Friday, 1 May 2026

Destination Romance Series

 

 


Can two imperfect people finally decide that they're perfect for each other?


Picture Imperfect

Destination Romance Book 1

by Kate Berberich

Genre: Contemporary Travel Romance


Bad girl turned heiress, Lacey Devere has a penchant for falling for precisely the wrong person. Her dad is determined to give her a fresh start, beginning with a luxurious European tour and a new camera to capture each perfect moment.

Dan Lewis is a modern-day highwayman traveling the world, relieving wealthy tourists of their excess cash and jewelry. He learned the hard way not to let anyone get too close.

Their heads are urging caution, but their hearts are being swept away by the glamour and romance of the dazzling cities they’re visiting.

 

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Dan checked his watch. Again. He ran a finger inside his shirt collar. The damn thing was custom-made. For what he paid for it, he should bloody well be able to breathe.

Stop fidgeting. Anyone would think you’d never worn a tux before.

Any number of appreciative glances assured him it looked outstanding—if he’d been in any state to notice.

“Relax,” Mr. Wilson advised from behind his ever-present newspaper. “My wife is well aware of the curtain time, and she won’t miss it for anything.”

“I feel like I ought to apologize for this,” Dan offered.

“Eh…Martha would have found an excuse to stuff me into this thing sooner or later.” Mr. Wilson—or at least his newspaper—shrugged. “It’s fine. Anyway, it’s good for her to have a pretty girl to fuss over. It takes her mind off…well…it’s good for her. This is better than one of those charity events. People expect me to talk at those things. And write checks. The seats at the opera house are extremely comfortable and if I get bored, I can take a nap.”

Dan let the subject slide. He’d done more in-depth digging online since they’d be spending the entire evening with the Wilsons. He knew what a day spent dress shopping and primping with a young woman would mean to Mrs. Wilson.

A flash of icy silver-blue caught his eye. Just like in Madrid, his mouth went dry, and he forgot to breathe for a moment. Also, just like in Madrid, he vowed to never again criticize his sister’s taste in movies. All that romantic hokum must have some basis in fact.

Lacey and Mrs. Wilson stepped off the elevator. The older lady wore a softly draped navy-blue gown with a glittering broach on one shoulder—a high-end fake, he guessed, since no one in their right mind would travel with a genuine piece of that scale.

But Lacey…unlike her usual bright-colored outfits, tonight she wore a frosty blue gown that shimmered when she moved. Her hair was swept up in an elegant knot, with a few loose curls framing her face. The entire ensemble somehow managed to be both demure and sexy at the same time.

Well, it was Lacey. Dan considered her sexy in sweaty workout clothes. He questioned the eyesight of anyone who did not.

Mr. Wilson folded his ever-present newspaper and swatted him with it. “Breathe, young man.” 


A Perfect Brew

Destination Romance Book 1.5



Dan Lewis is a man on a journey—and not just the summer tour of Prague. He’s escaping his past and embracing the sweetness of his new love and new career with equal fervor. But old instincts are strong. When his younger sister, who he’s taken care of all his life, joins them for her graduation trip, it stirs bitter memories of their history and all the things he did to keep them safe.


Lacey Devere is savoring every drop of summer, visiting romantic locales and reveling in long, steamy nights with Dan. She dumped her past mistakes down the drain and embarked on their bold new future together. However, she’s learning love is more than just sugar and cream.


Together Dan and Lacey learn true love means accepting your partner’s imperfections and blending the bitter with the sweet. And sometimes, the best family is the one you find for yourself.

 

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Dan sauntered into the hotel lobby, hand in hand with Lacey. A few paces in, she wrapped her free hand around his arm, slowing them enough for Dylan to get a few steps ahead. She rested her head against his shoulder and smiled at him. He grinned, watching his sister, frozen on the green and blue mosaic tile floor, staring around in open-mouthed wonder.

Honestly, he’d had the exact same reaction the first time he walked into this hotel. Almost forgot to look for security cameras. He found them easily now: main entrance, front desk, concierge desk, and elevator bank. A tinkling fountain marked the center of the two-story lobby. Potted palm trees created intimate corners, and armchairs and settees upholstered in soft blue velvet nestled among the greenery.

Dylan wandered over to the gleaming glass enclosure, stretching to the skylights. She touched her fingertips to the window and a peacock stirred and blinked its beady eyes at her. A moment later, it unfurled its glorious tail feathers and took a few mincing steps closer to the glass. She glanced over her shoulder at them. “Okay, now I understand why you do this. Wow. Just…”

“Wow?” Lacey asked, tugging Dan by the hand.

A uniformed bruiser Dan pegged as security frowned at Dylan’s attire, but then noticed her teal Dolce Vita wristband and subsided with a gracious smile and nod.

“Very wow.” Dylan flung her arms around Dan. “You’re the best big brother ever. Thank you.”

He kissed her temple. “You’re welcome.”

“Are they all like this? All the hotels you stay in?”

“Well, all the hotels the company uses are five or six stars, but this one’s pretty spectacular, even by their standards. Why don’t we get you settled, then we can walk around and explore the neighborhood a bit?”

“And find the nearest source of non-snack bar coffee?”

He rolled his eyes affectionately and steered her toward the shining brass elevators with filigree peacocks rendered on their doors.


A Perfectly Imperfect Holiday

Destination Romance Book 2



Lacey Devere is looking forward to her first holiday season with the love of her life. Unfortunately, her sister’s wedding wiped her out. But is it just stress? Or are she and Dan facing the prospect of another passenger on their new journey together?


Dan Lewis thought he had it all—a new legitimate career and an amazing woman he loves. But his beginning is off to a rocky start. A robbery took place on the last tour, and he has no alibi. Can he live down his past, or will his and Lacey’s first holiday season together be their last?


As the Christmas tour progresses through London, Amsterdam, Nuremberg, and Vienna, they’ll deal with everything from bungled reservations to lost luggage—as well as a couple of life’s biggest questions—with their trademark blend of humor and love. Most of all, they’ll figure out how to build a lifetogether.

 

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They were staying at the “fairy castle” hotel again. The doorman bowed and a waft of spicey pine scent from the fresh greenery tickled Dan’s nose as they entered.

Christmas trees of various sizes adorned in shades of blue, white, and silver replaced the cream and pink floral displays from their previous stay. A majestic gingerbread castle held pride of place on a satin-draped display table in the center of the lobby—thankfully with no rampaging soccer fans to destroy it.

Tasteful instrumental holiday music played quietly over the sound system. Everything was neat and polished and in its place. An aura of peaceful late-night quiet prevailed.

The desk clerk smiled broadly and gestured to an enticing tower of pale blue and white macarons which stood on the front desk. “Gruss Gott.”

Gruss Gott,” Lacey replied, reaching for a cookie.

Dan adjusted his sling irritably. “Dan Lewis and Lacey Devere, with the Dolce Vita holiday tour.”

“Of course, sir. We understand from your hostess that one of your bags has yet to arrive. We took the liberty of prechecking you into your suite and having the remainder of your luggage delivered. Your bathroom is fully stocked with complimentary toiletries, but if there is anything else we can supply, please call and we will be more than happy to assist you.” He tapped a few keys on his computer, then slid a key pack across the counter.

Dan eyed it suspiciously. “You have our reservation?”

“Certainly, Herr Lewis. Dolce Vita travelers are among our most elite guests. We are delighted to welcome you and will of course do whatever we can to assist you with your stay.”

Dan still didn’t take the key pack. “And this is for a clean room?”

The bewildered clerk nodded.

“With no one else in it?”

Another nod.

“The door locks? And the world champion sports ball fans aren’t having a wild party on our floor?”

The clerk edged subtly away from the desk.

“The building’s not on fire?”

“Perhaps Herr Lewis would care to speak to the manager on duty?”

A security guard dressed in a dark blue blazer emerged from the back office. He nodded pleasantly while exuding a distinct aura of “don’t mess with me.”

Lacey laid her warm hand on Dan’s good arm and squeezed gently while offering a bright smile to the desk clerk. “I’m sure it’s fine. We’ve had…issues…with our accommodations this trip.”

The clerk stared at her wide-eyed. “Apparently so.”

“And on that note, the missing piece of luggage is my garment bag. It’s got my gown for the New Year’s Eve ball, so I’d appreciate a call whenever it’s delivered. The night manager can wake me up—I don’t care. I just want to know it’s safe.”

“Of course, Fräulein. Should you wish, our concierge would be happy to provide a list of fine clothing establishments in the area.”

“I hope that won’t be necessary but thank you. Are there any parcels for us?”

The clerk checked his computer. “Not at this time. Should any arrive, they will be delivered to your suite.”

“Thank you. You’ve been very helpful.” She elbowed Dan.

“Yeah…thanks.”

****

Dan slumped onto a couch covered in elaborate ice blue brocade. His movements dislodged several slippery satin cushions, which tumbled to the floor. A Christmas tree decorated with shimmering blue glass baubles and white velvet ribbon swags stood in the corner. Glittering silver icicles tipped the branches. Fairy lights draping the tree and mantel cast a soft glow over the space.

Lacey returned from a walk-through of their suite and sat next to him, sending even more cushions cascading to the carpet. “Hey, guess what? It’s a nice clean room, with no one else in it, it’s a reasonable temperature, the doors lock, and there’s hot water. How’s that for a Christmas miracle?”

“It looks like a blue satin cushion factory exploded in here,” he grumbled.

“If they’d exploded, the room would be full of feathers, which it isn’t and please don’t give the universe any ideas. It has enough of its own.” She nestled into his side, filling his senses with hints of lavender and warmth. “It’s a beautiful room, we can sit on the furniture, and the tub is big enough for both of us.”

“And I can’t soak in it.”

You’re being a jerk. You realize that, right?

She rolled her eyes. “You can rest your arm on a towel on the edge. There’s lots of plush blue and white towels. The velvety kind.”

He snorted. “I’m still waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

She toyed with thebuttons on his shirt. “You know, right this second, you’re reminding me of a very particular holiday character, and it’s not a flattering one.”

He exhaled explosively and sagged against the back of the sofa. “I’m sorry. It’s just…this whole trip, everything’s gone sideways.”

“And now we’re here in a lovely room and it’s almost Christmas and can we please just try to enjoy ourselves? Please?”


Perfect By Design

Destination Romance Book 2.5



Set amidst the magnificent architecture and Mediterranean sunshine of Barcelona, Dan and Lacey design their perfect future. No matter where in the world they travel, they know home is in each other’s arms. Together their love is as strong as a Gothic cathedral’s granite foundation, as whimsical as Gaudi’s bright-tiled dragon house, and as passionate as the Sant Jordi festival’s red roses. Now all they need is to escape a lonely nanny and her charge, and a womanizing architect long enough to settle a very important question.

 

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Dan lolled against the doorframe, watching Lacey. He never needed an excuse, but stretching up on her toes, running her fingertips along the top of a picture frame did very interesting things to the hemline of her little flowered sundress. Do I really get to have it all? The whole world, and her, too?

She’d scrunched up her face adorably, concentrating on the project at hand, and he had no willpower where she was concerned, so he strolled over and wrapped his arms around her tiny waist. He buried his face in the crook of her neck and pressed his lips to her pulse point.

“Babe? Whatcha up to?” he mumbled against her skin.

She relaxed into his arms and huffed a stray lock of hair out of her face. “The wallpaper design was giving me a headache, so I thought it would be easier to close my eyes and go by touch.”

He dropped a kiss onto the top of her blonde head. “Clever.” Her familiar scent of lavender and citrus, and something uniquely Lacey, enveloped him, heightening his senses. Have we got time to check out that bed? There’s gotta be a mattress somewhere under all those red brocade battering rams. Seriously, who thinks a stiff cylinder covered in scratchy material is a good idea for a pillow?

She wriggled around in his embrace and slid her arms around his neck. “This would be a really easy room to hide a mic or camera in. No one would look closely enough to try and find it.”

He kissed her forehead. “Except us.”

She grinned, then pressed up on her toes and kissed his chin. “Except us.”

He rubbed his thumbs over the thin material of her sundress. “And did you? Find anything, I mean?” He hadn’t, but one never knew. Hence the standard security check at every new destination.

“Not even a bit of dust. You?”

“Not a thing. Whatever we might think of the décor, the staff certainly takes good care of the place.” He tugged her a little closer. “And what else did you notice?”

“There’s a camera focused on the elevator bank, and the fire stairs are at the left end of the corridor.”

“Eight doors down.”

“Picky.”

“Hey, there was a night in Amsterdam—”

Lacey shuddered and burrowed against him. “Please don’t remind me.”

Okay…enough teasing. “How about some dinner? Barcelona has amazing cuisine.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Like what?”

He kept his tone carefully nonchalant. “Oh, all sorts of things—local seafood and game-”

“That’s code for things I won’t touch with a ten-foot fork.”

“What have you got against rabbit—”

“Eww! Rabbits are for cuddling, not eating!”

“They are here.” She cringed and made a gagging noise.

“Or squid?”

“Gross. Just gross.”

“So, we’re in one of the culinary wonderlands of the world and you’re gonna go look for a burger joint?”

“If I have to.”

“What could entice you to try a regional delicacy?”

“No bunny rabbits and no squid. I mean it!”

“How do you feel about snails?”

“How do you feel about sleeping on the couch?”

He eyed the stiff brocade monstrosity. “That couch?” The Chesterfield in question was upholstered in red, with a pattern worked in shiny gold thread. It made him itchy just looking at it from across the room. It looked as though a quarter would bounce right off. A good sofa invited you to sink into its cushioned embrace. That thing looked like it would snigger haughtily while he slid to the floor.

She smirked. “That couch.”

He shook his head in defeat and amusement. “Fine. You win…this time.”

She smirked up at him, her eyes sparkling. “I usually do.”

Oh, is that how it’s gonna be? Game on. “Let’s go find you a burger. But I will find something local you’ll like.”

“You can try.






I am an author with a penchant for writing about strong, sassy ladies and the men they love (and cats!). I have a background in historic and theatrical costuming. I live in New York with my cat, Miss Toby Toebeanz, and lots and lots of books.

Destination Romance is a modern day “lady and the highwayman” that follows the adventures of Lacey Devere and Dan Lewis as they travel the most glamorous locations in Europe. Picture Imperfect, A Perfect Brew, A Perfectly Imperfect Holiday, and Perfect by Design are currently available from your favorite retailer.

Falling for the Cat Guy is a sweet, small-town Halloween romance (with cats!) currently available in paperback and digital formats. The series is heavily influenced by real life cat rescuers. Mistletoe Kisses for Two, Ted and Hollyn’s Christmas romance, will be on sale November 2nd in paperback and digital formats.

You Otter be in Pictures is a small-town summer romance with a hint of spice, on sale now, in paperback and digital formats from your favorite retailer.

 

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Sunday, 26 April 2026

Crimson Empire: Broadswoards Over England

 

 


If you're a fan of Outlander, and now want a visceral, more realistic telling of the 1745 Jacobite Uprising, devoid of all the incessant romanticism, you will enjoy this new series!


Broadswords Over England

Crimson Empire Book 1

by James Mace

Genre: Historical Fiction



In 1745, Charles Edward Stuart, claimant prince to the unified thrones of England and Scotland, leads one final uprising to seize the crown for his father, James Edward Stuart. This is the third attempt by James’ followers, known as the Jacobites, to depose the ruling dynasty and restore the House of Stuart.

Though most Jacobites come from the Scottish Highlands, English, Scots, Welsh, and Irish alike fight for both sides, with few caring who occupies the throne. For many Scots, it is a clan war, a chance to settle centuries’ old scores. For others, it is a civil war, with red-jacketed soldiers compelled to fight their plaid wearing fathers, brothers, or sons on the opposing side.

“The ’45,” as it is referred, is a dark chapter from a merciless age. The fate of the burgeoning British Empire, and that of the Highland people, will be settled in a crucible of cannon, musket, bayonet, and broadsword, all wrought with ruthless fury. Many combatants and innocents alike shall grievously suffer in its wake, with only the faintest glints of humanity. This is their story.

 

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Though they could not yet see the enemy, the Recoat defenders could certainly hear them. In the faint glow of torch and starlight, they saw what looked to be a pair of barrels, overflowing with God knew what, being heaved against the sally port entrance.

“They’re going to try and burn the sodding door,” Lewis whispered with a disbelieving grin.

“I’ll sort that,” Molloy replied. “You give them a proper reception once they light the barrels.”

The sergeant then hastened along the western rampart until he found his lone sentry. He ordered the man to bring up water from the kitchen, as much as he could carry. He then raced across the courtyard and gave the same order to the other sentry before returning to the north wall.

Crouching low, he stared through one of the firing ports. He could see the shapes of men shuffling around the barrels, which as best he could tell were a couple of feet from the door. They scraped loudly across the gravel. To his left, Molloy saw the two privates returning with a pair of water buckets each. They hunkered low behind the parapet, near Corporal Lewis. The young NCO held his musket ready as he saw the sparks coming from the enemy’s flint and steel. A small fire soon started. It quickly grew, taking hold of some dry straw and kindling.

“Now,” the corporal said calmly as he shouldered his weapon.

As eight muskets unleashed a close range salvo, they could only clearly see the man who’d sparked the flames. The dense smoke clouded the vision of the Redcoats, who hastily began to reload. From his position, Sergeant Molloy could see the effects. The Jacobite visible in the burning light was struck at least three times, through the guts and neck. Doubling over, he pitched forward, nearly upsetting the other barrel. Molloy saw the shape of another man clutching at his shoulder before stumbling away.

The sounds of musketry from at least two score of enemy fighters flashed and echoed in the dark, peppering the ramparts.

“Easy, lads,” Molloy said. “They can’t hit a fucking thing so long as you use the firing ports, and only when ready to fire.”

At Corporal Lewis’ command, all but one of the Redcoats loosed another volley. This man complained about not being able to see a thing and thus stood to peer over the rampart.

“God damn it, Private Thomas!” Sergeant Molloy snapped. “Get your fucking head down—”

He was interrupted by an even more intense return of musket fire from their enemies. Most shots smacked harmlessly into the wall or sailed over the ramparts. One, however, struck the errant private in the head. He stood rigid for a moment before his convulsing body tumbled into the courtyard below.

“Tommy!” one of his mates cried out, starting to stand.

“Get back to your post!” Molloy snapped, rushing over to the young man at a low crouch and cuffing him across the head. “There’s nothing you can do for him. He’s dead because of his stupid negligence. Now keep your fucking head down and reload your damn firelock!”

As the barrels started to blaze, the two privates bearing water buckets upended these over the rampart, all the while keeping low behind the defences. Within seconds, the fire was completely extinguished and the Redcoats let out a cheer.

Molloy crept over to Corporal Lewis, who’d just finished reloading his musket.

“You have this situation under control,” the sergeant said. He nodded to the water bearers. “I’ll take these two and head for the south wall.”

In the distance, the Jacobite musketry continued, albeit in diminished numbers, with no coordination.

“They won’t be getting in this way,” Lewis confirmed before issuing the command for his men to fire once more.

He knew their chances of hitting their enemy in the dark were slim. Still, this gave his soldiers, especially the newest ones who’d only been with the army a few months, a chance to practice their musketry drills while under fire.

Sergeant Molloy ordered the water bearers to follow him, along with two more privates, before descending the steps and crossing over to the south rampart at a brisk walk. This left Corporal Lewis with five men to hold the rear entrance. Their enemy may have numbered in the hundreds, yet their one attempt at breaching the rear entrance had proven as pathetic as it was foolish.

The crack of musket shots came from the three men dispersed along the south rampart. Upon ascending the steps, Molloy could just make out an enemy combatant lying face down along the steep path leading into the fort.

“They’re trying to bring up a ladder, Sergeant,” one of the men explained. This was an older private in his late twenties, who Molloy trusted to keep his mates from shooting at mere shadows.

“Only one ladder,” the sergeant replied, shaking his head in amusement.

“What’s more, the path is too steep,” the private said. “They can’t even carry the damn thing up to the wall! And with the rain soaking the grassy slopes on the flanks, it’s too damned slippery. They won’t be coming up that way.”

“Splendid,” Molloy said.

His four accompanying soldiers took up positions at various firing ports. He then ordered them to reload but wait for his command to fire. He then checked his watch. It was nearly 3:30 in the morning. While the sun would not rise for nearlyan hour, the faint glow of predawn now made it easy to spot their enemy. He counted at least a hundred gathered in a column about a hundred yards away. It was they who bore the lone ladder. Pops of musket fire from frustrated Jacobites came from both these men and several clusters along the western base of the hill.

Molloy ordered a volley fired at the ladder group, as they were closest. While waiting for the smoke to clear, and his men to reload their muskets, he hastened over to the eastern wall, where he saw not a single enemy fighter. Returning to his men, they fired another pair of volleys. Several Jacobites had fallen, only to be abandoned by their companions, who fled back down the path to return to their camp.

It was then that the sergeant stood. He ordered his men to remain hidden, lest they give away their true strength to the enemy.

“Three cheers for His Majesty, King George!” Molloy shouted, removing his hat.






James Mace is an author, historian, and life-long storyteller. He began writing as a hobby in the early 2000s, penning physical fitness articles for a bodybuilding website and a magazine called Hardcore Muscle.

James wrote the initial draft of his first novel, Soldier of Rome: The Legionary, as a cathartic means of escapism while serving in Iraq from 2004 to 2005. He has since released thirty-seven books, including fifteen Ancient History best-sellers, and five South African History best-sellers. His works currently span his two favourite eras: Ancient Rome and the British Empire.

Outside of writing historical novels, James is a Research Historian and Script Writer for the channel, Redcoat History. He maintains a blog called The Buffed Historian, sharing random fitness articles and other tales from across history. His hobbies include weightlifting, road cycling, foothills hikes, travelling across the globe, live theatre, video games, and sitting down for a game of Dungeons & Dragons with friends.

 

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Thursday, 23 April 2026

Stay at Castle Dracula...

 

 


I can scare and thrill you in only...100 words!


Stay at Castle Dracula…and Other Short-Short Stories

by Jim Nemeth

Genre: Horror Short Stories


Do you enjoy a good drabble? No, not America’s most popular word game—that’s Scrabble. No, not those cute, furry little creatures from Star Trek—those are tribbles. A drabble is a form of intense fiction writing consisting of 100 words. Not 100 chapters, not 100 paragraphs, nor even 100 lines. 100 words. Exactly.

 Author Jim Nemeth loves the format and is an accomplished dabbler in drabbles. “Whenever I explain to friends what a drabble is,” Nemeth relates, “I get the exact same expression of disbelief: ‘100 words?’ In fact, I took these reactions and wrote a drabble about it, “Impossible Assignment,” which leads off the collection.”

Stay at Castle Dracula and Other Short-Short Stories, a chapbook, collects 26 tales, 23 of which are drabbles. With the three other stories, the author “splurged” and indulged himself with an additional 100-200 words.

Other tales of five score words include “Disgruntled,” where a joyous family Christmas celebration turns horrific when a little boy doesn’t get the toy he wanted; “Love Potion” relates what happens when a witch’s magic works too well. And in the title story, another young English traveler debates his decision in staying in Count Dracula’s centuries’ old castle.

 

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It’s What’s Inside That Counts


“Why does Christy have to come over to play,” six-year-old Chloe asked in the petulant voice in which she exceled. “She’s ugly and I hate her!”

“Chloe!” the girl’s father shouted in reprimand. “Don’t talk like that. Christy may not be the prettiest of girls, but ‘beauty is only skin deep,’ as they say. It’s what’s inside a person that counts.”

Later that afternoon in her room, Chloe lay aside the dripping, red-drenched scissors with which she’d used to slice open Christy’s midsection. Closely examining its contents, she frowned in confusion. “I don’t see what’s so special about her insides…”





In 1993, Nemeth won first prize in a national magazine’s short story writing contest for which legendary authors Ray Bradbury and Robert Bloch were judges. The award held special meaning for Nemeth, as Bloch remains his favorite writer and main literary influence. Nemeth is the author of two additional books: It Came From...The Stories and Novels Behind Classic Horror, Fantasy, and Science Fiction Films and Robert Bloch: An Unconventional Bibliography, as well as being the webmaster of The Robert Bloch Official Website (robertbloch.net).

A long-time community activist, the author is particularly committed to the cause of animal rescue. He lives in the historic harbor town of Marblehead, MA.

 

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Wednesday, 22 April 2026

Adverse Reactions

 

 


When your mind makes you the enemy, either your mind must die, or you will. 

Unless yours is the mind they can’t break.


Adverse Reactions

by Deborah J. Lightfoot

Genre: Dystopian Paranormal Suspense



Purity demands a bullet. Devin brings a reckoning.

Since she was six years old, Devin Perridin has been locked behind the walls of the family home to keep her hidden from those who would kill her. But at sixteen, she is exposed as a "Syke," one of an outlawed minority who possess extraordinary powers of mind over matter. Snatched from hiding, she escapes the firing squad, but only to be imprisoned in a house of horrors: the Peaceful Hills Sanatorium and Rehabilitation Center for the Treatment of Persistent Mental Disorders. After an unknown time of torture and "behavior modification," brutally designed to destroy her psychokinetic reflexes, she emerges from the asylum severely damaged in mind and spirit. Her salvation may lie in the series of crimes triggered by her release: first kidnapping, then attempted murder, and then a mustering of forbidden forces to assault the remote pseudo-psychiatric facility where she had been tortured into near-mindlessness.

Drawing upon a strength she had always known was hers but had never before been able to consciously control, Devin defies the authoritarian society with its unjust laws that demand her death. She pushes through pain, isolation, and moral quandaries to seek justice for not only herself, but all members of a maligned and cruelly persecuted minority. A post-apocalyptic, paranormal allegory for the times in which we live.

When your mind makes you the enemy, either your mind must die, or you will. Unless yours is the mind they can't break.

 

“This novel is immediately immersive, with an opening scene that sucks readers in with vivid sensory detail and a great sense of suspense.” —The Black List

“What a story! I was picked up from the first page and you never let me go thereafter. The premise is original … compelling … convincing.” —ARC Reader

“A very enjoyable read. Excellent pacing. Immersive language. Polished, effortless writing. I’d love to see a prequel (or three)!” —ARC Reader

“Relevant to the current situation in the world. Ostracizing others who are different out of fear and ignorance. Cruelty and inhumanity.” —ARC Reader

“Believable and relatable.” —The Black List

“Thematically rich, as Devin faces constant self-doubt but eventually comes to find empowerment in the unique abilities that have made her an outcast.” —The Black List

 

**Get it #OnSale for only $1.99 4/21 – 4/24!**

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Chapter 1

 

VAPORS BILLOWED INTO the chamber in thick masses of orange. Devin choked on the sickly sweet odor.

“Don’t fight it, child,” came the voice—equally cloying—from the darkness beyond the floodlit, glass-walled chamber. “Give yourself up to it.”

The gas surged into Devin’s face, blinding, gagging her. She made it go away. By force of will, a moment’s mental reflex, she flung it back.

Fresh air flooded her nostrils and drove out the syrupy stink. She sucked in a cool, clean breath.

“No!” snapped the voice, crackling with amplified static. “You must not.”

The therapist dropped her with two thousand volts. Devin collapsed to the chamber’s floor, her body jerking, her nerves on fire. The pain was beyond enduring. A pain this intense must be lethal. But she did not die. As she convulsed, her muscles knotted in spasms, she could not scream. No part of her, not even her voice, was under her voluntary control.

“Try it again, child.” Smooth and saccharine once more, her unseen therapist spoke from the concealing shadows as the shock ended and Devin’s pain faded. “Stand up,” the torturer ordered. “And this time, do not fight it. Or your punishment will be the same: swift, sure, and severe.”

Devin struggled upright. She had to brace against the curved glass wall of the gas chamber to keep on her feet. Her muscles had melted from knots into jelly.

An orange cloud flooded the chamber and filled her nose with the stink of rotting fruit.

“Breathe it,” her therapist instructed. “You must.”

But again, Devin reacted by instinct alone. No conscious thought interposed between stimulus and response. The cloud approached; she pushed it away. Pure reflex, action of mind: act of self-preservation. The gas held back, suspended in midair, blocked by the power of her impulse.

On the instant, thousands of volts knocked her to the floor. Pain engulfed Devin, such a pain as must be lethal but wouldn’t do her the service of killing her. She writhed, silent and barely conscious.

Her therapist withdrew the punishment. Devin remained on the floor of the isolation chamber, curled in the fetal position, her long brown hair covering her face. Her body was hers to command once more, but her muscles had no strength to obey.

“You give new meaning to the word persistent, don’t you, girl?” muttered the disembodied voice. Then, more forcefully: “The first step toward healing is to admit you are diseased, Miss Perridin. You have an illness. A mental disorder. I am offering you the cure—in a pleasant aerosol spray that you need only breathe. Once inhaled, the drug acts quickly, and its effects are lasting. But you must take the first step and acknowledge that you want to be cured.”

The voice grew soft, sugary. “Child, for as long as you hold to the notion—the mistaken notion—that your disorder is in some way a strength or a benefit to you, you will continue to fail. And you will suffer the consequences of that failure. We can’t have that, can we?”

Devin gathered the remnants of her strength and rolled onto her back. To stand was impossible; she could barely shape a word.

“No,” she whispered.

She wasn’t speaking to her tormentor.

But: “That’s the spirit!” the therapist responded, sounding genuinely enthused. “Now we try again. Take your medicine like a good girl.”

The orange stink flowed in at the top of the chamber. Devin, lying face up, watched through the curtain of her hair as the cloud descended. She had time to ward it off, to make it go away. But in the soul of her being, nothing sparked. Her reflexes, her instincts, failed to respond. What had been a spontaneous force of mind over matter could offer no resistance.

Devin’s mouth filled with the sickening taste of defeat. The orange cloud enveloped her, a sticky weight, and she choked down lungfuls.

“Wonderful!” her therapist exclaimed. “My dear, I couldn’t be more pleased. This is the tipping point. Your recovery will be much easier from now on, I promise.”

Devin breathed the sickly sweet drug and felt the core of her mind go dead.

Then came the retching. Her body contorted in gut-shredding paroxysms as the drug made her vomit—or attempt to vomit. Her keepers had starved her for so long, her stomach had nothing to bring up. The dry heaves racked her with such violence that she could not breathe. After long moments, unconsciousness brought relief.





Castles in the cornfield provided the setting for Deborah J. Lightfoot’s earliest flights of fancy. On her father’s farm in Texas, she grew up reading tales of adventure and reenacting them behind ramparts of sun-drenched grain. She left the farm to earn a degree in journalism and write award-winning books of history and biography. High on her bucket list was the desire to try her hand at the genre she most admired. The result is Waterspell, a multi-layered fantasy series about a girl and the wizard who suspects her of being so dangerous to his world, he believes he’ll have to kill her … which troubles him, since he’s fallen in love with her.

 

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