Friday, June 19, 2026

Dragons of Mu~~Coming to your Tablet June 22nd

  

Excerpt Pamela Ackerson’s

Dragons of Mu

 



She rubbed the back of her head, felt a small lump, and winced. Her head was throbbing. Her knee was yelling at her and now she heard angry, men’s voices.

One of them yelled, “Over there! There she is. Get her!”

Another pulled out a long knife and they ran toward her.

Amy rushed into the woods. Turning around, she could see they were catching up to her.

Up, Amy, up. They won’t be looking up.

She climbed an oak tree as high as she could. Pulling on the long skirt, she squatted on a branch.

The branch felt odd and slithered underneath her. A large, looming face in the shape of a dragon stared at her unblinking.

Holy cr—

The creature put a long claw to its mouth and said, “Shhh.”

Amy took a deep breath. A scream was building inside her but before she could release the ear-piercing screech, she was muzzled by the creature. Her heart jolted as its wing enveloped her and she lost consciousness.

A few moments later, she was gulping for air. Fully expecting to open her eyes and see the hotel lobby, she was stunned to be staring into the eyes of a dragon.

–A dragon, a huge dragon with big, green eyes.

You’re safe.

Amy shook her head. “No. No, I’m not. There’s no okay in this, whatever this is at all. This is crazy. Why is this happening?”

Where did you come from?

She stared at his mouth. It wasn’t moving.

This hallucination was freaking weird. A talking dragon that didn’t move his lips. They’re going to take her away and leave her in the psych ward for the rest of her life.

Her eye began twitching. It wasn’t real. None of it makes sense.

Think, Amy. Dragons aren’t real. How could a dragon talk?

Anything can happen in a hallucination. She repeated to herself. This isn’t real.

Was she dead? Is this purgatory? Her own personal nightmare of an afterlife? Could she have injured herself so badly that she died?

She wasn’t a bad person. It certainly wasn’t in Hades. Well, it better not be Hades.

A talking, psychic dragon communicating with his mind.

Of course, it makes soooo much more sense.

She watched as the men ran into the woods, searching for her.

The dragon spoke in a deep, soothing voice, “Why are you dressed in that garb?”

Amy stared at the huge beast.

The beast’s green eyes penetrated her with a questioning glare.

“A— a party. We were going to a party.”

He looked at the bracelet.

“Someone put them in my shopping bag.”

“Let’s go. We need to get you into normal clothing. I’ll take you to Bev’s.”

Amy started climbing down the tree.

“No, no.” The dragon grabbed her and placed Amy on his back before taking flight.

Amy squealed, inhaled and released another louder scream.

“Stop.” His body jolted. “Your obnoxious squawking is impaling my ears.”

Within a few moments, they soared through the air and flew from cloud to cloud.

Her stomach flipped and she swallowed the huge lump in her throat.

“Ugh, no ups and downs, please.”

He laughed. “No quick drops? You’re the slow-boat kind of person.”

Her heart was finally returning to its normal beat. She was getting comfortable riding on his back and was beginning to enjoy the view.

“Whoa! This is awesome. I never have flying dreams.”

The dragon huffed.

Amy was mesmerized. It was freaking fantastic. The warm heat from the sun and soft air on her face, the flapping of his wings, it was glorious.

She could do this. It was peaceful. He was gliding along and she was euphoric.

Hold on.

“Hold on? No, don’t ruin the moment!”

The dragon took a deep dive. Amy let out an earsplitting shriek and gripped the back of his neck tighter as he gracefully landed on the ground in front of a small, wooden cabin.

He grunted in pain.

“Your fingernails are cutting into my skin.”

“Sorry.” Amy dismounted him like she would a horse.

“You don’t look like you’re sorry.”

She gave him an angry side-eye.

He grumbled, “Go. Tell her I sent you.”

“Um. You want me to knock on a stranger’s door, in the middle of BFE, and tell her a dragon sent me?”

 “We’re not in Egypt.”

She snapped, “What? We’re in the middle of freaking nowhere. That’s what BFE means!”

Ignoring her irritation, he responded, “We’re in Ireland.”

 “Ireland? I’ve never been to Ireland. How am I dreaming that I’m here? I’ve only seen pictures and this in not anything like the pictures.”

“It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not fine. I don’t have a passport with me!”

She rubbed her forehead. Why would she need a passport in a dream?

“No worries.” He blew out a frustrated breath. “I’ll be back in a blink. In the meantime, tell her Blaze sent you.”

“Oh, look. A fairy circle.”

His wide-eyed, incredulous stare gave her pause. He shook his head. “Wow.”

She shrugged.

“I can’t keep up with you.”

“Yeah, I get that a lot. My mind goes really fast sometimes.” She limped toward the fairy circle.

“What are you doing?”

Amy chuckled. “Making a wish.”

He looked at her like she was growing horns.

“Um, yeah. Make a wish and the fairies will grant it only if they see fit. You have to watch out for all the fairies protecting the fairy circle. You don’t want to step on them, you know.”

Amy stepped back from the circle. “Hello, little fairies. I hope you’re having a pleasant day.”

He harrumphed and walked away.

“Hey, it’s my dream. I can do what I want.”

Amy raised her hand to knock, but never made contact. An elderly woman, in her mid-seventies, opened the door.

“Oh, I thought I heard Blaze’s voice.”

“I’m Amy. He told me to tell you—”

The woman opened the door wider. “Come in. The sun’s going to be setting soon and it’ll be a bit chilly.”

The elderly woman had light hair, dark blue eyes, and a wide, pleasant smile. Her hair was rolled up into a bun tucked on the back of her head. Amy’s memories immediately went to the cartoon with the grandma lady who owned the canary, Tweety.

Amy cautiously entered the house and as she turned to look about, a man rushed through the doorway.

He was an average-looking man except for his eyes. They gleamed an effervescent green. The man’s dark hair was a deep contrast to his light skin.

She never cared for the five o’clock shadow but it did do him justice.

“There you are, Blaze.” She handed him a mug.

“Thank you, Bev.”

“Mark on his way?”

“Soon. He has a few things he needs to take care of before he comes.”

Mark? As in Harlow?

Bev turned to Amy. “What would you like, dear? I’ve got some hot tea on the table or, if it pleases, I can pour another draught.”

“T—”

“She needs normal clothes.”

Amy glared at Blaze. “And who are you?”

“I’m the man who saved your skinny bum and brought you here.”

“And how, pray tell, did you do that? A dragon…” Her voice trailed off.

Bev looked puzzled. “So, she’s not from medieval times?”

“No.”

“She didn’t time-travel here?”

“No.”

Time travel? Amy interrupted, “I can speak for myself.”

“Really?” He snorted. “Go ahead, darling, and explain how you got here.”

“Fine. I was at a party.” Amy flipped her hand in the air. “I tucked the jeweled comb in my wig and the next thing I knew, these men attacked me and I’ve been having this dream or possibly been unconscious ever since.”

Blaze sat at the table. “You’re not unconscious.”

“Then you tell me what’s happening.”

Bev took her arm. “Oh, sweetie, it’s been a day for you, hasn’t it? Sit, relax, and have a cuppa. I’ll get you some clothes that should fit you. We’ll get you all sorted out.”

The concern in Bev’s voice was telling.

Wariness clung to Amy as a hesitant smile tugged at her lips, a stark contrast to how she was feeling.

“I don’t need clothes. I just want to wake up.”

Bev asked, “Wake up?”

Blaze waved Bev’s question off and spoke to Amy, “Somehow, you’ve managed to get two very powerful and magical relics to bring you here. People have gone to war to possess the magical comb and bracelet.”

Amy grunted.

“Those men stole the relics to take over Mu and conquer the magical world. They will not hesitate to kill you for them.”

Amy bit her upper lip, repressing a nervous giggle. “Not ruby-red slippers? Will lightning flash from the jewelry when you try to remove it from my hair and wrist? Do I repeat ‘there’s no place like home’ three times?”

Blaze glowered. “I don’t find your sarcasm amusing.”

She removed the jeweled comb and handed it to Blaze. “Here. Take it.”

Bev glared at Blaze and tapped Amy’s hand. “Blaze can get you back to where you belong and to your party whenever you’re ready.”

“Good.” Amy put her wrist toward Blaze. “I’m more than ready.”

Blaze reached to take the bracelet off her wrist. “It won’t come off.”

Bev put her hand to her chest. “What?”

Amy’s voice shook in panic. “No, no, take it off!”

“It won’t come off.”

“Fine, then I’ll do it.”

She fiddled with the clasp and finally threw up her hands in frustration. “It won’t come off!”

Bev walked over to the cabinet and brought back a bottle of Irish whiskey and three glasses, and said, “It has begun.”

 Preorder your copy today! Preorder price is 99cents for the Ebook! Ebook, Paperback, and Hardcover come out June 22, 2026

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Deking at Love

 

 


A broken past.

A forbidden present.

A second chance worth everything.


Deking at Love

A The Playmakers Series Novella

By G.K. Brady

Genre: Steamy Second Chance Hockey Romance



A broken past. A forbidden present. A second chance worth everything.

Sam Durbin is on the brink of everything he’s worked for. One bad injury threatens to end his breakout hockey season, and the pressure to get back on the ice is mounting. But nothing throws him off his game faster than coming face-to-face with his physical therapist—the woman he walked away from. The one he never forgot.

Angelina Rossi finally has the career she fought for. A position at a top-tier clinic, a future she built on her own terms … and a patient who could destroy it all. Treating Sam should be simple. Clinical. Professional. But every session drags up the past she’s tried to bury and the feelings she never truly let go.

Sam knows he doesn’t deserve a second chance. Angie knows she can’t survive giving him one. But every session chips away at their defenses—old wounds resurfacing, new heat building, and neither of them quite able to hold the line.

Giving in to desire could end Sam’s comeback before it begins. It could destroy the career Angie’s fought so hard to build. But walking away might be the one loss neither can overcome.

Deking at Love is a steamy, second-chance, forbidden sports romance featuring a wounded hockey player, a no-nonsense physical therapist, and a chemistry they can’t outskate. Perfect for readers who love witty banter, workplace tension, and high-stakes emotion—with a guaranteed HEA.




Since childhood, all sorts of stories and characters have lived in G.K. Brady’s imagination, elbowing one another for attention, so she’s finally giving them their voice on the written page.

 An award-winning writer of contemporary romance, she loves telling tales of the less-than-perfect hero or heroine who transforms with each turn of a page. She also writes historical fiction under the pen name Griffin Brady.

 G.K. is a wife and the proud mom of three grown sons. When she’s not writing, she might be reading, traveling, drinking wine, listening to music, or gardening—sometimes all at once! She currently resides in Colorado with her very patient husband.

  

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Thursday, June 18, 2026

Waiting for You

 

 


They say friends make the best lovers...

Waiting For You

Priestly Family Series Book 5

by Sharon C. Cooper

Genre: Contemporary Second Chance Romance



They say friends make the best lovers...

After a bitter divorce, Jackson Norwood never thought he’d fall in love again. Especially not with his best friend, Essence Priestly. His attraction to her is the most powerful thing he's felt in a long time, and he doesn't just want her as a lover. He wants her to be his wife. Yet she’s determined to keep their relationship strictly platonic.

Jackson means everything to Essence and her son, and she’s torn between her love for him and the fear of ruining their years of friendship. But after an impulsive, passionate weekend together, she can’t deny their chemistry is off the charts. Jackson woke up the part of her she thought died years ago, and Essence is tempted to let him have what he wants—her.

But drama from his ex-wife is enough to challenge the strongest connection. Will Essence and Jackson’s reinvented relationship buckle under the pressure? Or will their bond grow stronger and lead them to their happily-ever-after?

 

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“Nyla asked if I’d be willing to share a room with you. I told her it was fine and assumed the two of you had already talked about it. She even had my overnight bag delivered there.”

“I’m going to kill my sisters. All of them,” Essence said through gritted teeth, attitude dangling from each word before she turned narrowed eyes on him. “You know what they’re trying to do, don’t you? You have to know.”

It took everything within Jackson not to smile because she was adorable when she was mad. Which he didn’t witness often. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he lied, earning him a deeper glare.

Okay, maybe he knew now, but not at first. He hadn’t thought much of it when Nyla told him of the change because it wasn’t unusual for him and Essence to share a room. But now that he knew her sisters might be trying to push them together, Jackson was totally onboard with their scheming. They all knew how much he adored Essence and how close they were, but they also knew Essence was afraid to move out of the friend zone. It would be just like them to butt in.

He and Essence exited the elevator, and Jackson followed a few steps behind her as she practically stomped down the hallway to their room. She might’ve been pissed, and he probably should be thinking about how he was going to get her to lighten up, but damn her ass looked good in that dress. Watching her shapely hips sway back and forth rhythmically made his body stir in response. Hell, if he could get her to calm down, maybe they could have some fun tonight. It was a new year. A perfect time to start a new chapter in their story. And a little rendezvous in a luxury hotel would only add to the fun.

As if she could hear his thoughts, Essence glanced over her shoulder at him without missing a step. If eyes could shoot invisible daggers, she was definitely shooting them at him, and he felt them square in the chest.

So much for living out a few fantasies tonight. Clearly, the hotel room would be for sleeping only.

Normally, Essence was sweet, kind, and would do anything for anyone. She also had a good sense of humor and took her family’s antics in stride. She didn’t usually trip over stuff like this, especially since she and he often shared a hotel room. The two of them, and sometimes Tray, vacationed together more often than not. Staying in the same room was a norm. So, it was out of character to see her this pissed.

Essence already had her keycard out when she stopped in front of their hotel room door. Seconds later, she stormed inside the room. She didn’t seem to care if he followed her in or not.

Jackson sighed, catching the door before it slammed in his face. This was going to be a long night. He didn’t want to argue, and Essence had every right to be mad—just not at him. She was probably looking forward to relaxing in a beautiful hotel room after a long day. Hell, a couple of long weeks, and here he was crashing any solitude she thought she’d get.

Or maybe she was mad because she had planned to invite that punk ass Romero to the room after the reception.

That thought had Jackson wanting to question her about the guy. Had their relationship moved up from just casual dating? Instead of asking, he kept his mouth shut. She was angry at her sisters, and he didn’t need her to take it out on him. He didn’t have siblings, but he’d been around hers enough to know they all drove each other nuts sometimes.

“Oh, and if you think we’re sleeping in the same bed, think again,” Essence snapped, tossing his duffel bag, which had been on the edge of the king size bed, to the sofa.

Jackson yawned, then slid out of his tuxedo jacket and laid it across the arm of the sofa. Next went the bowtie. “Essence, I don’t know what’s going on with you, but I do know one thing. I’m not sleeping on the sofa.”

 

Copyright © 2026 Sharon. C. Cooper




USA Today bestselling author Sharon C. Cooper loves anything involving romance with a happily-ever-after, whether in books, movies, or real life. She writes contemporary romance, romantic suspense, as well as romantic comedy. She enjoys rainy days, carpet picnics, and family game night. Her stories have won numerous awards, including The Rochelle Alers Best Series award for her Atlanta’s Finest Series (2022) and The Beverly Jenkins Author of the Year award (2021). When she isn’t writing, Sharon loves hanging out with her amazing husband, doing volunteer work, or reading a good book (a romance of course). To read more about Sharon and her novels, or to sign up to be notified of her latest releases, visit www.sharoncooper.net

Wednesday, June 17, 2026

In the Orchards of Shadow and Light

 

 


In the French Resistance of 1944, trust is the difference between life and death. 

Post-war troubles heighten when our hero’s life is in danger and all he holds dear is at risk.


In the Orchards of Shadow and Light

The Shadow Series Book 1

by Arthur McMaster

Genre: Historical WWII Suspenseful Spy Romance



In the vast tapestry of war, outcomes are never certain. Its demands are endless, its sacrifices countless. Yet for one couple who will share war's burdens and dangers-a daring American OSS agent and a French Resistance leader-its conclusion will transform both lives forever.

From the opening line, author Arthur McMaster, a retired foreign intelligence officer, makes clear: "No families escape the devastation of war." What follows is storytelling you won't be able to set aside. Amid the apple orchards and farmlands of war-ravaged Western Europe in the final years of World War II, we follow thirty-five-year-old OSS operative Claire Skiffington and French Resistance leader Jacques Berlangier through perilous clandestine operations. Eluding Vichy collaborators and Wehrmacht checkpoints, Claire's cover is that of a simple pastry girl, but this emissary is far more than she appears.

Years after the Nazi menace has passed, in the small Breton village of Combourg, Claire and Jacques are in love and determined to build a life together. Their days and nights in Paris work to make it all magical. But someone wants Jacques dead. Why? And how will one estranged family member unlock the source of danger?

Brimming with suspense and rich in character development, In the Orchards of Shadow and Light features beautiful imagery and finely drawn characters. Written by former DIA-CIA analyst and award-winning writer Arthur McMaster, In the Orchards of Shadow and Light is the first in a trilogy based on espionage, romance, and suspense. Combines elements of "The Rose Code," "The Nightingale," and "All the Light We Cannot See" to create a rich atmosphere, original characters embroiled in real historical events, dangerous romance and compelling drama. This story represents one man and one woman's perilous commitment to service in the face of danger: one couple's commitment to overcoming treachery and blazing a future together.

 

What readers are saying:

“Finely crafted with an artisan's touch, there is an unseen history beneath the lives of those trying to survive. Precisely researched, McMaster adroitly drops the reader behind the lines of clandestine operations. The grim destruction of Europe is brought to life with beautiful imagery and reconnoitered characters-every bit as interesting as those of Ken Follett's Eye of the Needle and The Key to Rebecca. This is a fine novel no one should pass up.”

— William Walsh, author of Lakewood (TouchPoint Press)

 

As you begin this book, prepare yourself for reading a writer who knows the details of espionage so well they feel like second nature, rather than research. Prepare yourself for lush, lyrical prose and the historical span of an Ian McEwan novel. This is a spy story, a love story, and a family story set largely in France, during a war, but McMaster balances the deprivations of war with domestic arts, the healing chores of mother women who bake stolen oranges into cakes, somehow find tea to serve, and harvest the slenderest sprigs of tarragon and chervil, plucked from their gardens, and stored in delicate clay pottery. This is a white knuckle thriller written by someone with all the sensibilities of a poet.

— Susan Tekulve, author of In the Garden of Stone

  

**Releases June 2nd – Order Now!!**

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Near eleven, Jacques’s truck approached the barn. There, he and Claire saw two men in black coats putting a third into their vehicle. The barn behind them roiled in flame. From the look of it, the generator had exploded, or maybe they had simply set off some explosives. Jacques and Claire sat far enough back to observe what had happened but not close enough to be spotted.

“Goddamn it.”

“My God, Jacques,” she said. “They are taking him.” Their own luck had held. Thomas’s had not. “And he had been so clever. The boot heel. The shaving cream.”

“We have to go. Immediately!” Both watched, though only seconds more, until the Germans drove off with their prize, the barn behind them collapsing in flame. “Did you think he knew about Combourg?” Jacques asked her.

She had never mentioned it. They’d only met Thomas at the Laurent farm, in Épiniac. “As I recall, nothing was ever said to him about Combourg.”

“He would not know of the monsignor, Roger’s uncle,” she added. They had kept that secret. Claire rubbed at the palm of one hand, kneading it with the knuckle of the other.

“No. And he does not know our real names,” Jacques said. “But Roger Laurent could know.”

Jacques took her hand. “Thomas is lost, but what harm Roger could do yet is considerable. If he gives up Roger.”

“Will he? Where will they take him?” she asked as Jacques worked the truck around, knowing he was leaving behind his apples and, more importantly, his cover for travel.

“Saint-Lô, I would think. Some Nazi headquarters.”

As Jacques wrenched the truck sharply onto the road toward home, where the deeply distressed Claire would be able to arrange for her return to Bodney, a bottle scooted out from under her seat.

“Look at this,” she said, pulling it up from the floor. “It’s his Calvados.” Attempting to hold back tears.

“Keep it. We will finish it tonight in his honor with a tip of the hat to our friend.”

Passing near enough to the Laurent farm en route to Combourg, with relative safety still several kilometers away, Jacques pointed to the farmhouse. It was risky, but he had to take a look, remaining well back from potential observation. There, they were able to make out, standing near the entry door, the one thing they had hardly dared hope to see—a dark green motorcycle.

What Roger’s return portended was unclear, but given what had happened to Thomas, that outcome was surely the best they could have hoped for. Jacques slowed the truck and looked to the darkened house, their hearts racing.

“Oh my God. He’s come back.”

Jacques touched her hand.

She thought to say something, leaning into him. “Let’s go home, Jacques. Please!” Then added, “You did well, getting us through it all. So brave.”

“You and me,” he said. “We did. Together.” He touched her face tenderly.

In that moment, Jacques and Claire leaned toward each other for a necessary hug, and then a kiss. A kiss of relief. A kiss of what might yet be.





Poet, playwright and novelist, Arthur retired from full-time teaching, most recently as Visiting Assoc. Professor of English, at Converse College, in Spartanburg, SC. HIs books include: In the Orchards of Our Mothers (historical fiction novel); The Whole Picture Show (poetry) Musical Muse (academic); Birdies Never Die (golf); Givings & Misgivings (poetry) and The Spy Who Came Down with a Cold (poetry) and Need to Know (memoir).

Arthur's first career was that of a foreign intelligence officer, with assignments with military intelligence and briefly with the CIA. Arthur earned an MFA degree in Poetry at University of Florida. Pushcart Prize nominations. He now teaches in Continuing Education Dept for Furman University (fiction and poetry). 

 

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Tuesday, June 16, 2026

Preorder Dragons of Mu ~~ Coming June 22, 2026

  

Excerpt Pamela Ackerson’s

Dragons of Mu

 



She rubbed the back of her head, felt a small lump, and winced. Her head was throbbing. Her knee was yelling at her and now she heard angry, men’s voices.

One of them yelled, “Over there! There she is. Get her!”

Another pulled out a long knife and they ran toward her.

Amy rushed into the woods. Turning around, she could see they were catching up to her.

Up, Amy, up. They won’t be looking up.

She climbed an oak tree as high as she could. Pulling on the long skirt, she squatted on a branch.

The branch felt odd and slithered underneath her. A large, looming face in the shape of a dragon stared at her unblinking.

Holy cr—

The creature put a long claw to its mouth and said, “Shhh.”

Amy took a deep breath. A scream was building inside her but before she could release the ear-piercing screech, she was muzzled by the creature. Her heart jolted as its wing enveloped her and she lost consciousness.

A few moments later, she was gulping for air. Fully expecting to open her eyes and see the hotel lobby, she was stunned to be staring into the eyes of a dragon.

–A dragon, a huge dragon with big, green eyes.

You’re safe.

Amy shook her head. “No. No, I’m not. There’s no okay in this, whatever this is at all. This is crazy. Why is this happening?”

Where did you come from?

She stared at his mouth. It wasn’t moving.

This hallucination was freaking weird. A talking dragon that didn’t move his lips. They’re going to take her away and leave her in the psych ward for the rest of her life.

Her eye began twitching. It wasn’t real. None of it makes sense.

Think, Amy. Dragons aren’t real. How could a dragon talk?

Anything can happen in a hallucination. She repeated to herself. This isn’t real.

Was she dead? Is this purgatory? Her own personal nightmare of an afterlife? Could she have injured herself so badly that she died?

She wasn’t a bad person. It certainly wasn’t in Hades. Well, it better not be Hades.

A talking, psychic dragon communicating with his mind.

Of course, it makes soooo much more sense.

She watched as the men ran into the woods, searching for her.

The dragon spoke in a deep, soothing voice, “Why are you dressed in that garb?”

Amy stared at the huge beast.

The beast’s green eyes penetrated her with a questioning glare.

“A— a party. We were going to a party.”

He looked at the bracelet.

“Someone put them in my shopping bag.”

“Let’s go. We need to get you into normal clothing. I’ll take you to Bev’s.”

Amy started climbing down the tree.

“No, no.” The dragon grabbed her and placed Amy on his back before taking flight.

Amy squealed, inhaled and released another louder scream.

“Stop.” His body jolted. “Your obnoxious squawking is impaling my ears.”

Within a few moments, they soared through the air and flew from cloud to cloud.

Her stomach flipped and she swallowed the huge lump in her throat.

“Ugh, no ups and downs, please.”

He laughed. “No quick drops? You’re the slow-boat kind of person.”

Her heart was finally returning to its normal beat. She was getting comfortable riding on his back and was beginning to enjoy the view.

“Whoa! This is awesome. I never have flying dreams.”

The dragon huffed.

Amy was mesmerized. It was freaking fantastic. The warm heat from the sun and soft air on her face, the flapping of his wings, it was glorious.

She could do this. It was peaceful. He was gliding along and she was euphoric.

Hold on.

“Hold on? No, don’t ruin the moment!”

The dragon took a deep dive. Amy let out an earsplitting shriek and gripped the back of his neck tighter as he gracefully landed on the ground in front of a small, wooden cabin.

He grunted in pain.

“Your fingernails are cutting into my skin.”

“Sorry.” Amy dismounted him like she would a horse.

“You don’t look like you’re sorry.”

She gave him an angry side-eye.

He grumbled, “Go. Tell her I sent you.”

“Um. You want me to knock on a stranger’s door, in the middle of BFE, and tell her a dragon sent me?”

 “We’re not in Egypt.”

She snapped, “What? We’re in the middle of freaking nowhere. That’s what BFE means!”

Ignoring her irritation, he responded, “We’re in Ireland.”

 “Ireland? I’ve never been to Ireland. How am I dreaming that I’m here? I’ve only seen pictures and this in not anything like the pictures.”

“It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not fine. I don’t have a passport with me!”

She rubbed her forehead. Why would she need a passport in a dream?

“No worries.” He blew out a frustrated breath. “I’ll be back in a blink. In the meantime, tell her Blaze sent you.”

“Oh, look. A fairy circle.”

His wide-eyed, incredulous stare gave her pause. He shook his head. “Wow.”

She shrugged.

“I can’t keep up with you.”

“Yeah, I get that a lot. My mind goes really fast sometimes.” She limped toward the fairy circle.

“What are you doing?”

Amy chuckled. “Making a wish.”

He looked at her like she was growing horns.

“Um, yeah. Make a wish and the fairies will grant it only if they see fit. You have to watch out for all the fairies protecting the fairy circle. You don’t want to step on them, you know.”

Amy stepped back from the circle. “Hello, little fairies. I hope you’re having a pleasant day.”

He harrumphed and walked away.

“Hey, it’s my dream. I can do what I want.”

Amy raised her hand to knock, but never made contact. An elderly woman, in her mid-seventies, opened the door.

“Oh, I thought I heard Blaze’s voice.”

“I’m Amy. He told me to tell you—”

The woman opened the door wider. “Come in. The sun’s going to be setting soon and it’ll be a bit chilly.”

The elderly woman had light hair, dark blue eyes, and a wide, pleasant smile. Her hair was rolled up into a bun tucked on the back of her head. Amy’s memories immediately went to the cartoon with the grandma lady who owned the canary, Tweety.

Amy cautiously entered the house and as she turned to look about, a man rushed through the doorway.

He was an average-looking man except for his eyes. They gleamed an effervescent green. The man’s dark hair was a deep contrast to his light skin.

She never cared for the five o’clock shadow but it did do him justice.

“There you are, Blaze.” She handed him a mug.

“Thank you, Bev.”

“Mark on his way?”

“Soon. He has a few things he needs to take care of before he comes.”

Mark? As in Harlow?

Bev turned to Amy. “What would you like, dear? I’ve got some hot tea on the table or, if it pleases, I can pour another draught.”

“T—”

“She needs normal clothes.”

Amy glared at Blaze. “And who are you?”

“I’m the man who saved your skinny bum and brought you here.”

“And how, pray tell, did you do that? A dragon…” Her voice trailed off.

Bev looked puzzled. “So, she’s not from medieval times?”

“No.”

“She didn’t time-travel here?”

“No.”

Time travel? Amy interrupted, “I can speak for myself.”

“Really?” He snorted. “Go ahead, darling, and explain how you got here.”

“Fine. I was at a party.” Amy flipped her hand in the air. “I tucked the jeweled comb in my wig and the next thing I knew, these men attacked me and I’ve been having this dream or possibly been unconscious ever since.”

Blaze sat at the table. “You’re not unconscious.”

“Then you tell me what’s happening.”

Bev took her arm. “Oh, sweetie, it’s been a day for you, hasn’t it? Sit, relax, and have a cuppa. I’ll get you some clothes that should fit you. We’ll get you all sorted out.”

The concern in Bev’s voice was telling.

Wariness clung to Amy as a hesitant smile tugged at her lips, a stark contrast to how she was feeling.

“I don’t need clothes. I just want to wake up.”

Bev asked, “Wake up?”

Blaze waved Bev’s question off and spoke to Amy, “Somehow, you’ve managed to get two very powerful and magical relics to bring you here. People have gone to war to possess the magical comb and bracelet.”

Amy grunted.

“Those men stole the relics to take over Mu and conquer the magical world. They will not hesitate to kill you for them.”

Amy bit her upper lip, repressing a nervous giggle. “Not ruby-red slippers? Will lightning flash from the jewelry when you try to remove it from my hair and wrist? Do I repeat ‘there’s no place like home’ three times?”

Blaze glowered. “I don’t find your sarcasm amusing.”

She removed the jeweled comb and handed it to Blaze. “Here. Take it.”

Bev glared at Blaze and tapped Amy’s hand. “Blaze can get you back to where you belong and to your party whenever you’re ready.”

“Good.” Amy put her wrist toward Blaze. “I’m more than ready.”

Blaze reached to take the bracelet off her wrist. “It won’t come off.”

Bev put her hand to her chest. “What?”

Amy’s voice shook in panic. “No, no, take it off!”

“It won’t come off.”

“Fine, then I’ll do it.”

She fiddled with the clasp and finally threw up her hands in frustration. “It won’t come off!”

Bev walked over to the cabinet and brought back a bottle of Irish whiskey and three glasses, and said, “It has begun.”

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