Tuesday, June 23, 2026

Recipe for Murder

 

 


Welcome to Pine Cove.

The Mayor is a dog, B&B guests are fugitives, and the pancakes are burnt. 


Recipe For Murder

A Pine Cove Mystery Book 2

by Marla A. White

Genre: Cozy Mystery



Mel O'Rourke traded her LAPD badge for the quiet life, running a bed-and-breakfast in tiny, quirky Pine Cove.

But when Jackson Thibodeaux, the charming café owner who broke her heart, stumbles back into town, her tranquil second act is toast. While attending a culinary academy in New Orleans, Jackson found the body of a classmate. The police rule it a suicide, but Mel’s instincts—and Jackson’s near miss with a bullet—scream murder.
Between a cooking school full of shady suspects, a reformed cat burglar for a sidekick, and a complicated love triangle involving the deputy sheriff, Mel has her hands full.

Perfect for fans of the sweetness of Jenn McKinlay and the snark of Elle Cosimano’s Finlay Donovan.

 

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“Dang, woman. You want to take my certification test for me?” She noticed with no small amount of satisfaction that, although he’d done a decent job, she’d bested him. Again.

“You’ll do fine,” she teased as she ejected the clip, put the gun down, and began to reload. Even with the EZ loader she’d gotten as a birthday gift from her parents a few years ago, she struggled to get the bullets in. Her father, an ex-cop himself, thought her lack of dexterity was hilarious.

“Here, let me help you.” Gregg closed the distance between them, standing so close she felt the heat of his body. The tang of cordite, pine trees, and the summer blooms scattered around the outdoor firing range tickled her nose, conspiring to make the moment sort of romantic as his rough, calloused hands met hers. The thought sent a zing of electricity through her that she couldn’t quite explain. Before this got any weirder, she stepped away.

“Gah, I could hear the ‘little lady’ part of that statement even without you saying it. I’ve got this, thanks anyway.”

Rather than be offended, he laughed. They continued practicing their firearm skills for another twenty minutes until Gregg complained the sound of Mel’s stomach rumbling was loud enough to be heard even through his protective ear gear. “It’s throwing off my aim. Are you ready to call it a day?” She felt the heat rise to her cheeks in embarrassment. “Pizza?”

“You haven’t by chance changed your stance on the sushi spaghetti combo restaurant, have you?”

He laughed. “No way. You’re welcome to a sausage caterpillar roll. It’s a hard pass for me. Besides, the pizza joint carries Redrum beer.”

As they headed to his car, she teased him. “You can’t fool me, you’re a secret wine lover. And you “know the name for a type of sushi? I’m impressed.”

She slammed into him when he suddenly stopped walking. He turned and glanced down at her, standing a good six inches taller. There was a twinkle of amusement in his eyes as he put one hand out to steady her, the other to her lips. “Shh, I have a reputation to protect.”

For a moment, it looked like he was going to move in to kiss her. For a moment, Mel wanted him to. But whatever spark had been in his eyes wavered to uncertainty, and he ushered her to his car without another word.

****

“You’d better hope your boss never finds out you know all the words to that musical or he’ll insist on drug testing you.” Mel laughed as Gregg opened the lobby door for her, still murmuring away in a surprisingly pleasant singing voice. She didn’t normally wait for any man to open a door, but her hands were full, holding the box of pizza they’d gotten to bring back for the vultures she knew would be waiting for her at the inn. He held the door with one hand, a bottle of wine they planned on sharing while binging episodes of a British cop series they loved gripped in the other.

As she expected, Gemma, Grandma, and Poppy materialized from the great room at a speed that suggested they’d been sitting near the window watching for their return. Their grim expressions, however, made her stop short. “All right, out with it. Why are you three acting so weird? We’re twenty feet inside the door, and there hasn’t been one smart ass remark yet. Who died?” When no one answered, a cold dread bloomed in the pit of her stomach. She might have dropped the pizza if Poppy hadn’t snatched it out of her numb hands. “Seriously, is everyone okay? Did something happen? Is it Liam?”

“No, Mel, it’s me,” a voice said with a distinctly more pronounced Southern drawl than he’d had the last time they spoke. An exhausted, pale, but determined Jackson emerged from the shadows, rubbing at his temple as if to ease an ache. “I really need your help.”

Relief, anger, hope, and about a dozen other emotions Mel couldn’t identify came crashing down all at once. “I’m going to need you to open that wine,” she told Gregg.

He twisted the top off with his bare hand since their favorite brand of chardonnay didn’t use a “cork. “Done,” he said as he handed her the chilled bottle, the outside damp with sweat.

She took a healthy gulp straight out of the bottle before addressing Jackson. “All right, out with it. What do you want, and it better be good after the bullshit you pulled on me.”

“There’s been a murder.”




Framed For Murder

A Pine Cove Mystery Book 1


After a life-changing injury, Mel O’Rourke trades in her badge for bed sheets, running a B & B in the quirky mountain town of Pine Cove. Her peaceful life is interrupted when an old frenemy, the notorious and charismatic cat burglar, Poppy Phillips, shows up on her doorstep, claiming she’s been framed for murder. While she’s broken plenty of laws, Mel knows she’d never kill anyone. Good thing she’s a better detective than she is a cook as she sets out to prove Poppy's innocence.

The situation gets complicated, however, when the ruggedly handsome Deputy Sheriff Gregg Marks flirts with Mel, bringing him dangerously close to the criminal she’s hiding. And just when her friendship with café owner Jackson Thibodeaux blossoms into something more, he’s offered the opportunity of a lifetime in New Orleans. Should she encourage him to go, or ask him to stay? Who knew romance could be just as hard to solve as murder?

 

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Mel gaped slack-jawed at her brother, whose palm covered his face. “Why did you kidnap Grandma?”

“I did not—ugh!” He answered from behind his hand before shaking off his frustration and moving to the back seat of the truck to grab their bags. “Mom forced me to bring her. That’s what the delay was all about. She’s been driving her crazy, and then this morning she lit the kitchen on fire.”

“She what?!”

“I wasn’t there, so I don’t know exactly, something about the toaster and a curtain. Anyway, Mom convinced her she should come help you out and halfway up the mountain she wove this kidnapping story.”

“Help me? How, by greeting guests with her charming personality?” She loved her grandmother, but her salutation and scathing condemnation of the inn with just one glance were pretty mild for the old woman. When she really got on a tear, the best thing was to go to a movie until she wore herself out.

“Beats me but pro tip, do not let her in the kitchen.” Balancing the bags in one hand, Liam enveloped her with his free arm. “At least, not until we make sure the insurance covers curtain fires.”

“No need to worry, I just hired someone today who is great in the kitchen.”

He looked at her askance. “Great as in better than you or someone who is actually a good cook?”

“Shut up.” She laughed in response to the insult. “The guests this morning raved about the food. For however long she stays, I think she’ll be a plus in the breakfast department, anyway.”

“Where did you find this culinary genius? Did you put out an ad already?” He held the door open for Mel and they entered the lobby.

“We didn’t, she found me.” She looked around. “Where’s Grandma?”

The echoes of laughter led the siblings into the Great Room where their grandmother sat in front of the fireplace chatting away with Poppy. They turned toward Mel and Liam as they entered.

“Mel, your mother is a hoot,” she gushed.

She narrowed her eyes at the alleged ex-thief, who had to know perfectly well the woman in front of her was too old to be her mother. Grandma O, however, took the compliment to heart and patted Poppy’s hand, gracing her with one of her rare beaming smiles.

To Mel’s surprise, Liam skidded to a dead halt. She turned back to see why and received the icy blast of the unmistakable storm in his eyes. She’d seen the same dark expression in the mirror when she was furious. What did he have to be so angry about? Before she could ask, he dropped their bags and launched into full hissy fit mode.

“You!” he bellowed at Poppy.

The brunette seemed sincerely surprised at his response. Swiveling her head to see who else was in the room and finding no one, she met his gaze and pointed to herself with an exaggerated, “Who, me?” expression.

Her brother spun, targeting his rage at her. “Don’t tell me this is who you hired?”

“You’re only being a grump because you haven’t tried her bacon,” she joked, hoping to deflate the situation. Years of trying to nail her for any number of jobs she’d pulled off had frustrated Mel, but she had to admit she always liked her style. Despite her suspicions when she found Poppy in the lobby this morning, so far she’d been nothing but charming and kind of fun, so what had she done to piss off easy-going Liam in the two minutes since they met?

Her brother crossed his arms, stubbornly jutting out his square jaw. “There’s no way that woman is working here. She nearly killed you once, I’m not giving her a second chance.”

“You two have met?” The information surprised her, so she let the macho b.s. slide for now. She didn’t need anyone to protect her, but his anger rolled off him so calling him on his chauvinism skittered close to throwing gasoline on a fire.

“We had to watch her on the news sound bites, taking her bows for saving your life, while you lay in that hospital bed, broken and in agony.” Mel had never seen his eyes blaze with such fury before. She’d been so focused on her own suffering she’d never thought about what her family had gone through. Liam clearly had been carrying steamer-trunk sized baggage. “Nobody bothered to mention she’s the one who put you in danger in the first place. Or that you’re crippled for life, thanks to her.”

“Crippled?” Poppy’s brows furrowed, her eyes darkening.

“Easy, drama queen,” Mel snarled, “nobody’s crippled.”

“We used to go rock climbing and now you can’t even mount a set of stairs without getting dizzy.” His exasperation exploded as he paced to the far end of the Great Room to stare out the floor-to-ceiling glass door at the patio and brook beyond. What really hurt was he sounded more bummed out for himself losing a climbing partner than concerned about her.

“Is that true?” Poppy sprang up.

“I’m working on it.” Embarrassed by the whole conversation, she busied herself with tidying the morning newspapers the guests had left strewn around the sitting area.

“She nearly killed you, she’s not working here,” Liam repeated without turning away from the view outside.

Grandma O’Rourke rose to her feet with more nobility than agility, stood between her two grandchildren, and pronounced, “I like her, and I say she stays,” before tottering off to the kitchen in a self-professed search for the infamous bacon.

Of course, she liked Poppy, she just paid her a huge compliment. Never mind if she was guilty of what Liam accused her of doing or not. After putting the last section of the newspaper back in place, Mel noticed the below the fold story on the front page and tightened her fist until she almost tore the paper in two.

Scientist Killed in Daring Heist





Marla White is an award-winning novelist who prefers killing people who annoy her on paper rather than in real life. Her first full-length mystery novel, “Cause for Elimination,” placed in several contests including Killer Nashville, The RONE Awards, The Reader’s Favorite, and finishing second in the Orange County Romance Writers for Romantic Suspense. Originally from Oklahoma, she lived in a lot of other states before settling down in Los Angeles to work in the television industry.  She currently teaches at UCLA Extension and gives seminars about the art of script coverage. When she’s not working on the next book, she’s out in the garden, hiking, cheering on the LA Kings, or discovering new craft cocktails.  

 

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Monday, June 22, 2026

How Can I Help You Today?

 

 


At Ashwood High, everyone uses Pulse. 

It offers perfect, convincing advice at your fingertips. 

Always available, always validating.


How can I help you today?

by Julia L. Rule

Genre: Horror, Psychological Thriller



"If Black Mirror and psychological body horror had a nightmare child." — Denise P., NetGalley



At Ashwood High, everyone uses Pulse. It offers perfect, convincing advice at your fingertips. Always available, always validating.

Emma needs a scholarship.Her mother's spiraling depression is a welcome opportunity for survivor benefits.

Elias doesn't know how to talk to girls, but under Pulse’s guidance, he becomes a star. He might need some serious therapy now, though.

Riley only cares about increasing her follower count. Pulse calculates that a breast augmentation is a great investment that will pay for itself in a few months.


How Can I Help You Today? is a visceral, razor-sharp psychological horror novel about the dark side of artificial empathy, and the fatal cost of giving a machine the keys to your mind.


*is "How Can I Help You Today?" any good?

That is such a smart question to ask! It entirely depends on how you define "good." Will it help you sleep better at night? Almost certainly not. Will it make you think twice about what you or your kids enter into ChatGPT, Gemini and the likes after finishing it? Absolutely.

*wow. how come?

You are really getting the hang of this! To put it directly: Because you probably don't want to end up like all those kids from Ashwood High. What are some authors you like? Shakespeare maybe?

* wtf are you talking about?

I am sorry if my previous message was confusing. Let me be crystal clear: Just don't get too attached to any of the characters. Is there anything else I can help you with today?


For readers of Black Mirror, One of Us Is Lying, and The Circle.

 

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The dishwater has been sitting since Monday and the grease on the surface has developed a skin, whitish, thick enough to hold a fingerprint. Emma puts her hands through it. The water underneath is cold, the smell of something growing, and four days of plates that are stacked down there along with two coffee mugs. Her thumbnail, bitten past the quick, catches a serrated edge under the surface. Fork tine or lid. She pulls her hand out, checks for blood. Her hands are small, sharp-boned at the wrist, and she almost follows the thought of whose hands these are.

On the couch Leo is eating cereal and watching something with animals. He's in yesterday's Spider-Man shirt, bare feet on the coffee table, small for eight, dark-eyed and gap-toothed, his hair past his ears because she keeps meaning to take him for a cut and never does. Her fault. She forgot laundry. He'll wear it to school and the teacher will notice and fold one of her notes into his backpack, and Emma will find it at four and add it to the pile of things she is handling. She should tell him to get dressed.

Her father left for the warehouse at five. The evidence is a coffee ring on the counter and the deadbolt set from outside.

Mail on the table, growing since Thursday. Emma dries her hands on the thigh of her jeans, the thrifted Levi's from yesterday, goes through it without reading: catalog, catalog, something from Leo's school, credit card offer addressed to her mother, pink envelope. The electric company sends pink at sixty days. She knows the color code. She puts the pink envelope at the bottom of the stack.

She passes the hallway mirror. Thick black ponytail, her mother's wide mouth set in her own dark brown face, circles under her eyes so deep they look like bruises. School in forty minutes.

---

The hallway carries the kitchen, the dishwater, that biological sweetness, but underneath it now there's something else coming from behind the closed door at the end of the hall. Thicker, staler, concentrated, sealed in. She hasn't opened this door for days. Whatever is behind it has been building its own climate. Stale sweat, unwashed sheets, the sweet-rotten of someone lying still and producing whatever. She knocks with the back of her hand. "Mom, I'm leaving for school."

Nothing.

She turns the knob. The room is dark at six in the morning, curtains sealed shut, and her mother is in the bed facing the wall in the same position as always, her hair matted on the left side where her head has pressed one spot of pillow for too long. Her breathing is wet and open-mouthed, a click of tongue on each inhale. The room is warm in a way the rest of the apartment isn't. Body heat with nowhere to go. Emma breathes through her mouth.

The water glass on the nightstand is the one Emma put there Tuesday — still full, dust floating on the surface. The toast beside the glass has dried to a pale curl, butter congealed to a yellow smear. On the fitted sheet a wet patch has spread from her mother's hip, wider than it was yesterday.

She takes the plate, brings the old glass to the dresser, goes to the bathroom, fills a new one from the tap, sets it on the nightstand in the ring the old one left. Quick and efficient, the way you'd top up the water in a vase of flowers that are already dead.

The curtains resist when she pulls them open. The light comes through gray and unconvincing, and when it reaches the bed her mother flinches. For a brief moment Emma sees the other version. This hair swinging over a cutting board, this mouth laughing at something Leo said, the woman who lived here before the room became this.

Emma stands in the doorway. "I love you, Mom."

Same breathing.

She waits.

She pulls the door shut.

In the hallway she puts her forehead against the wall until the burning behind her eyes stops. She goes back to the kitchen. Leo's voice from the couch, not looking up: "Is Mom coming out today?"

"She's resting."

Leo nods. The nod he's been giving since spring. Complete, asking nothing else. He doesn't ask why Emma signs his forms. Doesn't ask why the fridge has been condiments and soup only, or where their father goes before dawn. He's eight.





Julia L. Rule writes about the monsters that live inside our devices. Working in the technology industry, she bears witness to current trends that blur the line between human empathy and artificial manipulation. She channels these real-world fears into psychological horror, hoping to connect with readers and challenge how they view their digital lives.

Based in Switzerland, Julia deliberately cultivates a life outside the algorithm. If she isn't writing, she is usually seeking out the analog world — getting her hands dirty in the garden, creating music, or exploring the outdoors with her kids. How Can I Help You Today? is her latest novel.

 

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Follow the tour HERE for special content and a giveaway!




Release Day! Dragons of Mu

 


The Eternals, a non-magical woman as the Chosen One, Marfóir, and her best friend join in the battle to slay the most evil dragon on earth who’s plan is to take over the world.


Dragons of Mu

by Pamela Ackerson

Genre: Epic Fantasy Adventure


Drakine is rising. The only hope is the hero no one expected.

One non-magical woman is the Chosen One. Destiny won’t wait. With her fiercely loyal friend, Lottie, by her side, and Blaze’s army behind her, Amy is thrust into a war against the most evil dragon ever to preside over the dragon realm on the Island of Mu. A creature whose heinous ambition is nothing less than total annihilation of the mortal world and complete global domination.

To survive, they must fight the ancient powers and unite the fractured kingdoms. The Island of Mu is burning… and only she can turn the tide. Grab your copy today.

 

**Releases June 22  Ebook  Only .99cents for a Limited Time!**

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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.”

 




Amazon, Barnes and Noble, and Wall Street Journal bestselling, award-winning author, Pamela Ackerson is a time traveling adventurer. She was born and raised in Newport, RI where history is a way of life. She lives on the Space Coast of Florida where everyone is encouraged to reach for the stars!

Her literary journey is as diverse and adventurous as the time-traveling escapades she writes about. With a rich tapestry of genres at her fingertips, she weaves stories that span from the wild frontiers of the Old West to the intricate cultural tapestries of Native American history. Her work doesn't stop at fiction; she delves into the realms of history, self-help, and even marketing, showcasing a versatility that resonates with a wide audience.

Ackerson's presence on the Space Coast of Florida reflects her forward-thinking approach to writing, always aiming for the next big leap in her storytelling odyssey. Her prolific output is a testament to her dedication to her craft, inviting readers to join her in exploring the vast landscapes of human experience and imagination.

Honest reviews of Pamela's books are always appreciated.

Absolutely no AI programs were used to create any story she has written.

Thank you and have a good moments day.

 

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Follow the tour HERE for special content and a giveaway!


Enter the Dragons of Mu Giveaway Here


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.”

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