It was the most expensive hotel in a city of expensive hotels. The exquisite old lady lived there permanently. 

She regularly visited the hotel’s nail bar, and one young manicurist couldn’t help looking with something like lust at the blue-white fire of the diamonds that adorned the fragile hands.

The old lady followed her eyes.

“They are rather wasted on my old hands,” she chuckled.

“Oh no ma’am…”

“They are. But I was young and beautiful when they were given to me.”

“Your doting husband?”

“Goodness me, no. Somebody else’s husband. Gifted to the most experienced whore in Christendom.”

©️jj 2018

Sovadron is a new epic fantasy graphic novel series from Christina Marie, set in a world based on post-colonial America.

Lt. Shakairra Romazi isn’t sure who will kill her first: the enemy’s soldiers, or her own.

Her money is on the latter.

After barely surviving their country’s last war, Shakairra and her soldiers are pulled into another. Goblins have been kidnapping citizens and selling them into slavery. But when a foreign noble arrives to investigate the death of his sister, Shakairra learns that the greater threat is within her own ranks.

As the body count climbs and her allies diminish, Shakairra must place her trust–never in abundant supply–into four strangers to save her country. But they soon realize this conflict is greater than that. And before this is over, even the blood of gods will be spilled.

Sovadron is illustrated by the extraordinary, oh-my-god-how-are-you-this-talented-you-absolute-jerk John Hawkins. My name is Christina “DZA” Marie, and I’m the writer. I also run the blog Dragons, Zombies & Aliens, so called because I love all things fantasy, horror, and sci-fi. I’ve been writing since I was twelve and publishing since I was twenty—which, at the time of my writing this, was a mere three years ago. And I can’t tell if being broke is a writer thing or a mid-twenties thing. I guess we’ll find out in a decade. 

Because John is an amazing, masterful artist who moves at the speed of a glacier, the pre-order link for Sovadron is not up yet. However, $10+ patrons on my Patreon page get free copies of everything I write, while other patrons get sneak peaks and first access to giveaways. 

You can become a patron here.

A Bite of... Christina Marie

Q1: How much of you is in your hero/villain?

Well, Sovadron is actually loosely inspired by my family’s Dungeons & Dragons adventures, so there’s quite a lot of my personality in “my” characters Shakairra and Rain (both of whom you meet in November). My brother played a priest named Gundar—you meet him later—and had a sword-mage named Quarrel-Karn, who got reconfigured into the geeky Kyne—you meet him in chapter two. My dad was the dungeon master, and also played the fifth member of our party Elkvein, the sorceress. 

I basically just took those characters, tinkered with them a little bit, and dropped them in my own world. 

As for the villain…well, there are a lot of them. The main villain is the evil goddess Sovadron who enslaved the world of Eoroe thousands of years ago and, after being defeated by all the other gods, was cursed to sleep in a coffin beneath the earth for all eternity. Because that kind of punishment never goes wrong. 

So she’s a cranky, ambitious woman who always sleeps and, when it is a good time to get up and take over the world, ends up sleeping some more. I’d say she and I are very similar. 

Q2: Is it important to include all shades of belief and sexual orientation in a book? 

Absolutely. And not just religion and sexual orientation, but also gender, ethnicity, and disability.

Now obviously, you can’t fit every minority demographic in everything you write, especially if it’s something like a stand-alone novel or something shorter. Otherwise you just end up with flat, two-dimensional tokens that hurt the story, while insulting the communities you’re trying to represent. 

But for something as long and expansive as Sovadron is going to be? There’s no excuse not to be inclusive, even if the main setting of your epic fantasy world is based off of a predominantly white society. It’s fantasy, and if there are a hundred characters with major speaking roles, there should be at least fifty who are POCs and more than one gay guy who ultimately gets killed off for drama. (Looking at you, George R. R. Martin.)

Of the five main characters we’ll meet in Sovadron, they all have different views on the gods and religion, two of them are in the LGBTQ+ community, there are three women, three people of color, and one person with autism. And in book two we’ll be meeting a transgender elf who is a military commander with the ultimate goal to be president one day. And he’s a crack shot with a rifle, because, you know, elf. 

Q3: What time of day do you write best? 

When it is least convenient for me. Seriously, in the middle of the work day, when I’m at my job, my fingers will be itching to write, and my brain will be so full of characters and concepts and ideas that I get a headache. But as soon as I’m home with hours before bed…nothing. 

But usually I can fix that with a little walk and some YouTube videos on writing.

Thank you so much for letting me take over your website for the day. This was awesome!

You can connect with me on my blog, Facebook, Twitter, and Pinterest pages. And if you want to support Sovadron and my other works, then become a patron here.

Things was bad. It was raining so hard that Ma was about at her wits end keeping the house even slightly dry, and Pa was fully employed with the health of the beasts.

So we kids went fishing. 

The creek had long ago burst its banks so we dursn’t go there. But we found a pond where the fish was big and fat.

We was on the bank gutting our catch, when Cletus found a gold ring in the moss beside him.

It was Ma’s wedding ring, what she lost last fall.

She cried with joy. And it stopped raining…

©️jj 2018

Anna tucked her hand into his and the three of them went back to the kitchen where Patsy and Jim awaited them. Patsy gave Anna a very shrewd look.
“Better?”
“Yeah. Sorry. Over reaction.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. Whichever. I take my hat off to Sam. I was wondering how the heck anyone was going to reach you. Then he swans in, picks you up and takes you away. I was waiting for the screams, but they never came. Now here you are: sorted. Respect.”
Anna laughed ruefully.
“You’ll make him big-headed if you keep on. He can’t take all the credit – his dad was a psychiatrist so he learned how to handle madwomen at his father’s knee.”
Sam laughed and pulled her into a hug.
“Whatever. And you aren’t a madwoman, you are just a bit fragile sometimes. I’m only happy that you’re back and you’ve promised not to leave me.”
Anna turned in his embrace; her face was stark and her voice was a thread of a whisper.
“Are you sure I’m not following in my mother’s footsteps?”
“Oh yes. Positive,” he replied. “I stomped all over medical ethics and called in some favours from friends of my Dad’s to find out your mother’s story. She was an abused child, and that was the root of her trouble. Her father abused her sexually and her mother abused her physically and mentally. Your father knew, and was very careful with you and Danny. According to what I was told, the knife incident almost broke his heart. But that isn’t what you wanted to know. This is. Your mother’s mental health problems were down to her childhood traumas and the alcohol abuse she indulged in to numb the pain of her memories. Those problems aren’t the sort that can be passed on genetically.”
“If you only knew what a relief that is… Does Danny know?”
“Didn’t. Does now. Sorry I didn’t tell you before, but I’ve  been putting it off because it’s such a hard, sad story. I didn’t want to cloud your happiness.”
She lifted a hand to his face.
“Oh. I do love you Sam.”
Jim scrubbed his hand over his chin, and you could hear the bristles scrape.
“Christ, that’s sick. But it does explain a lot about your Ma.”
Anna went over to him and patted his shoulder.
“Thanks Jim, and I’m sorry. I never thought about you. You must be beside yourself with worry and I was being an asshole.”
“S’okay. I know how hard it hit you. As long as you are back now. We’ll be fine. I do need the assistance of your magic hands, though.”
“You have it. Tell me.”
“I’ve been told to expect a phone call. Mobile. I need you to work a bit of magic. I need to know who is behind this…”
“We need to know,” Anna said firmly. “I’ve got this new thing I’ve been working on. Now seems a good time to test it. Gimme your phone. Sam, can you get my laptop, the red hard drive, and the small blue box of tricks, please.”
Sam ran to obey, and when he got back Anna connected the hard drive to her laptop, and Jim’s iPhone, plus a scruffy old Nokia, to the hard drive. Then she booted up the laptop and did various incomprehensible things.
“Okay. Jim I need twenty seconds when your phone rings before you pick it up. Then if you can keep whoever talking for one minute we’ve got the bastard. Everything in his phone’s memory, plus everyone he calls, and everyone who calls him, after he has talked to you.” Her eyes sparkled and she rubbed her hands together. “There is nothing,” she said meditatively “that cheers up your day like finding out you aren’t necessarily going to go mad. Add in a spot of electronic jiggery-pokery and Anna’s back firing on all cylinders. Apologies to all for the unnecessary drama. Is anybody hungry?”
“Not yet,” Patsy said tensely. “But I reckon I will be once we’ve had this fucking call.” Then she held out her hand to her husband. “You have my permission to be as unpleasant as you like. Somebody went after my kids. Now they are safe at their grandparents’ house I’ve got time to be fucking furious.”
Jim looped a huge arm around her.
“Me too. And I’m still a bit churned up inside. Jeez. The fuckers threatened my mother, my children, my wife, and my friends. I really want blood. You wouldn’t consider sitting on my lap for a mo, would you?”
She nodded and he pushed his chair back, pulling her onto his lap. He buried his face in her neck and she cradled his head.
“Soft bastard,” she crooned. “We’re all fine. Might have a bit of trouble reining the twins in, after they kicked the shit out of that scroat who tried to grab them, but your mum’s on it.”

Just then the phone rang. Jim glanced at the screen and nodded. Anna pressed four keys on her laptop, then waited a few seconds. A message came up on the screen and she gave Jim a nod. She put her finger to her lips to indicate that everyone else should remain silent. Jim picked up his phone.
“Cracksman.”
The voice that filled the room was rough, and definitely Glaswegian, and the face on Anna’s laptop looked hard and determined. Sam made a camera with his hands and Anna looked puzzled, but nodded.
“Cracksman. I’m not amused by the state you sent my boys back in.”
“No? The next one comes back in a body bag.”
“I don’t think so somehow. Not the kindly law-abiding Mister Cracksman.”
Jim laughed and the sound wasn’t pleasant.
“I’ll tell you a thing about the kindly law-abiding Mister Cracksman. Where his family is concerned, kindly and law-abiding can go fuck itself. Send anyone else after anybody I care about and I’m coming after you. And there won’t be a hole deep enough for you to hide in.”
The voice was less sure of itself now.
“Don’t threaten me.”
“I ain’t. That’s not a threat, it’s just a statement of fact. Me and my baseball bat will find you, and when we’ve finished even your mammy won’t recognise you. Now. Did you have a reason for calling?”
“I have a message for you. There are some people who are mightily displeased by the decrease in their income since the police got informed about certain small medical irregularities. They want you told to back off and keep your nose out of their business. Or else.”
“Or else what?”
“Next time the boys come with shooters.”
“They better be good shots and even better runners then. And you better practice hiding. Now fuck off, and tell whoever is paying you that he’s the one needs to back off. If I have to come look for him I will be so pissed off.”
He looked a question at Anna, who nodded, so he ended the call with a grim face.

Jane Jago

The Great Turk stood to his full height and his dark eye studied the serried ranks of his concubines with approval. They were so many this winter that the eye could not take them all in, and the mind could not count them. Even in such numbers they were, he thought, of surpassing beauty, being so sleek and fat that their legs could barely carry them.

Had any potentate anywhere, he mused happily, ever had such a plethora of loveliness laid out in front of them.

He stretched his neck and shook his great red wattles.

“Gobble, gobble,” he said.

©️jj 2018

It’s perfect weather for fishing
because the sun is high
It’ll be cool on the riverbank
with the ducklings paddling by

It’s perfect weather for fishing
the mist is thick and white
It’ll bring the fishes out
because they’ll think it’s night

It’s perfect weather for fishing
as the rainfall splashes and drips
We’ll sit here on the bank for a while
and then we’ll go for chips

It’s perfect weather for fishing
because it’s minus a lot
We’ll make a big hole in the ice
and dabble till we feel hot

It’s perfect weather for fishing
no matter what the weather
And if we never catch a fish
who cares if we’re together

©️jane jago 2018

Twelve Tales of Christmas, by Jane Jago. Out today!

From ‘The Night Library at Christmas’

It was Christmas Eve and the darkness of the library was alive with twinkling lights as children, and small creatures carrying glow worm lanterns, climbed the stacks to the floor and joined an ever-growing procession to where a noble Norway Spruce speared the darkness with its scented branches. As the crowd around its feet grew thicker, the Christmas tree seemed to grow ever taller and more majestic, then, one by one, the candles on its branches took light.
A dumpy little human female stepped into the light and immediately a clamour went up around her.
“Miss. Miss. Read us the story. Read us about the baby in the stable. Please miss.”
The librarian smiled and went to the place where Holy Books of many callings were shelved. A heavy, hand tooled volume leapt into her arms and for a second she staggered under its weight. She smoothed its tooled leather, reflecting on how the stories within its covers had conquered the world with more effectiveness than all the guns, and all the bombs, and all the wars.
Back beneath the tree, an overstuffed armchair had materialised. It smiled and beckoned her into its wide lap. As she sat and opened the huge Book, there came a loud bang and a furious face appeared.
“No,” the creature cried in a voice like thunder. “No. You shall not read this lie.”
“And is it any more of a lie than that which your children purvey on Walpurgisnacht? Or at any sabbat in any sacred grove?”
It lifted its insubstantial muzzle and howled defiance and misery. “I will drag that book from your hands and rend it to pieces with my bare claws. I will make it burn as it sits on your frail human legs. I will…”
The creatures around the Christmas tree began to be afraid and the librarian held up a hand to stop the enraged grumbling of the shadow demon.
“You will,” she said firmly, “do nothing. You can do nothing. You are a creature of smoke and mirrors not even as substantial as the book children gathered at my knee. Now begone with you before you make me angry.”
The demon attempted a sneer, but it was of very little consequence when faced with the strong will and common sense that defined the straight backed little human who faced him without a shred of fear. Even as he made an effort to draw in his will she pointed a finger.
“Did I not just tell you to go away?”
It seemed as if the sending would defy her and she frowned, muttering a brief incantation under her breath. There was a strong smell of sulphur then the face collapsed into itself leaving only a momentary pool of blackness before even that disappeared.
The Night Librarian stood up. She put the Book on the soft chair and smiled at the little ones.
“I just need to make sure there are no interruptions to your story. I shall not be a moment. You all can sing the candle song while you wait.”
A chorus of small, and it has to be said mostly tuneless, voices followed her as she crossed the shadowed stacks…

Get your copy now and enjoy a reimagined Christmas.

When Lila’s citizenship homework demanded that she interviewed somebody about growing old, or about widowhood, she had to ask Mum for help. 

“You could talk to Mrs Cotton across the landing. I’ll ask her.”

Mrs Cotton agreed, so a shy little girl knocked on her door the very next day.

The old lady was easy company, and Lila found herself chattering between questions. In the end, though, there was just the very hardest question left.

“What do you miss most about your husband?”

“I miss having someone to cuddle.”

“You could maybe cuddle me.”

The old lady opened her arms…

©️jj 2018

The Abbots’ Way is monochrome
A walk through skeletal trees
Where frost hangs white on thistle tops
And ears and noses freeze

We gain the fields, the dogs now run
Their breath like tattered clouds
As human feet break frozen grass
A sound both sharp and loud

While in the darkness of the wood
All is as black as night
Except the scarlet holly tree
Which feels obscenely bright

The Abbots’ Way was monochrome
In black an silver hues
But as the sun climbs in the sky
It turns to gold and blue

©️ Jane Jago 2018

Read the opening of Dying on the Mosaics the latest novella in The Dai and Julia Mysteries by E.M. Swift-Hook and Jane Jago set in a Britain where the Roman Empire never left.

Ante Diem Septimum Idus September MDCCLXXVIII Anno Diocletiani

The body lay sprawled on the cold, mosaic floor of the Basilica Viriconia. Dai found irreverent and irrelevant thoughts going through his mind about how having a murder scene so close to the Vigiles House was so convenient and considerate of the killer. He recognised them for what they were. An instinctive protection against the horror.
And horror this was.
The headless corpse had been carefully arranged so its posture fitted to the Caput Deum, the head of the Divine Diocletian, picked out on the floor there as it was in every official building in the Empire. Haloed in tiny golden tiles, it replaced in two dimensions the murder victims own head. The body was naked, male, and the only obvious identifying mark was the silver ring of Citizenship. Whoever this was they were most-likely Romano-British.
“Same M.O. as the last one,” Senior Investigator Bryn Catrivel observed. “This is getting sick and creepy, Bard.”  
His familiar tone and form of address drew an odd look from the other man present, Sextus Catus Bestia who had recently taken up the role of Magistratus for Demetae and Cornovii. Recently enough, Dai knew that he had yet to realise Bryn and Dai were long time friends and work partners. That they had served together in the Vigiles in Londinium for eight years before Dai was appointed to be Submagistratus based here in Viriconium.
Dai looked around the broad expanse of the civic building’s portico and noticed the dead-eyed cameras.
“They even found a way to take the surveillance offline, I’m guessing.”
The Magistratus cleared his throat. His long face looking distinctly sallow beneath the carefully trimmed black hair. He lifted one hand, palm forward, the heavy gold patrician ring of Citizenship very obvious on his index finger.
“Um. I’m terribly afraid that might be my fault. I was testing it late yesterday afternoon and I told the disadattatus I would restore it to normal mode as it was the end of his working day, but I must have forgotten and I suppose it stayed down overnight. Mea culpa. Isn’t there a night watchman of some sort?”
“Used to be, dominus,” Bryn said heavily. “Until Aprilis. That was when the last man retired and as the automatic surveillance had been upgraded it wasn’t felt necessary to replace him.”
“Oh dear. That is not good, not good at all.” The Magistratus looked profoundly unhappy and shook his head. “The poor, poor man.”
Dai was wondering whether the ‘poor man’ in question was the retiring watchman, the disadattatus or the deceased when he caught the look Bryn sent him.
“Dominus, we should allow SI Cartivel to continue this murder investigation. As long as we are here it is getting in the way of what he needs to do.”
“Oh. Yes. Of course.” He started walking towards his office and Dai walked with him leaving Bryn giving clipped and efficient orders to his team. “Two Roman Citizens killed in this bizarre way.” He frowned heavily. “Wasn’t there some extreme Anti-Roman group operating in this area recently?”
“Yes, dominus. We had an unpleasant encounter with such a group last year. But they were dealt with conclusively.”
“Such evil can grow deep roots and spring up like mushrooms. But if you are certain, Llewellyn…” He trailed off as another thought clearly distracted him. “Considering how this is going I think I should take over the investigation myself.”
Dai felt his guts tighten. The new Magistratus had been in Viriconium for less than three weeks and in that time the impression he had made was not one to inspire any confidence in his ability to lead an investigation.
“Might I suggest, dominus that as you are still settling in and are not fully acquainted with the local circumstances, it might be better to let me do so.”
The Magistratus stopped on the spot.
“Well isn’t that the point? How am I ever going to get to know how things are here if I don’t jump in and get my hands dirty? Oh, don’t worry. I won’t be breathing down the neck of the local Vigiles – I’m sure they know what they need to do, I’ll just be overseeing not interfering. This is the kind of thing that can echo all the way to Augusta Trevorum and even Rome, you know. I just want to keep across it so if there is any come back I am the one who gets to do the testudu and your Vigiles won’t have to worry about taking any flak.”
Dai stifled the urge to snap that the Vigiles wouldn’t need any protecting if they were just left to do their job, but clearly the Magistratus meant well and was trying to show care and consideration for his subordinates.
The Magistratus placed a heavy hand on Dai’s shoulder.
“I know I have a very large set of sandals to fill to be able to measure up to Magistratus Ambrosius, but I want my people to know I have their backs. So I’ll have my primus secretarius – what’s his name again? Turtle? Turnbull? Terfel. That’s it – arrange for SI Cartivel to brief me twice daily and on any key developments. I can provide any support and resources as the investigation might require.” He nodded as if well satisfied by his own solution to the issue then smiled encouragingly at Dai. “It’ll be for the best.”

To keep reading you can find the novella here.