When Shem’s mother came to stay, Mila smothered a sigh and greeted the old woman with a smoothly smiling countenance. Her pinpricks started immediately. The children would have openly rebelled had not Mila spoken words of gentle reproof.

On Sunday mother-in-law took over the kitchen, relegating Mila to dishwashing.

“I am making Shem’s favourite.”

Mila managed not to smile as the sultanas in the curry swelled to epic proportions. Shem hated sultanas in his dinner.

The old lady served huge platefuls and smiled triumphantly.

Shem looked warily at his plate.

“Why is there rabbit shit in my dinner?”

© jj 2019

If ever he could afford to buy a proper house in Central, Grim reflected, this would be the kind of place he would most want to live. It was not one of the elite suburbs. Those incredible places where you had a neat patchwork of huge mansions set in massive gardens and anything that was not automated was dealt with by discreet servants all with the same universal smile and self-effacing manner. He had been in such places on occasion in the course of his investigations. They always made him feel like a mangy stray walking in on the life of pampered lapdogs. It was not the kind of lifestyle he could ever imagine himself having or even wanting to have.
But this was a bit more real.
More his scale of aspirational.
The houses were all large, but not so big you needed more than normal amounts of automation to live comfortably in them. The gates were low enough to see over and he liked that on the other side of the narrow roadway was what looked like a public park. The road was designed to be just wide enough for PTVs or delivery drones to land. These were more like real homes and less status-symbol fortresses.
Like everywhere else in Central, transport was discreet, automated and instantly available on request. But he landed the PTV at the end of the roadway so he could walk up. He wanted to do some thinking and get a feel for the locality.

Much as he admired it, this was a very different environment from any he had ever lived in. He could only wonder what it must be like to feel belonging in this sort of place. The sense of security and even entitlement that it must bestow. But maybe that was ungenerous. There were some people here who took a very active role in trying to right some of the wrongs in broader society. People like the mother of the person he was here to visit. But the majority, he suspected, took all this tranquillity, security and beauty for granted and never questioned it.
The metropolis was called Sungold and this suburb was Fairweather. It did indeed seem to have the advantage of a wonderful, sunny, climate. He suspected the weather was controlled, with the necessary rain only being permitted to fall in the sleeping hours so as not to disturb the perfect lives of the local inhabitants.
It was just a bit different from the place he called home. That was a two room, eightieth-floor apartment that he shared with Mabs, in one of the recently built sprawling townships on a ‘new’ Central world. New because it was not one of the first settled Central planets, but one close enough to be drawn in a few generations later and made to serve as a kind of holding bay and access gate for those unable to afford a more traditional Central lifestyle. The kind of traditional Central lifestyle these beautiful houses in Fairweather, Sungold typified.
Grim stopped by the house he had come to find. It looked little different to any of the others. Each might have its own unique addition and styling to distinguish it very slightly from the neighbours, but they were all enough of a type for their uniformity to be visible even through the remodelling and the repainting of the facades. Lovely as they were, they were all still mass produced by construction gantries, to the same key design from identical materials. It was just a few whistles and bells and a bit of cosmetic tinkering that made one any different from another.
This particular one was styled in simple, classic stone with rimmed pillars by the door and supporting the small porch. There was even a privately owned PTV parked up under the protection of a pillared canopy beside the house. A mark of wealth and status in a place where the norm was to link for an auto-ride.
He tried the gate and wasn’t surprised when it didn’t open. It was low enough that he could have vaulted over it easily, but that would have been a bit intrusive so, instead, he used the link-point on the gate post.
“Can I help you?” A polite, cultured, Central accent replied almost at once. Grim smiled to show he was pretty harmless. She could see him even if he could not see her.
“Sorry to disturb you, I was wanting to speak with Var Sweetling, if she is available.”

From Iconoclast: Mistrust and Treason a Fortune’s Fools book by E.M. Swift-Hook

The Countess knew what they called her, but how should she care? What else was she to do when the men had ridden away in search of glory, leaving the land unprotected and the crops unharvested?

They hadn’t been gone long when the long ships arrived. 

There was no battle.

Who was left to fight them?

Erik the Red took her for his leman, promising in return the safety of the duchy and its young women.

When the longboats left at the end of summer Erik took his Red Queen with him. They had to lash her to the mast.

© jj 2019

Sentinel’s Rise the book that follows on from Yvette Bostic's Light in the Darkness Series, is out tomorrow.  

Before the world goes to Hell…

“I think you should come with us, Sara,” Andrew said. “When was the last time you were at the beach?”
“Let’s see,” Sara replied. “Three years ago, and we had to pay Weasel five-hundred dollars to feed the horses.”
“But it was worth it,” Andrew insisted. 
Darian watched a smile slide across her face, and he knew a barrage of sarcasm was imminent. He leaned against the tree behind him and smiled.
“Oh, yes! Watching a bunch of old men with pot bellies and farmer’s tans fall off their surf boards was hysterical. You guys should’ve gotten paid for the entertainment.”
She set her coffee cup on a wicker table and rubbed her chest. Darian straightened and almost left, but Andrew continued the conversation as if he didn’t notice her discomfort.
“I’m not old,” he argued. “I’m just a little seasoned.” 
He grinned at his wife, and she returned his smile. He reached for her hand, the one hovering just below her neck, and took it in his.
“Get that looked at while I’m gone,” he said, his blond eyebrows furrowing. “It’s too high to be your heart, but acid reflux is serious and very treatable.”
“I will, I promise,” she replied, smiling gently. “Will you come home before going to the airport tomorrow, or are you going straight from work?”
“Probably straight from work,” Andrew said, still holding her hand. “I’ve only got three hours between end of shift and the plane taking off. I think I’d rather wait at the airport than take a chance of missing my flight.”
“Good idea.”
Darian’s stomach rolled. She would be alone if the demons attacked. Andrew wasn’t a fighter, but he would do everything he could to protect her. His thoughts wandered back to the note Stephen found at the Citadel; it was still in his pocket. Did Zar’Asur know where Seraphina was? He had to assume so. Could he spare one of his scouts to watch her home? If he knew for certain that the UN meeting wasn’t at risk, he would have one of them stay. 
Indecision rolled through him as he watched his Sentinel rise from her wicker rocker and go inside, rubbing her chest once again. He now regretted each time he stepped back from taking Seraphina. The Council needed the strength of the Watcher and Sentinel bond, and Darian failed them. 
Even as he teleported back to Chicago to collect his weapons and prepare for the coming battle, the burn in Darian’s chest didn’t subside.

If you enjoyed this extract and have not yet read the series, you can begin your journey with Light’s Rise. For current readers, Sentinel’s Rise will be available on Kindle Unlimited upon release and for the first week will be on sale for $1.99. After the first week, the price will go back to $3.99.

A bite of... Yvette Bostic

Question 1: How much of you is in your hero/villain?

I believe a little of me is in all my characters. My heroes get my best attributes, along with those things I wish I could be. My villains get my worst characteristics, along with all the stuff my demented imagination can come up with. My husband has accused me of putting too much of myself into Seraphina, the main character in Sentinel’s Rise. I might be a tad sarcastic, a little stubborn and sometimes irrational, but not as much as my main character. It’s my story; I can tell it however I want!

Question 2: Would you rather live in this world or the one you create in your books?

That’s a hard question. I really like my life as it is, regardless of any hardships that stumble my way. But I’d sure love to be able to teleport anywhere I want. Having magic in the world would be cool and terrifying. I don’t believe humanity is capable of wielding power without corruption. We can’t do it now without magic.

Question 3: Chocolate cake or coffee cake?

Is Chocolate-coffee cake an answer? I love both and putting coffee and chocolate together is amazing. I could love one without the other, but why would I? Unless there is an evil plot to remove chocolate from the world. Or coffee! I don’t even want to think about it.
Example- Dunkacchino.

Yvette has been a passionate reader for decades, but her writing interests didn’t surface until her youngest son left home to join the adult world. The Empty-Nest Syndrome assaulted her with relentless fury, and she fought back with a surprising determination of her own. She’s now deeply entrenched in the lives of her characters and strives to bring their hopes, dreams, pain, losses, and success to her readers. You can find her on Facebook, Twitter and her own webpage.

She cleaned houses as an antidote to loneliness. And when the day she had to retire came, she faced the sterility of her once again empty life with real fear.

On her last day of ‘usefulness’ she found her feet dragging as she walked home. Surprisingly, there was a figure on her doorstep. It was the man her daughter had discarded like an old sock when richer pickings came along. He got to his feet at her approach, bending to kiss her cheek.

“Happy birthday,” he said quietly then put a small brown puppy in her hands before turning away.

© jj 2019

Anna ended the call and looked at Patsy, who raised a cheeky smile although she was starting to look cold and a bit shocky.
“Did I hear you dobbing me in to Jimbo?”
“You most certainly did.”
Patsy gave her a thumbs-up.
Valentina smiled at them. “You two are such good friends. Are you really sisters?”
“Only in our hearts.”
A rather frightened looking nun poked her head into the room.
“There are some very large men at the front door. They say they are called Cracksman, and can they please come in.”
Yuri nodded and the woman scampered off.
A minute or so later, Rod ambled into the rapidly cooling room.
“Blimey,” he said with some feeling, “that effing boomer was excessive.”
He bowed courteously to Valentina.
“Shouldn’t you be somewhere warmer ma’am. You seem to be shivering.”
Which brought the atmosphere back to the everyday, and got some pretty impressive results.
They were very soon in a room without broken glass, with hot chocolate to drink and an efficient young nun picking bits of metal out of Rod’s face with a pair of tweezers.
“You weren’t joking about picking Range Rover out of your teeth were you? How come nobody else is wearing metal make-up?”
A man somewhere between Rod and Jim in build, who to Anna’s certain knowledge hadn’t uttered a syllable since the car had collected him that morning, snorted out a laugh.
“Metal make-up. I like it,” the man spoke fluent English albeit with a Marseillais accent. His grin, however, was all Cracksman. Then he sobered abruptly. “My baby cousin got a face full of flying shrapnel because he was on watch. Even so he was better off than some innocent bystanders. At least one dead.” He spat. “I’d truly like to get you hands on whoever was responsible for that clusterfuck out there.”
“Pats shot one of them. Both arms. Now Gospodin Stephanovitz’s boys are asking him some searching questions.”
“Good.”
Patsy was in low-voiced conversation with Valentina Stephanovitz, and Anna felt a peculiar reluctance to go and join in. Instead she sat beside Rod and held his big hand in both of hers.
He squeezed her fingers, but was prevented from talking by the young nun.
“Be still.”
When his face had been de-shrapnelled and stitched here and there, and he was smelling strongly of antiseptic, Rod put a big arm around Anna.
“You holding, mate?”
“By the skin on my teeth. I badly want to go home. But I’m guessing it will be a while.”
Rod shrugged massively. “I’ll try what I can do, though it rather depends on how many powerful friends your new chum has.”
“He ain’t my chum. Although he does have a soft spot for Patsy.”
“It’ll be the big blue eyes.”
“Or the gun. Speaking of which.”
Anna dragged the small pistol out of her pocket and handed it to Rod, grateful to be rid of the thing.
He took it from her and tutted.
“Don’t tell me you’ve been toting that thing around in your pocket without even putting the safety catch on.”
“What safety catch?”
“Jeez Anna, you could’ve shot your own foot off. And how would I have explained that to Sam.”
But he smiled reassurance and she felt warmed.
Patsy beckoned, and Anna went over to where Valentina sat. The Russian woman smiled tiredly.
“I am being sent to bed, but I wanted to say goodbye to you first.”
Because it felt right, Anna bent and kissed the thin cheek.
“Sleep gently.”
“Thank you.”

Jane Jago

The chainsaws growl and fart
Among the branches tall
The great tree’s torn apart
And branch by branch it falls
While grim-faced men below
With hooks and metal chains
Make the log pile grow
And all the while it rains
It’s rotten is that tree
It must come down, they said
And sadly only me
Feels grief because it’s dead
The chainsaws growl no more
The men have all gone home
I sit here on the forest floor
Silent and alone…

©️Jane Jago

Agnes had been the Easter Bunny for so many years now that even the teeth didn’t bother her. Way she looked at it one day of frantic egg hiding beat three hundred plus in any other job.

Okay, maybe the belly and the ears weren’t exactly attractive. But hey, she coulda been a flower fairy condemned to droop around dressed in bits of colour and freezing cold for most of her life. Or, even worse, the tooth fairy. The very thought made her gag. Picking up rotten bits of children’s mouths every night. 

No. All in all chocolate was best….

©jj 2019

Where the goods trains used to run
Spring has come
With primroses and violets
Smiling at the sun
Celandines like yellow stars
Trees all dressed in white
You and I have found a morning
Sparkling with delight

©️ jj 2019

Home town, whose twisty walls and little alleyways were a world away from her luxury apartment overlooking the sea in Monaco. 

Why was she here today, she wondered, observing an unnaturally still and silent street through half-closed eyes.

There were people about, but all stood still and mute as a funeral cortège made its stately way along the otherwise traffic-free street.

She idly wondered who was important enough to stop the traffic for, and peeped into the flower-bedecked hearse.

She saw an old woman in a glass coffin and understood.

They had brought her here to rest.

© jj 2019