The Working Title crew bring you the exclusive opportunity to enjoy more wisdom from the mysteriously enigmatic Madam Pendulica… You can listen to this on YouTube too.

Aries.

Aries needs a lot of cold fresh air to keep that prodigious brain and fiery temperament under control. Always live in a house with large opening windows and air conditioning.

Ideal Location

Halfway up a mountain preferably in the Andes, Alps or Appalachians.

Taurus.

Taureans dislike change and usually die in the same town – often the same house – where they were born.

Ideal Location

The Bull should avoid Spain for obvious reasons. If you can persuade one to move, try to make it somewhere the architecture has preservation orders on it.

Gemini.

Gemini is always in two minds about the best place to live. Their Mercurial natures are never satisfied with where they are and seek to move frequently to somewhere completely different.

Ideal Location

There is no such thing for a Gemini. I suggest having a home base in a large and populous city and several time-share holiday homes in many and varied environments around the globe.

Cancer.

Home loving Cancer carries their home with them wherever they go. It is Cancer who will tell you that home is a state of mind, not a place. Which only goes to show they are not the brightest bunch in the astrological bouquet.

Ideal Location

An island suits the crab.

Leo.

The lion needs sunshine and lots of it. Be sure to decorate your lair with primary shades and plenty of bright foliage. A large hearth for the winter is essential.

Ideal Location

Africa. Where else would you expect?

Virgo.

You can tell you have walked into the home of a Virgo because everything is in its place and there is a place for everything.  Spouses and children quickly learn where their place is and take care not to leave it – ever.

Ideal Location

An ultra-modern minimalist tower-block just about anywhere.

Libra.

Librans seek balance in all aspects of their life, so their homes will be both practical and creative, clean and messy, well-maintained and falling to pieces. Do check the furniture before you sit on it.

Ideal Location

Belgium

Scorpio.

Scorpians are children of the desert. Therefore they require sun and sand in equal measure. If those are lacking a house themed on the orange-through-yellow aspect of the spectrum might suffice – and access to a large bucket and spade.

Ideal Location

Scorpios are suckers for the exotic so their desert climate needs to come with romance attached. Marrakesh or Samarkand spring to mind.

Sagittarius.

The horse needs to run and wide open spaces are essential for Sagitarrian well being. Single-floor dwelling is best, hooves don’t so so well with stairs, so keep with a bungalow or a ground floor apartment.

Ideal Location

Somewhere in the middle of the Great Plains – North Dakota looks ideal. Failing that Cambridge.

Capricorn.

The goat has to have hills and high ground. Buy that house at the end of a precipitous, narrow, driveway or the one accessed only by five flights of steep stairs from the street and Capricorn is in heaven

Ideal Location

The very top of a mountain is best. If you can’t manage that, try Switzerland or Nepal.

Aquarius.

Aquarians need psychedelic decor, floor cushions and beanbags. They will probably have their walls plastered with posters of strange astrological symbols and views of sacred sites.

Ideal Location

Glastonbury or somewhere in Wiltshire not too far from Stonehenge.

Pisces.

A fish needs to swim. Wherever a Pisces might make home it must include a pool – or failing that a large bathtub.

Ideal Location

A beach hut.

Madame Pendulica predicts she will return…

It was getting towards spring and the gnomes watched with mild interest as the biggers came out of the brick place and started their annual frantic scrabble in the soil.

“Why’d they do that stuff?” Camille was watching a female bigger on her hands and knees in a puddle poking what looked like flower bulbs into holes is the cold sodden earth.

“Do what?”

“Kill flowers. I mean, surely they know Mother is still cold and dormant. And that female is planting them bulbs downside up.”

Bertha looked over her spectacles. “It’s a bigger Camille, they truly don’t know nothing.”

©️jj 2021

When Rafe came into the bedchamber he was wrapped in a fur-trimmed robe, but his feet were bare. I couldn’t help noticing how finely boned those feet were, which gave me a prickling feeling in the pit of my stomach. He looked at me, as I sat up on the pillows with my hair spread over my shoulders and chest.
‘I usually sleep naked’ he said ‘but I’ll find a nightshirt somewhere.’
He started digging about in a chest in the corner. I found my voice.
‘No need.’
He spun round.
‘What do you mean?’
I smiled at him. ‘I know you are a patient man, but I’m discovering I’m not a patient woman.’
He was at the bedside in two strides.
‘Rosamunde. Are you sure?’
‘No. But I need to find out.’
I held up my arms and my hair fell away revealing my bare skin underneath. I heard Rafe catch his breath, and for some reason that made me feel a lot braver.
‘Take that robe off, and let us see where we go’ I whispered.
He drew off his robe and climbed in beside me, affording me a glimpse of his hard, lean body before he pulled the covers over us both. Leaning on one elbow he looked down at me.
‘The amazing thing about you, rose of the world, is that you have no idea how beautiful you are. Remind me to show you later.’
He kissed me, gently at first, then the kiss grew deeper and darker, and I found it intoxicating in its intensity. Rafe lifted his head.
‘I’ll try to go slow’ he said ‘but I don’t know if I can manage it. However, I will stop any time you say so – if it kills me.’
We didn’t stop, and I learned that a man can be just as tender as a woman – until he isn’t. But by the time he wasn’t I didn’t need tenderness and my body rose to meet his thrusting hips with an eagerness of its own.
Later, as I lay sprawled across him, with my hair cloaking us both, he stroked my back fondly. The feeling of his calloused fingertips on my skin made me shiver. I wriggled closer.
‘Again?’ he asked with a laugh in his voice.
I found myself laughing too as, greatly daring, I explored every inch of his skin with my hands and my mouth. It gave me so much pleasure to have him groan and tremble under my hands as I had moaned and trembled under his. A voice in my head seemed to sing for joy, and I straddled his body laughing down at him.
‘Rafe Wolflord’ I said ‘I think I love you.’
He gave a great shout of delight before tumbling me on my back and demonstrating his own passion with commendable skill.

It must have been nearly morning, when he crawled out from under the furs and threw a great many logs on the fire. He also lit all the lamps in the room before hurrying out.
‘One minute’ he called over his shoulder.
I thought he must have been heading for the necessary room, but he was back in an instant dragging a tall, wheeled piece of furniture covered in a linen tablecloth behind him. He placed it by the fire then beckoned me to join him. Curious, but obedient, I climbed out of my nest of linen sheets and soft furs. When I reached his side he grasped my left hand in his own right, then used the other hand to sweep the tablecloth off the thing that stood in front of us.
It was a mirror, and in its polished face I saw myself for the first time. Rafe and I were reflected side-by-side and mother naked. For a long moment I was bereft of speech. My beautiful man stood sword straight next to a slender black-haired woman whose head just reached his shoulder. As far as I could see she had curves in approximately the right places, although her body lacked the ripe beauty of Ildara’s. Her hair was long and inky black, curling to her waist, and her face seemed to me to be just a face. I stepped closer to examine it. I put my finger on the mirror.
Eyes, nose, mouth, chin’ I said as I touched the reflection of each. ‘All present. But I really don’t see what the fuss was about. It’s just a face.’
Rafe threw his head back and laughed delightedly.
‘You are not going to become vain, then. But trust me, it’s far more than just a face. For starters it’s your face, which makes it special to me. And for a clincher it is the loveliest face I have ever seen. A man could drown in those eyes you were so dismissive about, and that mouth…’ He bent to take possession of my mouth with his own. ‘Oh, that mouth’ he murmured, before sweeping me off my feet and carrying me back to bed.

From The Barefoot Runners by Jane Jago

Writing inspired by the art of Ian Bristow

Here I set my heart within your hands
Here I swore my soul unto your lands
Here I took my first breath as a fae
Here I lived until your dying day
Here I bore the child you’ll never see
Here I lit the flame to set you free
Here I kneel and weep my final tear
Here I lay a rose for you…
Here…

E.M. Swift-Hook

Ian is an awesome artist and cover designer, you can find his work at Bristow Design or watch him in action creating this piece on ART with IAN

“This is a terrible shock to us all, I don’t know how it could be. They were fine when they arrived early evening, ate quietly – the men here and the lady upstairs in her room. It is not anything we have had happen here before and I can’t imagine how it could be. This is so very, deeply disturbing.”
Dai nodded along sympathetically and brought the topic to the point.
“So they came in last night, rooms were pre-booked in the name of,” he checked the entry in the book – handwritten. “Deliciae Parnassa Devotius?” The man nodded. “Yes. She came all cloaked and hooded. Could barely see her face beneath the fur.”
“And her escort were Roman – are you sure?”
“As sure as I can be. They spoke like it and they both wore one of those.” He gestured to the broad silver ring of citizenship on Dai’s index finger. “They ate their food and went up to their room soon after.”
“Did they say or do anything you recall whilst they ate?”
Aderyn frowned and shook his head.
“Not aside what you might expect – the weather, having to travel at Saturnalia – that kind of thing.”
“Anything about their employer?”
“Not a word as I heard. I can ask the staff of course, or you can.”
“Did they talk to anyone else? Any other guests?”
“Well, it being Saturnalia and all they were the only guests. Most of our trade comes from those who have business at one of the medical or care facilities on Ynis Mon. Romans don’t like to stay there overnight and we make a good stop-over before they run back to Londinium. But trade has not been so good lately, what with the latest economic downturn and -”
Dai cut across him.
“Did they talk to any locals?”
The old man shook his head again, a worried frown on his face.
“Not that I know. You lot are going to pin it on me though, aren’t you? Just like the last Submagistratus did over the contraband they they found in the cellar of The Fox and Radish. You don’t care who gets the blame long as someone can be tried for it. They took Geddy Haps and had her executed for it within the week. And she was as innocent as they come.” His voice was rising in pitch as he spoke and some heads turned from the game towards them.
“Won’t happen,” Dai said in the brief space when Aderyn paused to draw breath. “The man you speak of is himself disgraced and dead. There will be no miscarriage of justice on my watch. You have my word.”
“The word of a Roman?”
“The word of a Llewellyn – and a citizen.”
The old man reacted to his name, which was not so surprising. The family was very well known throughout Cornovii and beyond.
“A Llewellyn you say? And a citizen? How can that have happened?”
“When this is all dealt with I will happily come back, sit by your welcoming hearth and buy us a jug of your finest ale to share as I tell you the tale of it. But for now I need your honesty – so we can find who did this and what has happened.”
Aderyn met his gaze in silence for a moment then nodded.
“Of course. My apologies, dominus, I – I -”
“You were overwrought,” Dai provided and rested his hand briefly on the old man’s shoulder.
“Bard?” Bryn’s voice came from the direction of the stairs up. “You need to see this.”
“Excuse me a moment,” Dai patted Aderyn’s arm and got up. Bryn was waiting for him at the top of the stairs. “What you got?”
Bryn directed him along the passageway and into a room with closed green and grey embroidered curtains, sewn-on deer leaping through stitched-in leaves. The two men looked asleep – or would have if their skin had not been such an unhealthy shade. Peering at one, Dai asked; “Poison?” Then he looked at the other and felt the blood drain from his own face. “I know this man he is -”
“In the employ of Lucius Ambrosius Caudinus,” Bryn finished for him “He’s one of the Magistratus’ guards. Just got the ID confirmation. I wanted your permission to ask the Magistratus what his man was doing out here last night.”
Dai held up hand, his mind racing.
“These are Caudinus’ own people – ex-military that he hires for his non-official needs. They were travelling with a lady.”
Bryn’s expression shifted as he followed the logic.
“Then the lady was -”
But Dai was already running down the steps two at a time, pulling up a picture of the last family gathering he had attended with Caudinus on his wristphone as he went.

From Dying as a Druid by E.M. Swift-Hook and Jane Jago

When the priest placed her hand in her new husband’s she knew that this marriage was no more to his liking than her own.

He took her arm gently, and led her from the place. They walked in silence to the top of the sunlit winter pasture. He bent and took off his shoes, before kneeling to do the same for her.

“Shall we run?”

She picked up her skirts, and as her feet crushed the soft grass she felt a jolt of something so piercing and sweet that her heart leapt.

“There is joy in small things,” he laughed. 

©️jj 2021

Eritch Dragure was a large man in all dimensions. He stood by the corner bar which held real bottles, not a standard dispenser, pouring a small amount from one of the bottles into a delicate and decorative glass. As Avilon came into the room he lifted the glass towards him in a silent toast and then sank the contents in a single swallow and put it down.
“Ah. The simple pleasures, eh? I’d offer you one but it’d be a waste of a fine liqueur. I doubt you have the palate to appreciate it, son,” he said, his tone distinctly patronising. “So Vitos Ketzel, does your mistress know you are here?”
“No,” Avilon replied honestly.
“She not paying you enough? Or is your nose out of joint because you let Jaz Baldrik take your job? He’s quite bright is Jaz, knows how to land on his feet and then wedge them right under the table. That must bite.”
Avilon said nothing.
“Or am I just one of the options you are looking at? Your name has been linked with Durban Chola too. Now that is a very, very dangerous name to be linked with, son. I hope it is nothing permanent for your sake.”
“I have some dealings with him. I don’t work for him.”
Dragure nodded.
“I understand, I’m a man of business too. Which brings me to the simple question of why you are here.” He held up his hand. “No. Don’t tell me yet. I want to show you something. Give me your jacket.”
It seemed a strange request. Avilon shrugged the garment from his shoulders and handed it over. Dragure made a slight gesture towards one of the near-invisible crystal-plex walls which slid open, onto the lake.
“We keep the water here well stocked with fish,” he said and dropped the jacket. There came a frenzy of movement and the water churned. A few moments later there were shreds of fabric floating on the surface. “People have been known to just disappear,” Dragure observed in a pleasant tone of voice, then he closed the wall and turned back to Avilon. “So, you were about to tell me, why are you here?”

From Haruspex: Trust A Few a Fortune’s Fools book by E.M. Swift-Hook 

Writing inspired by the art of Ian Bristow

George was a gentle creature, slow moving even for one of his kind and deliberate of thought and speech.
When Mabel was introduced to the group, all the males hustled around her puffing out their cheeks and making their most macho grunting noises.
She ignored them, choosing instead to come and munch some fresh greens at George’s side.
When Alfred attempted to mount her she flipped him over onto his back and continued munching.
“A girl likes to be asked,” she said quietly.
It was many days before George did ask, shyly.
Mabel nodded, and they tended the eggs together.

 Jane Jago

Ian is an awesome artist and cover designer, you can find his work at Bristow Design or watch him in action on ART with IAN

“What’s an independent woman to do in a world where marrying means losing everything?”
Helena, who inherits Redway Acres stable from her grandfather, in Redway Acres – Helena (Book 1) by Trish Butler, faces the pressure to marry from those around her, her grandfather’s wishes and the local community. However, in 1813 when the main story starts, the law states “by marriage, the husband and wife are one person in law: that is, the very being or legal existence of the woman is suspended during the marriage.”
What can Helena do when she meets Colonel Nathaniel Ackley, who is determined to prove he is worthy of her love?

Helena visited the Eastease estate for a dinner. There she met Colonel Nathaniel Ackley. His father, the Earl of Aysthill, attempted to get into her bedroom that night but was stopped by the colonel who then slept in the corridor outside to be sure his father didn’t return…
Bright morning sunbeams slanted through the open curtains in Helena’s room, awakening her from a light sleep. She had roused off and on during her few, short hours of slumber. Again, she had dreamt of Colonel Ackley kissing her, waking with a throbbing and frustration through her body as she had never known before.
Tiredness, coupled with this frustration, brought her anger to the fore, and many ideas went through her mind as she dressed. She sat in front of the mirror, loosely pinning up her hair, discussing the matter with her reflection.
“What right does Colonel Ackley have to make me feel this way?” she asked, her hands in her hair and pins in her teeth.
Her reflection smiled as she removed the pins to speak. “None. None whatsoever. But Grandfather did say you should find someone to help run Redway.”
“I do not need a man in my life. I manage Redway well enough without one, thank you,” she chided.
The Helena in the mirror sighed. “You could manage even better with one. Why not this man when you find him so appealing? You simply do not wish to marry and give up your independence.”
“Why are you talking of marriage? I do not know the first thing about him,” she argued with herself.
Her reflection counted on her fingers. “He is handsome, certainly, and charming, gallant and honourable. He is also thoughtful and handsome.”
Pointing a hairpin towards the mirror, she admonished, “You already said handsome. Well, it will not do. I will leave this house and not return until the entire Ackley family has left. He will probably die in France fighting Bonaparte, and then I will never have to see him again.”
With a gasp, she clamped her hand over her mouth and stared wide-eyed, mortified with herself. Her tired, glassy eyes filled with tears as her reflection shook her head.
“That is shameful. Poor Harriet already lost her stepfather to war. She would be distraught if the same happened to her cousin.”
With a last abashed look into the mirror, Helena picked up her bonnet, leaving her things for the maid to pack and send back with Issie. Cautiously, she opened the door.
Colonel Ackley lay on the couch. His eyes were closed, and he hugged the bunched coverlet tight to his chest, which she thought odd, as more warmth would have been gained had he draped it over himself. Helena contemplated not waking him, but it would not do for a servant to find him thus. She imagined the colonel had spent a miserable night on that uncomfortable couch, and guilt felt heavy in her belly.
“Colonel Ackley,” she said softly, then a bit louder, “Colonel.”
“What the blazes!” he almost shouted it, and her hand came down over his mouth in reflex to stop him waking Harriet in the next room. Horrified that she should do such a thing, she quickly took her hand away.
“Sorry,” she whispered, “but you were loud. I wanted to let you know you can go back to your rooms before the servants come, and also to say thank you.” With that, she hurried down the hall and did not dare to look back at him.

A Bite of… Trish Butler

How much of you is in your characters?

The heroine of my first Redway Acres novel, Helena, I call my alter-ego. She is the me I imagine myself to be. Confident, headstrong, kind and generous. She speaks her mind, particularly when defending someone she feels has been wronged. She will stand up to the Earl of Aysthill (Nathaniel’s father) or the local clergyman Eliot Brooks. Defending and caring for horses seems to be what gets her into the most trouble.

Is there one of your books of which you are more proud than the others? If so, which and why?

I’m most proud of my first book in my mystery series. It’s called Ctrl+Alt+Deleted. Mysteries are my favourite genre, so writing one was something I was not sure I could do and be happy with. The fact that so many people have told me they did not guess the culprit until very close to the end gives me the warm and fuzzies!

Who was the first musician/singer to make an impact on your life? And can you remember the song?

Annie Lennox. What an amazing voice and woman. I’d feel very intimidated if I ever met her. Sweet Dreams of course is The Eurythmics most iconic song. However, her song Pavement Cracks means the most to me now as my daughter loves it too and we sing it in the car together.

Similarly, can you recall the first book that grabbed you by the gonads and shook your world?

“I is for Innocent” by Sue Grafton, and it’s not because I thought A through H were bad! Tampax had an offer going on back in the 80s. You could collect the tokens from their boxes and send off for a book. This is the one I got.

Sue Grafton got me into mysteries and also, without me knowing it at the time, the strong female lead. Kinsey Millhone was the average, yet brilliant, independent, ass-kicking, murder-solving PI of Grafton’s alphabet series written back when it wasn’t ‘the popular thing’. Millhone was like a dog with a bone—sunk her teeth in and didn’t let go.

Trish Butler is the author of the Historical Fiction saga, Redway Acres, and a contemporary detective series based in the fictional New Jersey town of Rockmond.
Born in Norwich, in the county of Norfolk, England, Trish moved to Connecticut in the US, in 1999. Her daughter was born there two years later.
Currently, Trish works as Communications Director for Connecticut Family Support Network (CTFSN) a non-profit organisation that helps families with children with special needs. Trish’s daughter is on the autism spectrum.
Redway Acres, which Trish calls Pride & Prejudice with horses and a healthy dollop of feminism, is set during the early 1800s in Lincolnshire, Cambridgeshire and Norfolk, UK, an area that she knows well. Over the past nearly twenty years, Trish has got to know the tri-state area well too, and hopefully enough American English terms to make her contemporary mystery book sound authentic.
Trish always wanted to write a book and at age fifty, finally realised that dream. She now has six in the Redway series, and so far, one book has been published of her Rockmond PD Mysteries. Late in 2020 the first in a companion series for Redway Acres was published.
You can catch up with Trish on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, Goodreads, Pinterest, Bookbub or read her blog on how Redway Acres began and her character, The Road to Redway, on her website.

It’s difficult to be afraid when your mind and body have been so augmented that you can no longer feel pain, and although Figgis was outnumbered he crawled into a scrape in the ground beneath his enemies’ transport. 

Whistling soundlessly, he attached one of the limpet mines from his belt then snake-wriggled onto the shelter of the one stubby tree the oasis boasted.

Another entity might have felt a stirring of pity when the slavers herded the children into their transpo just before it exploded.

But it’s difficult to be human when your emotions have been scientifically scraped away…

©️jj 2021