threw myself over the bar. The judges were looking somewhere else? Or maybe their score sheets blew away in the wind. I’m used to it. * * * Dad is nothing if not scheduled. He and Sophie visit twice a year, two weeks in October, and two weeks in January for my birthday. But after my aunt’s little aside, I don’t know if I can wait three months for the big reveal, whatever it is. So I catch them in his study. “Dad, why don’t you just tell me?” He looks up from his cheesesteak and the book he’s reading — small, with only a few shiny metallic pages. I haven’t seen it before, which is strange, since I comb through all his worldly possessions whenever he’s away. “I’m old enough to handle it.” I sound brave, but even Mom never looks him in the eye. And he’s never home — it’s not like I have practice at this. My stomach twists. I might not like what he has to say. “Man is not God.” One of his favorite expressions, but what the hell is it supposed to mean? “Fink.” For some reason Aunt Sophie always calls him that. “Show him the pages.” He sighs and gathers up the weird metallic book. “This is between the three of us. No need to stress your mother.” What about stressing me? He stares at some imaginary point on the ceiling, like he always does when he lectures. “Our family has—” The front doorbell rings. His gaze snaps down, his mouth snaps shut. Out in the hall, I hear my mom answer, then men’s voices. “Charlie,” Dad says, “go see who it is.” “But—” “Close the door behind you.” * * * I stomp down the hall. Mom is talking to the police. Two cops and a guy in a suit. “Ma’am,” Uniform with Mustache says, “is your husband home?” “May I help you?” she asks. “We have a warrant.” He fumbles in his jacket and hands her an official-looking paper. “This is for John Doe,” she tells him. The cop turns to the man in the suit, deep blue, with a matching bowler hat like some guy on PBS. The dude even carries a cane — not the old-lady-with-a-limp type, more stroll-in-the-park. Blue Suit — a detective? — tilts forward to whisper in the cop’s ear. I can’t hear anything but I notice his outfit is crisp. Every seam stands out bright and clear. Everything else about him too. “We need to speak to your husband,” the uniformed cop says. I mentally kick myself for not ambushing Dad an hour earlier. Eventually, the police tire of the runaround and shove past me as if I don’t exist. I tag along to watch them search the house. When they reach the study, Dad and Sophie are gone. The window’s closed and bolted from the inside. All the other rooms are empty too, but this doesn’t stop them from slitting every sofa cushion and uncovering my box of secret DVDs. * * * Mom and I don’t talk about Dad’s hasty departure, but I do hear her call the police and ask about the warrant. They have no idea who she’s talking about. Yesterday, I thought Dad was about to deliver the Your mother and I have grown apart speech. Now I’m thinking more along the lines of secret agent or international kingpin. But the months crawl by, business as usual, until my birthday comes and goes without any answers — or the promised visit from Dad. I try not to let on that it bothers me. He’s never missed my birthday, but then, the cops never came before, either. Mom and I celebrate with cupcakes. Mine is jammed with sixteen candles, one extra for good luck. I pry up the wrapping paper from the corner of her present. “It’s customary to blow out the candles first,” Mom says. “More a guideline than a rule,” I say. “Call it advanced reconnaissance.” That’s a phrase I picked up from Sophie. Mom does a dorky eye roll, but I get the present open and find she did well by me, the latest iPhone — even if she skimped on the gigabytes. I use it to take two photos of her and then, holding it out, one of us together. She smiles and pats my hand. “This way, when you’re out on a date you can check in.” I’m thinking more about surfing the web during class. “Mom, girls never notice me.” “How about Michelle next door? She’s cute.” Mom’s right about the cute. We live in a duplex, an old house her family bought like a hundred years ago. Our tenants, the Montags, rent the other half, and we’ve celebrated every Fourth of July together as long as I can remember. “Girls don’t pay attention to me.” Sometimes paraphrasing helps Mom understand. “All teenage boys say that — your father certainly did.” My throat tightens. “There’s a father-son track event this week.” A month ago, I went into orbit when I discovered it fell during Dad’s visit, but now it’s just a major bummer — and a pending embarrassment. She kisses me on the forehead. “He’ll be here if he can, honey. And if not, I’ll race. You don’t get your speed from his side of the family.” True enough. She was a college tennis champ and he’s a flat-foot who likes foie gras. But still. * * * Our history class takes a field trip to Independence Park, where the teacher prattles on in front of the Liberty Bell. I’ve probably read more about it than she has. Michelle is standing nearby with a girlfriend. The other day I tapped out a script on my phone — using our family cipher — complete with her possible responses to my asking her out. Maybe Mom’s right. I slide over. “Hey, Michelle, I’m really looking forward to next Fourth of July.” “It’s January.” She has a lot of eyeliner on, which would look pretty sexy if she wasn’t glaring at me. “Do I know you from somewhere?” That wasn’t in my script. I drift away. Being forgettable has advantages. I tighten the laces on my trainers then flop a leg up on the fence to stretch. Soon as I’m loose enough, I sprint up the park toward the red brick hulk of Independence Hall. The teachers will notice the headcount is one short but of course they’ll have trouble figuring out who’s missing. And while a bunch of cops are lounging about — national historic landmark and all — even if one stops me, he won’t remember my name long enough to write up a ticket. The sky gleams with that cloudless blue that sometimes graces Philly. The air is crisp and smells of wood smoke. I consider lapping the building. Then I notice the man exiting the hall. He glides out the white-painted door behind someone else and seesaws down the steps to the slate courtyard. He wears a deep blue suit and a matching bowler hat. His stride is rapid and he taps his walking stick against the pavement like clockwork. The police detective. I shift into a jog and follow him down the block toward the river. I don’t think he sees me, but he has this peculiar way of looking around, pivoting his head side to side as he goes. It’s hard to explain what makes him different. His motions are stiff but he cuts through space without apparent effort. Despite the dull navy outfit, he looks sharper than the rest of the world, more in focus. Like Dad and Sophie. The man turns left at Chestnut and Third, and I follow him into Franklin Court. He stops inside the skeleton of Ben Franklin’s missing house. Some idiots tore it down two hundred years ago, but for the bicentennial the city erected a steel ‘ghost house’ to replace it. I tuck myself behind one of the big white girders and watch. The man unbuttons his suit and winds himself. Yes, that’s right. He winds himself. Like a clock. There’s no shirt under his jacket — just clockwork guts, spinning gears, and whirling cogs. There’s even a rocking pendulum. He takes a T-shaped key from his pocket, sticks it in his torso, and cranks. Hardly police standard procedure. Clueless tourists pass him without so much as a sideways glance. And I always assumed the going unnoticed thing was just me. He stops winding and scans the courtyard, calibrating his head on first one point then another while his finger spins brass dials on his chest. I watch, almost afraid to breathe. CHIME. The man rings, a deep brassy sound — not unlike Grandmom’s old mantel clock. I must have gasped, because he looks at me, his head ratcheting around 270 degrees until our eyes lock. Glass eyes. Glass eyes set in a face of carved ivory. His mouth opens and the ivory mask that is his face parts along his jaw line to reveal more cogs. CHIME. The sound reverberates through the empty bones of Franklin Court. He takes his cane from under his arm and draws a blade from it as a stage-magician might a handkerchief. CHIME. He raises the thin line of steel and glides in my direction. CHIME. Heart beating like a rabbit’s, I scuttle across the cobblestones and fling myself over a low brick wall. CHIME. His walking-stick-cum-sword strikes against the brick and throws sparks. He’s so close I hear his clockwork innards ticking, a tiny metallic tinkle. CHIME. I roll away from the wall and spring to my feet. He bounds over in pursuit. CHIME. I backpedal. I could run faster if I turned around, but a stab in the back isn’t high on my wishlist. CHIME. He strides toward me, one hand on his hip, the other slices the air with his rapier. An older couple shuffles by and glances his way, but apparently they don’t see what I see. CHIME. I stumble over a rock, snatch it up, and hurl it at him. Thanks to shot put practice, it strikes him full in the face, stopping him cold. CHIME. He tilts his head from side to side. I see a thin crack in his ivory mask, but otherwise he seems unharmed. CHIME. I dance to the side, eying the pavement, find another rock and grab it. CHIME. We stand our ground, he with his sword and me with my stone. “Your move, Timex!” I hope I sound braver than I feel. CHIME. Beneath the clockwork man, a hole opens. The manhole-sized circle in the cobblestones seethes and boils, spilling pale light up into the world. He stands above it, legs spread, toes on the pavement, heels dipping into nothingness. The sun dims in the sky. Like an eclipse — still visible, just not as bright. My heart threatens to break through my ribs, but I inch closer. The mechanical man brings his legs together and drops into the hole. The seething boiling hole. I step forward and look down…. Into a whirlpool that could eat the Titanic for breakfast. But there’s no water, only a swirling tube made of a million pulverized galaxies. Not that my eyes can really latch onto anything inside, except for the man. His crisp dark form shrinks into faraway brightness. Is this where Dad goes when he drops in on someone? Is the clockwork dude his rival researcher? The sun brightens, and as it does, the hole starts to contract. Sharp edges of pavement eat into it, closing fast. I can’t let him get away. Somehow we’re all connected. Me, the mechanical man, Sophie, and Dad. I take a step forward and let myself fall.

About The Author:

Andy Gavin is an unstoppable storyteller who studied for his Ph.D. at M.I.T. and founded video game developer Naughty Dog, Inc. at the age of fifteen, serving as co-president for two decades. There he created, produced, and directed over a dozen video games, including the award winning and best selling Crash Bandicoot and Jak & Daxter franchises, selling over 40 million units worldwide. He sleeps little, reads novels and histories, watches media obsessively, travels, and of course, writes.

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