Date Published: October 16, 2026

Publisher: Changeling Press

Dane — Brielle Sloan’s tangled up in the worst years of my life. Now
she’s at my clubhouse with secrets that could change everything, trouble
on her heels, and a mouth I have no business thinking about kissing. Then she
stands up to me, and all I can think about is getting closer. Having her under
my protection means seeing the woman behind our past. Getting involved could
cost me my parole, but when she looks at me like she’s aching for me,
I’m ready to take that risk. Every touch makes keeping my distance
harder. Whoever’s after her will have to get through me first.

Dane

The long ribbon of highway carried me south along the riverfront before the
sun had cleared the mountain tops. Cold air bit through my coat collar and hit
the back of my neck. My bike thrummed under me, a steady vibration through the
handlebars and into my palms.

Three blocks later, I noticed a dark blue Fusion behind me. It held my pace at
two car lengths, never dropping back. I watched it in the side mirror without
turning my head. The driver kept a distance but didn’t seem to be trying
to hide as they followed. So, I promptly ran the next light. If the cops had
suddenly taken an interest in me, I wanted the biggest head start I could get.
Not because I’d done anything, but because right now, I could pretend I
didn’t see them and speed back to the compound. Once inside, the guys
could call the lawyer who sometimes helped us out. If they blue lighted me,
though, it was over. So? I did ninety.

The compact waited at the intersection. A couple seconds later, I slowed down.
I still kept an eye out but went much slower so I could take my eyes off the
road and glance back occasionally. I thought that might have been the end of
it, but a half mile down the road, I spotted the same car. OK. I’d play.

Instead of continuing to evade, I led the fucker straight to the compound. If
someone was after me, I’d need backup. It’s what Knuckles and
Gunnar stressed when I first came here. If I got into trouble, my first call
or my next stop would be the Kiss of Death compound.

It didn’t take long until I reached the warehouses by the dock where the
compound sat. A few minutes later, I pulled up to the gate and waited. Sure
enough, shortly after, the little blue Fusion rolled up to the entrance and
stopped.

I swung off my bike and crossed the fifteen feet between me and the car in
long, threatening strides. My fist came down on the compact’s roof hard
enough to feel the metal give. The sound cracked through the predawn quiet
like a gunshot. Inferno and Oktober stepped just outside the gate where
they’d been on watch and waited to see if I needed backup.

“Who the hell put you up to this?” Cold air snapped at my
coat’s collar. “Why are you following me?”

The driver’s window rolled down. A woman’s face emerged from the
shadows of the car interior, pale in the gray light, dark hair pulled back,
and she trembled visibly. Her gaze found mine and held.

At first, I was just annoyed. Then my brain finally caught up with my eyes and
pushed away from the car like she struck me. All of a sudden, the past came
back to punch me in the balls.

The woman at the bank. She’d been the one to testify against me. Her
testimony had been crucial to putting me away, so her face wasn’t one I
ever wanted to see again.

She exhaled. Her breath misted between us. An envelope sat clutched in her
hands, pressed against the steering wheel like she was afraid to let it go.

“I — I’m Brielle Sloan.” Her voice shook as if she were
nervous or scared. Good. I hope she was scared. “I saw that charity-run
article in one of the city’s online papers. I wanted to find you at your
clubhouse and didn’t realize who I was following.”

“You saw me in town and followed me.” Not only was she a bitch but
she was a stupid bitch. “You thought it was safe to follow a strange man
affiliated with any kind of MC to their clubhouse? Is that what I’m
hearing?”

She blinked up at me, shivering now in the October wind.
“I…” She swallowed. “I guess so.” When she
spoke that time, her voice was soft and subdued, likely knowing she’d
fucked up.

“You’re not here about a fuckin’ charity run.” I held
her gaze, letting my anger bleed through so she knew exactly what she was
dealing with. “What the fuck do you want?”

She took a breath before opening the door and stepping out. She was smaller
than I remembered from the courtroom. In fact, she looked like shit with her
cheekbones prominent and her skin almost sallow. She looked like she’d
missed more than a couple meals and ran herself ragged. Outside the car, her
breath came in short white clouds between us.

“I’m sorry,” she blurted out. “I didn’t want to
testify against you, but I was being threatened.” She held out the
manila envelope she’d been clutching to her chest, offering it to me.
“This proves he built that robbery around you.”

This was not on my bingo card. “Evidence I was set up? The fuck
‘er you talkin’ about?” Twelve years. Twelve years I’d
spent on the inside, just trying to survive in an environment not in any way
shape or form friendly to a lone white boy. The lessons I’d learned had
to be learned hard and fast.

She took a tentative step forward, insisting I take the envelope.
“It’s all in there.” Brielle’s voice changed. The
level quality thinned at the edges. “I’m sorry, Mr. Rourke. I
never meant to be the bad guy in all this.”

Wind cut across the service road. Cold river air, carrying the scents of
diesel and mud. Her hair stirred at the edges with a couple of strands
catching on her eyelashes. She didn’t push them away, instead held the
envelope.

I took the envelope from her just as I noticed another car. I’d been so
focused on the blue car, I ignored the other car following. This was a gray
sedan. Seeing it now triggered the memory and I knew I had more than one
person following me. When Brielle got out of her car, she’d turned the
engine off. I’d been waiting for her at the clubhouse gate with my bike
shut off. Which meant, the gray sedan I’d seen earlier couldn’t
see our lights and didn’t have a warning we were around the next bend.

As the car rounded the curve and finally saw us, the driver let off the
accelerator a moment before continuing on as if nothing had happened.
Admittedly, the driver could have lifted his foot on reflex. But I had a
tingle between my shoulders I’d learned never to dismiss offhand.

Out of the corner of my vision, I saw Oktober and Inferno ready themselves.
Inferno actually started toward me, though Oktober held back. Likely to have
the wider angle, and to call for reinforcements.

The car continued on and had to pass close enough for me to see the outline of
the driver behind the windshield. I thought the guy had a phone in his hand,
but it was hard to tell as the floodlights glared against the windshield and
the driver’s side window.

Brielle didn’t seem to notice the other vehicle. At least, she
didn’t glance at it. Instead, she seemed so focused on me nothing else
around her seemed to register. I could see her hands shaking, but she
didn’t tuck them away or try to hide it. Which meant, she likely
hadn’t known who was in the sedan or knew she’d been followed. If
she had and this was a setup, she’d have shifted her gaze to the car on
instinct.

Just as I thought the car would roll on and keep going, it stopped a few car
lengths away from us. I could see the driver aiming his phone at his side
mirror. Taking a picture?

“Don’t move,” I said to Brielle.

Oktober and Inferno both now moved to cover me and Brielle, between us and the
sedan. The sedan stayed a moment longer. I caught the outline of the driver
through the back window. Great.

“What’s going on?” Oktober looked from me to Brielle and
back.

“Not sure,” I muttered. “But someone just photographed me
and the woman whose testimony put me in prison. I doubt my parole officer
would be impressed to find out we’d had contact of any sort.” I
scowled, stepping backward so fast, Inferno had to stop me from knocking him
down.

“Easy, man,” he said softly. “What’s going on?”

I pointed at Brielle. “If you’re trying to get me tangled in
something to get my parole revoked, you can just take your sweet ass back to
wherever the fuck you came from.”

Gravel sprayed from the rear tires as the sedan hurried out of the area and
faded as the car swung onto the main road and disappeared toward Nashville.
Still, that itch between my shoulders became more insistent and bothersome.
Something wasn’t right at all.

“Who was in the gray car, Brielle?”

Her brow wrinkled in confusion. “I… what?”

“The car that just stopped and took our picture. Who was following
us?”

She shook her head, a helpless expression on her face as she looked at Oktober
and Inferno, then glanced around the area. She turned her head to look down
the road opposite where the car had been. Could the woman be that clueless of
her surroundings?

Fuck. “So fucking stupid,” I muttered. I didn’t know if I
meant Brielle, or me. Because I was about to do something so incredibly stupid
as to not even be believed.

I tucked the envelope inside my coat. “Get in your car, Brielle.”

Brielle didn’t move. “OK. I’ll leave.”

“No,” I snapped. “Follow me to the compound. Follow me and
don’t stop for anything.” I moved back to my bike and climbed on.

“Everything OK?” Oktober followed me, Inferno hanging back to
watch over Brielle.

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I’m taking her to
the compound. I’ll let Knuckles and Knight sort this out.”

“Sort what out?”

I met his gaze. “I’m pretty sure trouble just came crawling to our
doorstep.”

Oktober nodded at the little Fusion as Brielle climbed back inside.
“Someone was interested in whatever she brought me.” I indicated
the envelope. “It might be nothing, but if she’s not actually
working to wrap me up in some kind of trap, then she could be in some serious
danger.”

Inferno instructed Brielle which way to go once she passed through the gate.
As I watched, her eyes grew round and wide. Her already pale face seemed to
lose even more color as fear settled into her expression. She looked almost
haunted, like she knew it was only a matter of time before the bad guys caught
up to her.

She pulled up beside me, just inside the gate. “What’s going
on?”

I gave her a hard look, hoping I got through to her because, while I might be
angry with her, none of what happened back then had been her fault. And even
if it was, I knew the kind of man Grant Sutton was. Brielle had been little
more than a teenager when it had all gone down. He’d likely blackmailed
her or threatened her. Still, I couldn’t help my harsh tone. “Does
Sutton know you’re here?”

“What?” Her eyes widened and she started trembling even more.
“Why would he know I’m here?”

“I don’t know what your game is, but I’d bet my ass Sutton
has had you followed. He now knows you’re not playing by his rules
anymore. Whatever protection you thought you had just evaporated. Follow me
and don’t stop until I do.”

I rolled toward the compound, my brothers at my back. I knew one of them would
have contacted Knuckles. Both of them probably called their old ladies because
neither man would want the woman following me to be thrown to the wolves
without some backup. Whether she deserved that backup remained to be seen.
Either way, I’d get to the bottom of this. And I really hoped Brielle
Sloan was on the up and up.

Marteeka Karland is an international bestselling author who leads a double
life as an erotic romance author by evening and a semi-domesticated housewife
by day. Known for her down and dirty MC romances, Marteeka takes pleasure in
spinning tales of tenacious, protective heroes and spirited, vulnerable
heroines. She staunchly advocates that every character deserves a blissful
ending, even, sometimes, the villains in her narratives. Her writings are
speckled with intense, raw elements resulting in page-turning delight entwined
with seductive escapades leading up to gratifying conclusions that elicit a
sigh from her readers.

Away from the pen, Marteeka finds joy in baking and supporting her husband
with their gardening activities. The late summer season is set aside for
preserving the delightful harvest that springs from their combined efforts
(which is mostly his efforts, but you can count it). To stay updated with
Marteeka’s latest adventures and forthcoming books, make sure to visit her
website. Don’t forget to register for her newsletter which will pepper you
with a potpourri of Teeka’s beloved recipes, book suggestions, autograph
events, and a plethora of interesting tidbits.

Author on Instagram & TikTok: @marteekakarland

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Publisher on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and TikTok: @changelingpress

Save 15% off any order at ChangelingPress.com with code RABT15

Children’s Non-Fiction

Date Published: 11-09-2026

Publisher: Mission Point Press

In the Land Of Matth with an A, the subjects loved order so much that
they built their towns in tight, neat little blocks. They were grouped by the
size and lived in homes built just for them. There were ONES, TENS, and
HUNDREDS.

The ONES were peasants who kept the villages running.

The Tens were ten times taller than the Ones. They were royalty who ruled over
towns and cities.

The HUNDREDS were ten times larger than the Tens and, therefore, one hundred
times greater than the Ones. Because of their enormous size, they watched over
the entire kingdom, There were only three of them: King Equation and his
brothers, Prince Addition and Prince Subtraction.

 After recently completing Stahno the Space Explorer, Lan H. Reilly, a
self-taught artist, was inspired to write her next book, hoping to cultivate a
love for mathematics among her young audience. She was born in Saigon,
Vietnam, and spent most of her childhood there.

In 1975, she was evacuated with her family from the US Embassy and settled in
Wisconsin.

She later earned her Engineering degree at the University of
Wisconsin-Madison. She met her husband while working in Minneapolis, then
relocated to Michigan to raise their three children.

Poetry

Date Published: August 24, 2026

All joy wants eternity … wants deep, deep eternity. With this
declaration of primordial lust, the patron saint of post-modernity exalts his
mania for joy, alongside the unquenchable thirst of the will to power, and,
with it, the futile quest for the super-human. The cultural force of this
dictum, which has become a commonplace among the literati, still drives the
onslaught of thought and behavior, even, and perhaps foremost, among those who
remain ignorant of its explicit pronouncement. A prophet is always heard most
widely and wrongly, not through his own voice, but through the discordant
voices of his wayward disciples. Amid the endless cacophony of copycats, who
vainly mimic the grand style of their master, you’re tempted to forget
the desperate loneliness of the solitary individual, a hermit in his many
hideaways and masks, who, above all else, sought to transmute his solitude
into a macho justification for human tenderness.

Late at night, when she is fast asleep, you crawl into bed; and in the midst
of the dark, quiet night, you hear rhythmic spasms in her breathing as she
dreams. Thoughtlessly, carelessly, inevitably, your mind empties itself so
that there is only the sound of her breathing – paradoxically steady and
spasmodic. In your own late-night, overwrought, careworn mania, you manage to
convince yourself that what you really hear at this moment is the sound of
eternity singing. Physiologically, you might interpret this as a mental
phantom concocted out of the stresses and strains of a tiring day. But this
illusion produces a reality that the mind cannot deny without destroying a
part of itself. Loving your mind too much to bear losing even its most
illusory fragments, you cannot help but think that these moments are gateways
to eternity, that they are not merely the pleasant afterimages you dream up to
forget a day of painstaking and tedious work but that they are indeed what you
have lived through the day to reach, to grasp and caress, if only for a
fleeting instant. Such moments (and not the jobs you do) are the serious work
of your life.

 

This book, the third and final one in the eternity trilogy, continues to
recount the conspiracy of nowhere and now here that unfolded in “The History
of Eternity” and “Passages to Eternity.” Read this book, if you will, and
follow the adventures of this paradox as it reveals itself in the lives of 36
historical individuals, including Musil, Bloy, Peguy, George Eliot, Kripke,
Blake, Nishida Kitaro, Cather, Nagarjuna, Fitzgerald, Bruno, Paz, John Duns
Scotus, Mallarmé, Burke, Achebe, Murdoch, Epictetus, St. John of the
Cross, Turing, Lispector, Goya, Pirandello, Blanchot, Tennyson, Messiaen,
Cantor, O’Connor, Nin, Lowell, Racine, Vidal, Niebuhr, Twain, Derrida,
C.S. Lewis and many others.

 

About the Author

Mr. James E. Winder was born on June 16, 1953, in Athens, Tennessee, and
graduated summa cum laude from Vanderbilt University in 1975 with a B.A. in
philosophy and literature. He earned an M.A. in philosophy from Purdue
University in 1980.

James Winder spent the lion’s share of his career as a mid-level manager
and intelligence analyst for the National Security Agency (NSA), where he
retired in 2013 after 30 years of service. At NSA, Mr. Winder’s most
noteworthy assignment was in 1991-1992, when he served as Assistant Director
of the President’s Foreign Intelligence Advisory Board (PFIAB). During
that time, he co-authored a report for President George H.W. Bush on
intelligence lessons learned during the first Gulf War and provided extensive
research and documentation on a wide range of other matters of great interest
to the PFIAB board members. In a special commendation, then Acting PFIAB
Chairman, Admiral Bobby Ray Inman, cited Mr. Winder for his “expert
advice to the President of the United States” and for his
“extremely incisive and timely contributions on some very complex
issues.”

During three decades at NSA, Mr. Winder produced three classified, book-length
studies, most notably including a comprehensive report on an important
subject, which won NSA’s annual Cryptologic Literature Award. He also
wrote a wide variety of other in-depth reports on Soviet intelligence,
terrorism, and technical threats to U.S. telecommunications.

Mr. Winder is the author of The History of Eternity, a series of philosophic
meditations in poetic form, which is, according to Mr. Winder, the cryptic
story of his life and the lives of many others. There is – in the
history of philosophy or literature – no other work that is akin to it
in nature and scope.

 

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Mystery / Thriller

Date Published: 10-10-2026

Publisher: First Legacy Publishing

The community comes first – no matter what.

 

For ten years, the Utopia Tower experiment has been a resounding success.
Conceived by a tech billionaire, the state-of-the-art apartment complex offers
a life-changing opportunity: rent-free living for residents who adhere to the
“Five Pillars of Harmony” and maintain the building’s pristine reputation. It
is a tight-knit community where neighbors look out for one another, ensuring
that nothing endangers their sanctuary and their right to continue living
there.

Antonio, a young lawyer, moves into the tower to care for his grandmother,
eager to join this idyllic social experiment. But the veneer of perfection
cracks when two young men—both considered bad apples and threats to the
community’s serenity—die in unusual circumstances within a single month.
Despite warnings to leave well enough alone, Antonio suspects a connection and
digs deeper. He discovers that, in a building designed for total harmony,
asking the wrong questions can make you the next problem to be handled. Is
there a killer hiding among the residents? Is the billionaire founder
protecting his investment? Or is the truth far more terrifying?

In an environment where preservation of the collective is the prime directive,
how far will the community go to protect itself?

 

Perfect for fans of Black Mirror, Blake Crouch, and high-concept tech
mysteries.

 

About the Author

 

 Kevin G. Chapman is an attorney specializing in labor and employment law and
an independent author. His seven -book (so far) Mike Stoneman Thriller series,
includes Lethal Voyage, Winner of the 2012 Kindle Book Award, and Fatal
Infraction, the #1 Police Procedural of the year (CLUE Blue Ribbon Award).
Kevin’s stand-alone mystery/suspense/romance, Dead Winner was the winner of
the CLUE Blue Ribbon for best suspense/thriller, and Kevin’s most recent
stand-alone mystery, The Other Murder, was the Grand Prize Winner of the 2024
CLUE Award (best over-all mystery/suspense/thriller). Kevin has also written a
serious political drama, A Legacy of One (2016). Kevin is a resident of
Central New Jersey and is a graduate of Columbia College and Boston University
School of Law. Readers can contact Kevin via his website at
http://www.KevinGChapman.com.

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Twitter: @KGChapman

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Waffles and Wisdom

Date Published: September 6, 2026

Their familiar routine shifts when newcomer Myra Davis walks through the door.
Polished, watchful, and impossible to ignore, Myra brings new energy to the
café—and new questions. She charms Bill, unsettles Lou, and
begins asking about River Road, old land records, and the reclusive Deakins
sisters whose estate may hold secrets the town has tried to forget. As
Bill’s loneliness makes him vulnerable to the possibility of a second
chance, Lou’s instincts tell her Myra’s interest in Columbus is no
accident. What begins as small-town curiosity becomes a search through
courthouse files, faded maps, family rumors, and memories preserved beneath
pantry floorboards and long forgotten ledgers.

While Grant confronts a medical crisis that may pull him toward his daughter
in Madison, Bill risks his heart on a woman he barely knows, and Lou must
decide whether her suspicion is wisdom, jealousy, or an old wound warning her
too loudly.

As Myra’s connection to the Deakins estate becomes clearer, another
force emerges: preservationist Charles Pritchard, a man determined to protect
history even if protecting it means controlling who gets to claim it.

Warm, humorous, and gently suspenseful, Breakfast at Bernie’s: Waffles
and Wisdom is a story about friendship in the later seasons of life, the cost
of loving deeply, and the danger of secrets left too long in the dark. Set
against the comforting rhythms of a small-town café, it blends tender
character drama with a mystery rooted in family history, land, memory, and
belonging. At Bernie’s, every cup of coffee carries a story, every
argument hides affection, and every person at the table must decide what is
worth protecting—and what must finally be brought into the light.

About the Author

 Award-winning New England author, D. L. Norris is widely recognized for her
insightful contributions to literature and personal development. With a
prolific career spanning several decades, Norris has explored themes of
health, emotional wellness, family dynamics, and cultural history, earning her
a devoted readership. Her acclaimed novels, “The Long Way Home,” “Where the
Heart Is,” “Old Books and Faded Dreams: Collector’s Edition,” “Field of
Memories: A Tapestry of Heartwarming Short Stories,” The Intercessors: They
Walk Among Us,” and “Voyagers: Homeland to Heartland”—are celebrated for
their vibrant, oft-humorous stories and authentic portrayal of real-life
events and mindsets inspired by her beloved Scandinavian heritage. Norris’s
writing is characterized by its warmth, wit, and ability to capture the
complexities of human relationships, drawing from her own experiences and
family traditions. Through her work, she invites readers to reflect on the
importance of resilience, hope, and unconditional love, weaving together
narratives that resonate across generations. She and her husband, Quincy,
reside in the picturesque city of Hartford, Connecticut, where they continue
to inspire others through their commitment to storytelling and community
engagement.

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Gay Paranormal Romance

Date Published: October 9, 2026

Believing in love and in luck is something Gavin swore he’d never do
again — until he meets Ford.

 

After being left at the altar by his former fiancé, he’s a firm
disbeliever in good fortune and love. Though there’s an immediate
attraction between himself and Ford, they’re just too different to make
a relationship work. The sex is explosive and despite himself Gavin even grows
to like Ford’s quirky sense of humor and skewed view of life.
Isn’t that good enough?

Not for Ford. A happy-go-lucky diviner of fortunes and omens, he’s
sure from what he’s seen that Gavin is the love of his life and the man
he’ll marry. He makes it his mission to overcome Gavin’s doubts
and fears and teach him how to love again. Never giving up in his enthusiastic
pursuit of the once-burned twice-shy secretary, he brings Gavin back to life
and helps restore him to the man he used to be.

Ford makes Gavin want to believe in love again. But when Ford begins to
lose his faith, it’s up to Gavin to save the magic they have between
them and blaze the trail toward their happily ever after.

EXCERPT

 

“Something wonderful is going to happen today.”

“Were you talking to me?” A fun-sized blonde deliverywoman, no one
Ford had met before, juggled her armload of Flowers Fast! boxes to pop out her
iPod earbuds.

Ford grinned up at her from where he’d crouched to study the sidewalk
perpendicular to the museum service elevator he, and presumably she, was
waiting on. “Sorry, no. I wasn’t talking to you. Not that I
wouldn’t. Everyone I’ve ever known swears you can’t shut me
up for love or money. They’re usually right.”

The deliverywoman looked like she couldn’t decide between aww, cute and
running. “You’re a little crazy, aren’t you?”

“So I’m often told.” He’d bet this woman was one heck
of a character herself. She’d made some, er, interesting fashion choices
involving calf-length striped tights and patchouli hair wax. “I’m
Ford.” He offered her a hand from below. “Come down here and check
this out.”

“This isn’t some kind of cheesy pick-up line, is it? I’d be
flattered, but… okay, wow. From the look on your face, I can answer
that one myself. So not a pick-up line. If you were any less into women,
you’d be a gastropod.”

Ford laughed. “That’s a new one on me.”

“If the shoe fits. I’m Kayla.”

“Ford.”

“Like the truck?” The deliverywoman crouched beside him. Good.
Ford liked her, and her coming along for the ride was an excellent sign.
Something wonderful and something unexpected were set to happen today.
“You deliver for Rush Plus, right?”

“Packages where you want them to go as fast as you want ‘em to get
there. Or as fast as I can pedal.” Ford patted his heavy messenger bag.

“Pleased to meet you. I could use a pick-me-up. Delivering flowers is
surprisingly thankless work. What’s this good thing that’s going
to happen today?”

“I don’t know yet.” Ford waved up from their spot on the
sidewalk at the weird door to the external service elevator and the five
floors of refurbished mill-cum-museum it had to sledge its way down at the
speed of thick molasses. “It’s complicated. If you’re up for
it, there’s time for me to explain.”

“God, tell me about it.” Kayla scowled at the stubborn doors.

Ford had started to feel the burn of his crouch, the solid weight of his body
not really best designed for sitting this way, but he could take it a little
longer, and he had a good example right in front of him. A penny, less than a
foot away on the sidewalk. “Do you believe in magic?”

“Wait, what? Do you mean stage magic? Illusions and that kind of
thing?”

“Not exactly.” Ford nudged the penny with the tip of his finger
and waggled his eyebrows at her. He liked playing over the top. Made people
less nervous of the giant with his crazy talk.

“Ohh, I get it. See a penny, pick it up, and all day long you’ll
have good luck?”

“Exactly.” Ford levered the penny off the sidewalk.

“Ugh!”

“Hey, don’t knock it just because it needs a little TLC.”
Ford balanced the penny in his palm, where it looked lost and tiny in the
breadth and width of his hand. Or, depending on your point of view, safe.
Protected. “It’s heads up, even. Extra good luck.”

“Yeah, but where’s the proof?”

“You don’t need proof if you believe. And I do. Because it’s
true. This penny means it’s my lucky day.” Ford shifted and
winced. His knees had had enough of bearing all his weight. Time to stand.
“I need to stand up. Don’t freak out, okay?”

“Why would that tweak me?”

“You’ll see.” Ford stood slowly to give her time to adjust
to his size. At six feet nine with a proportionate build that could only be
described as solid, he liked to make sure people knew in advance he
wasn’t a threat.

Kayla’s eyes widened. She took a step back, then forward, her chin up.
“Holy cow. Sorry, just… wow, man. You’re huge.”

“And you’re itty-bitty. I won’t hurt you.”

“A gentle giant, huh?” Kayla studied him with her head tilted to
one side. “Okay. I believe you.”

“You’d be surprised how many don’t. Thank you. May I?”
Ford took her hand to kiss the back of it.

“Touché, Mister.” Kayla fiddled with a strand of her spiky
hair. “So you really, really believe in luck? What about omens and good
signs and that kind of thing?”

“Yes, yes, yes, and all of the above, yes. And you don’t,
right?”

When Kayla shook her head, a ladder of silver rings running along the outer
shells of her ears jingled. All positive signs that pointed toward good
fortune. Better and better. “Don’t shun me or anything. I’ve
just never seen any proof that all those old wives’ tales are more than
just stories.”

Ford grinned broadly at her. He loved it when someone was willing to be
convinced. “If it’s proof you want, I can do proof. Prepare to be
amazed.”

 

About the Author

A storyteller and a sewist, Will Okati has lived through a few Interesting
Times but come out the other side ready to roll. Looking for them? Look for a
keyboard or a vintage Singer. They’ll be there. They’re most often accompanied
by their beloved pair of orange-flavored felines: Hobbit (toothless, sweet)
and Onion (spicy, known to bounce off the literal ceiling in pursuit of a
ladybug).

Will likes to say still waters run deeper than anyone knows, and life — like
storytelling — is always a work in progress.

 

Will on Facebook

Will on Instagram

Will on Goodreads

 

Publisher on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and TikTok: @changelingpress

 

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