Biding Time – The Chestnut Covin by E. W. Barnes is the first title in a time-travel action-adventure series.

The book hit the wood floor hard, echoing off the walls of the empty house like gunfire. Her back to the bookcases, Sharon jumped and twisted to eye the offending tome behind her.
It had landed next to her checklist of packing tasks. The first in a series about World War II by Winston Churchill, the other volumes were teetering on the bookcase shelf, preparing to follow their compatriot to the floor.
“You guys want to be packed next, huh?” Her voice was loud in the bare room.
When the six books were sitting side-by-side in the box with the others she’d already packed, she wadded newspaper on top and taped the box shut. Then she pushed it against the wall where it joined a neat row of nine other identical boxes. 
She faced the half-filled bookcases dominating the room, brushing strands of hair away from her face.
While her grandparents and family called the room “the library,” it was a re-purposed front bedroom with a bay window facing the street that offered a light for reading most of the day. 
Chocolate brown craftsman style window frames and matching crown molding, along with dark beams across the ceiling, created the “library” feel of the room, and the bookcases set the tone. They had always been the focal point and, no longer sharing the room with any other furniture, they were a monumental presence.
They were the last vestige of her grandparents’ lives in the house, and a reminder of what she had lost.
She frowned at the bookcases. She had not decided if she should keep or leave them. Her first choice was to keep them, but she wasn’t sure they would fit in her small apartment. 
I bet Grandfather mounted them to the wall in case of earthquakes, too, she thought as she gave one a little shove.
The bookcase moved.
Even almost empty of books, the bookcase was a huge piece of furniture made of solid hardwood. It should not have moved.
She pushed it again. Again, it moved.
Holding her breath, with both hands she pulled.
Almost noiselessly the bookcase swung away from the wall like a door. It stopped when it reached a half-full box.
Gaping at the bookcase, she almost missed the small door in the wall. There was no handle, only seams giving away its existence.
After assuring that the bookcase would not swing back, she got on her knees, running her hands along the outlines of the small door, her imagination racing.
Like a door from “Alice in Wonderland.”
Don’t be silly, it is probably a crawlspace for the furnace system or something.
Without a handle, there was no obvious way to open it. She scanned the seams closely and then saw the answer.
There was a spot next to one side, more worn than the surrounding area. She pressed a finger on the spot, and the door popped open.
Backing up as far as she could while still being able to see in, she shined the light into the darkness and saw she was partially right.
It was a crawlspace. But it was not for the furnace system.

Biding Time – The Chestnut Covin Temporal Protection Corps Series Book 1 was released on June 18 and the second book in the series, Borrowed Time – The Force Majeure on July 26.

A Bite of… E. W. Barnes

Q1: Why do you write?

Because “it’s about time.” This is more than a reference to writing a time travel series, it’s a reflection on coming full circle after putting aside deeply embarrassing Star Wars fan fiction, tapped out in the depths of time on a Royal typewriter with a sticky backspace key. 

Making money at it is a worthy reason, too.

Q2: Which is worse, ignorance or stupidity?

Hypocrisy, which is a combination of both.

Q3: What time of day do you write best?

I’m a morning person and tend to get a lot done in the early hours, which is why I’ve been stunned to learn that my best time of day to write is the afternoon and evening. I don’t know whether it’s because I am more relaxed once my other daily tasks are complete, or whether I can more easily access my creative side when my energy is lower.

E. W. Barnes is an adult human with a family and a hyper dog, nicknamed “Princess” for many of the reasons you can imagine. They live together in relative harmony in the Range of Light. You can sign up for a newsletter or stalk the author through Facebook, Goodreads or this website. 

 

 

 

 

 

The fight broke out with gleeful viciousness, filling the pub with mindless violence. Sounds of laboured breathing and breaking glass drowned out the juke box, and the already sticky floor swam with spilled beer and blood.  The skinny old woman huddled and tried to become invisible. One punch landed anyway, and as her head snapped back the sound of her neck breaking was loud enough to stop everyone in their tracks. By the time the police arrived the room was empty, save for the woman with her head at an unnatural angle  and the bored bartender sweeping up broken glass.

©jj 2018

Dying to be Roman by Jane Jago and E.M. Swift-Hook is a whodunit set in a modern day Britain where the Roman Empire still rules. If you missed previous episodes you can start reading from the beginning. You can listen to this on YouTube.

Dai flicked on the flashlight in his wristphone and led the way down the ramp into the tunnel. After a short time, he stopped and gestured Julia to keep still. From somewhere ahead of them he could hear a sound very like sobbing. Julia gripped his arm and pulled back shaking her head. Behind them four of Decimus praetorians in full combat gear emerged from the shadows and Julia pointed them along the tunnel.
Dai’s jaw tightened. He didn’t like being pushed aside – in this case both literally as well as figuratively. Yet another reminder that this was not his case. The feeling eased a moment later when Julia again pressed her nerve whip into his hand, drew her gun and followed in the wake of the praetorians. It felt odd to be holding a weapon, especially one that had such a powerful emotive pull on him and all non-Citizens. The last time he had not really had the chance to think about it as combat had been instant. But this time the smooth grip of the weapon meant something. Last time Julia had needed him to be armed for her protection, this time she was choosing to arm him so he could participate fully.
There was, of course, nothing to do once they got to the end of the tunnel. The praetorians had the room completely under control and one actually saluted Julia. Feeling suddenly self-conscious, Dai offered her the nerve whip as soon as the praetorian had turned away. She palmed it and winked at him. He realised then she could get in serious trouble for arming a non-Citizen, it was, in theory at least, a criminal offence.
The room reeked of stale urine, excrement and blood. Hanging on the walls, there were what Dai first assumed to be tools, but then he realised and felt ill. The result of their use could be seen in the state of the corpses, cloth still gagging their mouths so they could not scream out the agony they must have been put through.
There were two dead men in the room and Dai’s identipad revealed one was a Briton and one a Roman.
The Briton was Docca Vindiorix from Aqua Sulis in Britannia Prima. He was a young man and the brief details available on him said he had just been taken on with the Prima team for the Game, but had yet to make any kind of a name for himself. And now, Dai reflected soberly, he never would.
The Roman came up with some interesting caveats flagging his name and a number of messages that Dai’s ‘enquiry’ would be reported. Urbanus Hostilius Rufus was what Bryn would call ‘a bad boy’ and from the look of his contorted body he had come to a very bad end. Unable to access the full available information on him, Dai had to ask Julia to check for him.
She was helping the one survivor of whatever had been going on. A woman who, despite the terror and trauma of her position, was collected enough to explain she was Tegwen Drust, wife of the chief lion keeper. She knew her husband was dead, Dai had the impression she had been made to watch him die before he was fed to his own lions. But whoever had done the deed had been masked so she could not help identify them.
Julia arranged for Tegwen to be moved to security at the barracks then looked at what Dai wanted and managed to access the information on the dead Roman. 
“Well, it looks like there will be few tears and maybe even some cheers going up when news of Rufus being dead gets round.” She showed him the information stream the gist of which revealed he was well known for being involved in illegal gambling cartels and running under-age prostitution rackets. “Can’t see anyone weeping over this one.”
“Well someone might,” Dai said and pointed to one of the details. “He had a wife.”
Julia’s eyes widened.
“He had a wife who is from a Patrician family. How did a dirt-bag like Rufus manage that? She is Octavia Tullia Scaevia, and according to my information she lives here in Londinium. I think you should go and break the news to her right away, Dai.”
Dai balked for a moment then saw the expression on Julia’s face and nodded slowly.
“All right, I’ll go and tell her she is now a grieving widow.” He looked at the address and then back to Julia with a frown. “Coincidence?”
It was the block next door to the one they had been visiting that afternoon, where they had found the dead body belonging to Annia Belonia Flavia.
“I would be very surprised if it is. Do you want backup?”
Dai shook his head.
“I’ll take my decanus, that will look most natural.”
Julia nodded.
“I’ll go back with the praetorians and see if I can get the lion keeper’s wife to remember any more. I’ll see you when you get back.”

Jane Jago and E.M. Swift-Hook

jenny dunn lived in a pretty smart town
with an up so market prices go down
all year round in her little room
she used her smartphone to control

Friends on facebook (both far and wide)
cared for jenny dunn not at all
they liked her posts she played their games
time now to retweet again

children grew up with screens a few
and down went their health as up they grew
winters stopped more summers came
then the sun dried up the rain

one day jenny dunn died I guess
hard to know as her profile’s there
busy folk living their virtual life
don’t miss the woman who was ne’er a wife

Friends on facebook (both false and fake)
reaped their harvest ate their cake
came their going and died their death
earth gone nowt left…

e.m. swift-hook

From Dying to be Innocent the 9th Dai and Julia Mystery by Jane Jago and E.M. Swift-Hook, which you can now grab on pre-order. You can listen to this on YouTube.

The door slammed shut behind him and the solid sound of bolts shooting home followed, reinforcing the sense of finality. The room was a depressing dull grey from ceiling to floor. It was square with two beds, bunks, running the full length of one sidewall and essential facilities in the far corner. Zero privacy from either his cellmate or, through the door hatch, from the custodius. Above the door a vent the size of his fist was vibrating with an annoying humming-whine as it reluctantly circulated fresh air.
“Llewellyn? What did they drag you in here for? Sticking your nose too deep in someone else’s business?”
The voice was vaguely familiar, though Dai was slow to place it as the shaven head of the man sprawled on the lower bunk was not. His puzzlement must have shown because the man swung his legs over the side of the bunk and sat up.
“I don’t suppose you remember me. It was some months ago and I’m sure you’ve been a busy Submagistratus since then.”
“I’m sorry, but I really don’t…”
The other man laughed, which turned into a cough part way before he was able to speak again. “Gods! Politeness. Not heard a word of that since they locked me in here.” He pushed himself to his feet and straightened the green tunic, before offering a formal greeting. “Tertius Cloelius Rufus. It is an honour to share my captivity with you. A pleasure. You may recall we met in Viriconium before these unfortunate events.”
Dai found himself shaking the outheld hand as if they were at a social event or meeting, as his memory searched desperately for the name and face. When it came, he snatched his hand away and stepped back involuntarily.
“You were the cunnus of a medicus involved with a group holding vicious sex parties that led to the death of young streetgirls.”
“No need to use titles here,” the older man said brightly and then smiled at his own joke. “You can call me Rufus. It’ll make a change from seven-eight-one-one-two-six. It’s those little things you get to miss the most in this place. By the way, I hope you’re not hungry, you missed the evening meal. Nothing til tomorrow now.”
Dai felt a curl of cold revulsion in his guts.
“You disgust me.“
“Really?” Cloelius sounded unconcerned. “At least I’m not a traitor like you. That tends to evoke more outrage in our society at every level than any sexual adventures a man might embark on.”
“The difference is,” Dai snarled, unable to keep the contempt from his voice. “I am not guilty of the faked-up charges against me, but I know for a fact you are guilty as charged. I caught you red-handed, literally. And the blood of a good Vigiles was shed that night too.”
Cloelius sighed and sat back on his bunk. “Appearances can be very deceptive Llewellyn, and like it or not your guilt or innocence will be decided in a court of law not by whatever you might choose to say or believe.” He lay back as if reclining on a lectus. “You might discover that I am in fact the innocent one and you turn out to be guilty. Now that would be an interesting outcome, don’t you think?”
The chilling realisation that the corrupt medicus spoke the truth staggered Dai. The words leeched all strength from his muscles and he sank down to sit with his back against the cold grey wall.
“Why are you still here?” he demanded, when the moment of weakness had passed.
“What a strange question. It’s not as if I can just stroll along to the atrium or visit the baths, is it?”
Dai lifted a hand in protest. “You know what I mean. You must have been here for months. Yours was an open and shut case. I signed off all the evidence myself back in Martius. It only needed a hearing before an independent Magistratus to…”
“Sentence me to death?” Cloelius gave a rasping laugh. “You show yourself the true Briton, Llewellyn. There are people I’ve met who have been held here for the last ten years.”
Dia bridled at that.
“But it’s against the law. No Citizen can be deprived of his or her freedom. They are tried and if found guilty, sentenced either to death or whatever fine is due.”
“Ah, British logic,” Cloelius said, his tone shifting to that of a teacher explaining simple facts to a schoolboy. “Those I speak of are Citizens who stand accused of capital offenses and are awaiting their day in court. They all have powerful friends in Rome using every legal wrangle there is to keep them from coming to trial. Some of the crimes have to be prosecuted within a certain time limit, so if they can delay that day long enough they can walk free. Others are commuted by prolonged negotiation from death to a fine. Everyday is a barter day. But you worked here in Londinium as a Vigiles so you really should know that.”
It was true that he had heard the rumours so it was not really a surprise. But his day-to-day clientele at that time had been almost exclusively non-Citizen criminals.
“You have powerful friends?”
Cloelius hunched one shoulder in an exaggerated shrug. “Perhaps I do. Or powerful enough to keep me from trial so far. Don’t you? I am assuming you must do to have secured both Citizenship and a plum administrative appointment.” He leaned forward as if offering a confidence. “At the very least they might be able to have your Citizenship rescinded which would give you the chance of commuting your sentence to hard labour instead of the arena.”
That was something that had not occurred to Dai as a possibility before. It was true that committing any serious crime could lead to an application for the revocation of an awarded Citizenship – something given could be taken away. An option not open to those born with Citizenship status. But the kind of hard labour criminals were condemned to was brutalising.
“I don’t see that would be much better,” he said, hearing the bitterness in his own tone. “Just a slower way to die.”
“Perhaps. But at least, my British friend, you have options. Who knows? We may even grow old together in this cell.”

You can preorder Dying to be Innocent right now!

I bought a book today
And dived beneath its skirts
It took my mind away
And shook it till it hurt
It took my preconceptions
And turned them outside in
There was not one exception
It found out all my sins

Today I bought a book
With little expectation
My certainties it shook
And brought me complication
The words the author found
Expressed each small emotion
And brought my mind around
Heartbreak and devotion

I bought a book today
Wherein my soul left earth
There is no more to say
Except that books have worth

©️Jane Jago 2019

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.

Aries. 

Aries is the cuddliest of star signs, which makes its affinity to horror very surprising. The Arian reader will gravitate to children’s literature or hardcore scary. Nothing in between. 

Favourite Book

Silence of the Lambs by Thomas Harris. Creepiness and sheepiness 

Recommended bedtime story for your Aries child

Anything woolly and cuddly. Knitting patterns read slowly ensure peaceful rest. 

Taurus.

Taurean readers are stubbornly fond of maps. Give them an atlas or a big fat fantasy tome and they will be happy for hours.

Favourite Book

They would say Lord of the Rings by JRR Tolkien, although most of them won’t have bothered to read it all. Closer to the truth would be The Hobbit

Recommended bedtime story for your Taurus child

Print out a route from your home to John o’Groats and read it slowly turn by turn. 

Gemini.

The astrological twins are continue to be a conundrum wrapped in a question. They are fascinated by mystery and contradiction. Never offer a Gemini reader ‘happy ever after’: they don’t believe in it.

Favourite Book

The Fated Sky by E.M. Swift-Hook or, indeed, any of the Fortunes Fools oeuvre. The sheer complexity of the imagination keeps even the Gemini cynic rapt 

Recommended bedtime story for your Gemini child

Purchase a book of mathematical problems and read them out in your most soothing tones. Even Geminis will get so bored they nod off. 

Cancer.

Cancerian readers love a book that comes at them out of left field. They spit upon the ordinary or predictable. What they desire is shell-bursting and psychedelic prose that makes them want to scuttle away and hide. If they ever get to understand a book they abandon it forever.

Favourite Books

Under Milk Wood by Dylan Thomas, and Catch-22 by Joseph Heller, and the poetry of Rainer Maria Rilke

Recommended bedtime story for your Cancer child

Nonsense verse, or, failing that, a cookbook that is heavy on crab recipes. They may not sleep, but the little sods will be quiet.

Leo.

Lazy Leo likes an easy read. Nothing challenging is considered. Ever

Favourite Book

The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe by CS Lewis. Or any of the Narnia Chronicles. Leos do like to see themselves as the hero 

Recommended bedtime story for your Leo child

It doesn’t matter what you read. Just replace the hero’s name with the name of your small lion and (s)he will fall asleep with a beatific smile.

Virgo.

Virgo readers like tidiness in life – and in literature. For them a book must have a beginning, a middle, and a happy end. Bonuses are awarded for good use of punctuation.

Favourite Book

Anything by Miss Austen or  E.F. Benson’s Lucia series. A little waspishness helps every Virgo reader’s day

Recommended bedtime story for your Virgo child

Anything with a strongly moralistic viewpoint. If you can find a story where the annoyingly prim and creepy child comes out on top so much the better

Libra.

Libran readers like to be puzzled and to pit their wits against both the writer and the antagonist. They get very annoyed by slipshod grammar.

Favourite Book

The Hound of the Baskervilles by Arthur Conan Doyle or any of Agatha Christie’s Jane Marple stories.

Recommended bedtime story for your Libra child

Nothing too trendy or humorous. We recommend reading logic problems. Slowly

Scorpio.

Scorpio readers are intelligent, short-tempered and easily bored. A book has one page to catch the interest of a Scorpio or (s)he is not going to bother. They like complexity of plot and deep meaning to discern.

Favourite Books

His Dark Materials by Philip Pullman or Charlaine Harris’ Sookie Stackhouse stories. Sweeping fantasy always does it. That or sexy vampires 

Recommended bedtime story for your Scorpio child

Just read them whatever soft porn their father is currently into. They will feel special and slightly smug, and they might even go to sleep 

Sagittarius.

Sagittarian readers are hard to please, being intelligent, principled, and a tad dour. Do not expect a Sagittarius to read erotica with anything other than a moue of distaste. They do, however, like evil to get a good thrashing.

Favourite Books

The Redwall Chronicles by Brian Jacques

Recommended bedtime story for your Sagittarius child

The lives of saints and martyrs have the right moralistic and self-satisfied tone. Practice reading unemotionally

Capricorn.

Amiable, clever and organised. Capricorn tends not to read fiction. They like logic, explanation, and hard facts. And diagrams…

Favourite Books

Instruction manuals. Yes. Capricorn is the sign that reads the instructions first!

Recommended bedtime story for your Capricorn child

Do not ever read to Capricorn children. They are far too bright, and they are perfectionists. Be warned. Having your pronunciation corrected by a toddler is a chastening experience 

Aquarius.

Most Aquarian’s will tell you they are too busy to read. Then they will sneak off somewhere with a favourite book and be gone for hours. They like light reading, with defined characters. 

Favourite Book 

Three Men in a Boat by Jerome K Jerome or The Wind in the Willows by Kenneth Grahame. Or anything about water….

Recommended bedtime story for your Aquarius child

Purchase a copy of their business statistics from your local water company. They will be enthralled.

Pisces.

There are two kinds of Pisces readers. Those who like a nice light romance or warm children’s tales. And those who want psychological horror of the most harrowing description. We are looking at Lovecraft or Barbara Cartland. Often in the same person. Odd…

Favourite Book 

The complete HP Lovecraft or The Snow Queen by Hans Christian Anderson or Bolded Hearts by Jane Jago. Nothing between the two poles will do

Recommended bedtime story for your Pisces child

There is no perfect Pisces story. The best you can do is read from a random book, and if the child argues hit it with the book.

Madame Pendulica predicts she will return…

It was hot in the orchard, and everyone’s skin glistened with sweat. Those up the ladders had tree bark in their hair and stained fingers as they carefully picked the precious crop, while the basket carriers just sweated.

The klaxon sounded at five o’clock, when the picking crew got to share the contents of the last basket.

Peach juice stuck to Mattie’s fingers, and Dom’s tongue itched to taste the trickle of sweetness that ran down her smooth, brown throat.

She took another bite of sun-warmed peach flesh and licked her lips, while her eyes dared him to come closer.

©jj 2019

From The Cracksman Code by Jane Jago You can also listen to this on YouTube.

Sam scooped up child and oxygen cylinder.
“Okay Bill, we’re gonna run. Is that OK? I won’t drop you.”
William nodded, and Sam set off down the stairs as fast as he could safely go. Out of the door they went, and across the grass to the waiting helicopter. Sam ran as fast as he could, silently thanking God for all the hours he spent in the gym. As he reached the chopper, the door opened and he handed his burden into the arms of one of the waiting crewmen. He jumped into the machine, hearing gunfire behind him and felt something sting his shoulder.
“Bastards,” he said. “Anybody else hit?”
“Yeah. One.” Rod said.
“Bad?”
“No. Shoulder. Flesh wound.”
“Okay. I’ll have a look after we’ve settled Bill. You come sit with him and hold him so he’s sitting up. And chat to him. I don’t want him going back to sleep yet.”
“Right. I will. But what about you? Are you hit?”
“Sort of. Just a scrape across the biceps. I’ll spray it and shove a plaster on it.”
He suited action to words, before turning his gaze towards the boss of the jumpsuit men.
“Is there any problem with them shooting at the chopper?”
“Nah. It’s armoured. Even the glass. And they don’t seem to have any serious shooters. Mostly sawn offs, a couple of two-twos and a few handguns.”
“Good. I’ll look at your bloke’s shoulder as soon as. Can you get him out of his jumpsuit?”
“Will do.”
Sam turned his attention to the child in Rod’s lap. He grinned down at him and carefully removed the oxygen mask.
“How you doing Billy Boy?”
“I feel awfully sick.”
“I can give you an injection to stop that.”
He saw William’s involuntarily wince.
“What is it little man? Did they hurt you when they injected you with their drugs?”
“Yes. They hurt me a lot.”
Sam stroked his head.
“Well we won’t give you an injection then. I have some pills, though they won’t work quite as well.”
William studied his face for a moment.
“Will you hurt me if you give me an injection?”
“No. I promise I won’t.”
The little boy held his sleeve.
“Then you can give me a shot. I feel so very sick.”
“That’s a boy.”
Sam took a local anaesthetic spray from his bag and lifted the sleeve of William’s T-shirt. What he saw there made him tighten his mouth.
“That arm looks a bit sore. Is the other one the same?”
“Yes.”
Rod hugged the small figure very tightly and his face was stony. Sam managed a grin for William.
“Leg then?’
William nodded and Sam sprayed the small thigh liberally. Then he prepared the anti-nausea shot. Before William had a chance to flinch the injection was done.
The little boy was jubilant.
“I didn’t feel a thing.”
“Good. So will you trust me enough to let me give you a shot of antibiotics? You are very cold and you might have picked up a bug.”
“Yes. You won’t hurt me.”
Sam swallowed around a big lump in his throat then gave his small patient a shot of penicillin.
“Can somebody open my bag?” he said. “There’s a red jumper in the top, and I need it.”
A hand passed him the soft wool and he pulled it over William’s head.
“Arms through. It’s much too big but it will help to warm you. And now, stick your legs inside this sleeping bag. Better?”
William actually managed a little giggle before rubbing his face in the softness of the sweater.
“It smells like my Daddy and it’s as soft as clouds. Can I go sleep now?”
“You can. Cuddle into uncle Rod and keep nice and snuggly.”
William turned into his uncle’s huge chest and gave a small sigh before falling asleep.
“Sam,” Rod said “this jumper is cashmere.”
“And? That child is cold. No contest. Now I’m going to look at this gunshot wound before the boomer boys get back.”

Jane Jago 

A flash fiction fantasy from Jane Jago. You can listen to this on YouTube.

Jennie sewed herself a man. Two winters it took, piecing together the leather patches with painstakingly neat stitches. She made him beautiful because she was not, and with every stitch she poured her frustrated and misunderstood love into the undertaking.

The old women spoke of stitched men as they sat around the Walpurgisnacht fire. They said if you wanted your muppet to live you had to prick your finger and blood his lips by the light of a gibbous moon. And then, they said, you had to bind him to your will lest he find a more attractive mate.

Mostly unbelieving, Jennie smeared the blood anyway. She thought herself dreaming when her love began to breathe.

“Did you create me?” His voice was deep and slow.

Jennie nodded.

“And am I bound to your will, mistress?”

Jennie shook her head. It came to her that if you love truly you cannot bind the other half of your soul. You can only hope. 

“No. I would not bind you. You are free. Be happy.”

He looked down at her for what seemed to be a very long time. So long that she could see her stitches fading as life itself sprung into every fibre of the man who stood before her.

By the time he was ready to speak, Jennie was sure she had lost him and felt the beginning of tears clotting her throat.

It felt like nothing she had known before when he put his big hands against her cheeks.

“Freedom is overrated.”

Then he bent and touched his mouth to hers.

©️jj 2019