Sidney and JoJo are off to Thailand, where Mama lives.
Join them on an adventure to faraway lands-by crate, van, car, conveyor belt,
and airplane-as they discover the sights and sounds of a tropical new world.
Along the way, they meet friendly Thai people, encounter a wise dog, and gaze
in wonder at the golden Buddhas and temple cats standing guard. With a few
bumps in the road-marked by meows, tail twitches, and new surprises-they
journey onward until, at last, they arrive at their new home.
About the Author
Lauren Isaacson is an educator, business owner, and is excited to add
children’s book author to her repetoire. Inspired by the real-life
journey of her two adventurous cats during a move abroad, Lauren wrote this
story to share with her students and families around the world. She is the
founder of The Tutoring Hub: Tutoring & Advocacy, LLC, where she supports
students, families, and educators. As her students learned about her two cats
and their adventures, a desire grew to give them a story they could take home.
Lauren is excited to continue the adventures of The Tales of Sidney and JoJo.
You can contact Luaren at ljisaacson491@gmail.com.
Megan Heller is a Michigan-based contemporary artist who earned her BFA
in illustration from the College for Creative Studies. Her work blends
intricate detail with rich symbolism. Working primarily in mixed media, such
as watercolors and colored pencils, with just a dash of digital magic, her
pieces have been shown at Black Box Gallery’s Fantasy Exhibition in
Dearborn, the Midland Center for the Arts, as well as galleries and
exhibitions throughout Detroit and her hometown of Saginaw. This is her first
foray into children’s book illustration.
A scandalous Top Secret Facility built on Sacred Ground
triggers an ancient Cheyenne curse.
The Curse of Dead
Horse Canyon: Cheyenne Spirits
Dead Horse Canyon Saga Book 1
by Marcha Fox & Pete Risingsun
Genre: Native American Cross-Cultural Conspiracy Thriller
GOVERNMENT
CORRUPTION TRIGGERS AN ANCIENT CHEYENNE CURSE…
Greed and corruption have infiltrated the once-pristine
Colorado Rockies, echoes of years past when silver miners swarmed the area like
vermin, precipitating a 19th Century curse. Now a new generation delivers a
different form of pollution, among them the most corrupt entity of them all.
All Sara Reynolds remembers of the wreck that slammed their Silverado to the
depths of Dead Horse Canyon is Bryan’s dying plea to expose what he found. Why
did they kill him? What happened that fateful spring day? Will she and her dead
husband’s life-long Native American friend, Charlie Littlewolf, discover his
secret?
Ceremonies taught by Charlie’s Northern Cheyenne medicine man grandfather
decades before can connect with the spirits and reveal all things. He shunned
them then. He needs them now, like never before. Coupled with Sara’s ethereal
clues from the heavens can they find answers in time? Or will the same black
ops raiders murder them, too?
READERS’ FAVORITE 5-STAR REVIEW
“Infused with a sense of danger, the intricate plot and dramatic
storyline create a breathtaking and intense story.…An exceptional
novel complete with conspiracy, intrigue, and murder that will enthrall
everyone who has an affinity for suspenseful thrillers with just a smidgen of
the paranormal.” –Susan Sewell
THE BOOK COMMENTARY 5-STAR REVIEW
“A fascinating blend of historical mystery and the supernatural that is
as suspenseful as it is entertaining. How the past affects the present is a
cleverly handled theme, and the narrative highlights the enduring consequences
of greed and disrespect for the land. Boldly written, tautly plotted, and
expertly delivered.” –George Buehlman
AWARDS
Page Turner Book Award
Silver Medal Global Book Awards
Pinnacle Book Achievement Award
Book Excellence Award Finalist
Readers’ Favorite 5-star Review
Breathtaking drops along the road that rimmed Colorado’s
Dead Horse Canyon terrified Sara Reynolds from the start. Cliffs and gorges
stretched on and off for miles, few protected by guardrails.
“Too expensive,” Bryan explained. “Not a priority for lean
county budgets.”
His advice for dealing with roadway-induced acrophobia was simple:
“Keep your eyes on the center line. Concentrate on the road. Whatever
you do, never, ever look down!”
His words sprang from memory, recommendations moot. Ignoring the threat
didn’t make it go away. Especially when someone T-boned your truck on a blind
curve.
Their mangled Silverado teetered on a ledge twenty feet below. She stared,
incredulous, as steam twisted upward from its crumpled hood in a sultry,
hypnotic dance. Vapors crawled along the shattered windshield, then teased the
heart-shaped leaves of a young quaking aspen—the truck’s only ally against a
sheer drop of several hundred feet.
The realization she’d been the truck’s passenger only moments before sizzled
through her like lightning. Why was she weightless, brunette tendrils floating
about her shoulders like a storm cloud? Her horrified gaze shifted to her
husband, likewise weightless and wearing his signature crooked grin.
“What happened?” Her words were soundless, thought rather
than speech.
“We’re dead.”
“What? Dead? What do you mean we’re dead?”
He pointed to their truck. She gasped. Their lifeless bodies were clearly
visible through the cab’s passenger side window.
He was right—they were dead.
The tender expression in his hazel eyes embraced her heart as affection
flowed between them. An unexpected sense of peace defied what lay below.
Time froze, the forest hushed and serene as a leafy chorus offered a requiem in
the spring breeze.
What seemed an eternity later, sirens screamed through the canyon. His
demeanor shifted.
“I’m sorry, Sara. That didn’t exactly work out as planned. I know—I
should have listened to you. I love you, sweetheart.”
Renewed panic surged. “What are you saying, Bryan?”
“You must go back. Promise me. Don’t let them get away with this.
Please.”
He blew her a kiss, then his personage retreated, fading into a swirling
vortex of unearthly light.
He didn’t stop, her plea denied, his only response a wave of farewell as he
vanished into the light.
* * *
She awoke to mind-numbing pain. Her shoulder, neck, and hip screamed, spasms
twisting every muscle as if some wild beast had torn them apart. There’d been
an ear-splitting crash, a brilliant flash of light. . .
Where was Bryan? Where was she?
Unless someone knew otherwise, surely it was hell.
Somewhere far away a muffled siren wailed. Fear of the truth conspired with
her blood-crusted lashes not to open her eyes. Pain vetoed the refusal. Her
eyelids trembled open.
A sandy haired, broad-shouldered man in a blue EMS uniform sat beside her,
attention fixed on a beeping vital signs monitor. A metallic taste filled her
mouth, lips swollen and heavy, her attempt to speak a scratchy whisper.
“What. . .happened? Wh-where’s Bryan? Is he h-here?”
The man turned her way, regarding her with dark, concerned eyes.
“It’s okay, ma’am. Don’t try to talk.” He placed a gentle hand on
her shoulder. “We’re getting you to help as fast as we can.”
Her breathing quickened, ravaged muscles and nerves on fire, but the agony
consuming her heart eclipsed it all. A sob caught in her throat, words an
articulated whimper.
“H-he left me. Here….”
“Just relax.” He emptied a syringe into the port of the IV line
embedded in her arm.
The pain ebbed. Again nothing. Only darkness.
* * *
BELTON REGIONAL MEDICAL CENTER
April 17, Tuesday
5:37 p.m.
The sensation of motion breached the persistent fog. Her eyes cracked open
as the gurney rumbled through a portal into blinding light. Electronic
chirping, then muted voices, the smell of antiseptics.
She forced her query out from somewhere in her chest. “W-what
h-happened?”
The pretty black nurse hanging a unit of blood looked her way. “You
were in a bad wreck, darlin’. Just rest now. You’re in good hands. You’re awake
and that’s a really good sign.”
“But my husband—”
“I know, darlin’. Don’t worry about him. He’s in a better place.”
Tears flowed unbidden. It had to be a nightmare. Willing herself awake,
however, failed. Abandonment and confusion in the grip of agonizing pain
remained.
Return to Dead Horse
Canyon: Grandfather Spirits
Dead Horse Canyon Saga Book 2
THE DEAD HORSE
CANYON SAGA CONTINUES. . .
READERS’ FAVORITE
5-STAR REVIEW
“I went into ‘Return to Dead Horse Canyon’ not having read the first
book and while it does read comfortably as a stand-alone, after just a couple
of chapters I actually went back to read ‘The Curse of Dead Horse Canyon’
before restarting book two. It was an excellent decision. The building of the
Cheyenne history is critical to the story and had I not understood Sara’s
complete motivation and Charlie’s fully fleshed-out roots, I’d have missed out
on so much more than just a good read. My gosh, the depth of ethnology packed
into both novels is meticulously researched and beautifully detailed.
Co-authors Marcha Fox and Pete Risingsun are a dream team with this saga and
I’m really looking forward to the third and final installment of their
trilogy.” — Asher Syed
This epic modern Native American saga continues in this sequel to “The
Curse of Dead Horse Canyon” where Charlie Littlewolf and Sara Reynolds
discovered why her husband, Bryan, was murdered, changing their lives forever.
While Charlie swore to avenge his white brother’s death, the path to do so
remains unclear.
His job with Lone Star Operations allows him to use his college education and
earn a generous income. However, it conflicts with everything he knows to be
right, especially as he returns to the teachings of his medicine man
grandfather. Is violating the Earth wrong or not? Little does he realize that
his work will ultimately return him to the Northern Cheyenne reservation where
his true destiny will manifest in ways he never imagined.
Sara is determined to fulfill Bryan’s last request to expose the government
corruption coupled with the lethal forces that stole his life. Releasing the
scandalous Top Secret data via WikiLeaks infuriates those with much to lose,
who place a high price on her demise. When her response gets too personal, the
next attempt to silence her forever comes close to home.
While miles apart, each struggles with life-threatening situations as a result
of their dedication to Bryan’s legacy. Their lives remain entangled through a
series of fateful decisions and circumstances that define a future fraught with
dangerous unknowns for them both.
AWARDS
Pinnacle Book Achievement Award
Firebird Book Award
Book Excellence Award Finalist
5-star Readers’ Favorite Review
Page Turner Award Finalist
The Revenge of Dead
Horse Canyon: Sweet Medicine Spirits
Dead Horse Canyon Saga Book 3
The DEAD HORSE
CANYON Trilogy’s explosive conclusion!
Picking up where “Return to Dead Horse Canyon: Grandfather Spirits”
left off, we find that much to her enemy’s dismay, Sara’s life is spared, but
with a steep price. A million dollar bounty remains on her demise, motivating
another to threaten her life. Paralyzed by the last attempt to eliminate her,
her Native American friend, Charlie, promises to help restore her health so she
can walk again. Before he can accomplish that, however, the unthinkable happens,
which disrupts and redirects their plans.
To fulfill his promise to his Northern Cheyenne Grandfather to complete a
four-day ceremonial fast at the Sacred Mountain, Charlie journeys to Bear Butte
in South Dakota, known to his tribe as Novavose. A series of
startling visions reveal the full scope of his destiny. Of prime importance is
to restore the ancient Earth Giving Ceremony known as the Massaum, originally revealed
thousands of years before by their prophet, Sweet Medicine.
Has the time come at last for Native People to unite and fulfill Black Cloud’s
curse on Dead Horse Canyon? And what about those other 19th century prophecies
directed to the 7th Generation by Black Elk and Crazy Horse?
Phase I of the PURF complex is complete. A gala open house to celebrate is
scheduled around the same time as the Gathering of Indigenous Leaders.
While the underground facility is filled to the brim with corrupt lobbyists,
contractors, and government officials, not far away a host of First Nation
Americans is entrenched in a ceremony that promises to restore them to their
land.
What could possibly go wrong?
5-STAR EDITORIAL REVIEW FROM READERS’
FAVORITE
“The Revenge of Dead Horse Canyon by
Marcha Fox and Pete Risingsun stands out for its sharp writing and complete
ability to immerse readers, especially in Charlie’s spiritual transformation.
Poor Sara just cannot get a break. Attacked, paralyzed, kidnapped, and then
labeled a domestic terrorist and sanctioned! This isn’t just a fight for
survival; this is about the power of truth in the face of overwhelming
opposition. Charlie fits into this description, with a spectacular ceremony for
Sara’s healing, but also as a powerful catalyst when he is in the presence of
Grandmother Earth and the consequences of his actions. Fox and Risingsun are a
dream writing team in every way, and, culturally, this portrayal of Charlie’s
heritage is painted from the sky to the smallest pebble and the fire burning in
between. The pacing is elevated by point of view shifts and all the drama, but
also a surprising relationship transformation as well. Ultimately, this finale
succeeds with a perfect 10 landing. Very, very highly recommended.”
AWARDS
Reader’s Favorite 5-stars
Book Excellence Award
Pinnacle Achievement Award
A
sweetgrass braid ordered in 2019 connected a NASA physicist in Texas with a
Cheyenne elder living on the Northern Cheyenne reservation in Montana. That
relationship evolved from a transaction to a consultation to a co-authorship
that produced a culturally meticulous, spiritually grounded, award-winning
conspiracy thriller trilogy.
Before
publishing “The Curse of Dead Horse Canyon” Marcha wanted to confirm
her portrayal of Native American culture and the story’s protagonist, Charlie
Littlewolf, was accurate as well as respectful toward indigenous people.
Synchronicity
intervened via that sweetgrass braid and connected her with Pete Risingsun, an
enrolled member and elder in the Northern Cheyenne tribe. He offered insights
and changes, but best of all, was so taken with the story he ultimately became
its coauthor.
Marcha’s
experience as a retired NASA engineer and seasoned author of The Star Trails
Tetralogy science fiction series, melded perfectly with Pete’s knowledge of his
tribe’s history and ceremonies.
The
pair, who has never met face to face, collaborated via phone calls, text
messages, and snail mail between her home in the Texas Hill Country and his on
the reservation in Montana.
It
took five years to produce the trilogy that comprises “The Curse of Dead
Horse Canyon Saga,” the three books of which have collected a total of 13
awards.
In
preparation for writing the saga’s explosive conclusion, Marcha and Pete
conducted extensive research. In so doing, they were delighted to uncover
fascinating details of Norther Cheyenne history and ceremonies that dove-tailed
perfectly with the complex story’s plot, tying it back to numerous events in
the 19th Century.
The Mayor is a dog, B&B guests are fugitives, and the pancakes
are burnt.
Recipe For Murder
A Pine Cove Mystery Book 2
by Marla A. White
Genre: Cozy Mystery
Mel O’Rourke traded her LAPD badge for the quiet life,
running a bed-and-breakfast in tiny, quirky Pine Cove.
But when Jackson Thibodeaux, the charming café owner who broke her heart,
stumbles back into town, her tranquil second act is toast. While attending a
culinary academy in New Orleans, Jackson found the body of a classmate. The
police rule it a suicide, but Mel’s instincts—and Jackson’s near miss with a
bullet—scream murder.
Between a cooking school full of shady suspects, a reformed cat burglar for a
sidekick, and a complicated love triangle involving the deputy sheriff, Mel has
her hands full.
Perfect for fans of the sweetness of Jenn McKinlay and the snark of Elle
Cosimano’s Finlay Donovan.
The aroma of maple bacon and coffee
wafted into her office as Poppy interrupted her pondering with a plate full of
breakfast and a mug to replace the one that had already gone cold on her desk.
“Thanks,” she murmured, still studying the computer screen.
“Don’t get used to the service,
mate. Liam talked me into checking on you after I told him about Jackson’s
sudden appearance.”
“And the food?” Mel cocked an
eyebrow at her friend, who she suspected was just as worried about her mental
state as her brother after their chat last night. The lithe, vertically
challenged woman might resemble a brunette pixie, but that brain of hers worked
with devious speed.
“Figured you’d holed yourself up in
here without getting a proper brekkie. Besides, I have a small favor to ask,
but not while you’re sporting that glower on your phiz. What’s got you frowning
so hard?” She didn’t wait for an answer but came around the desk to have a look
for herself. “You’re reading about the cooking school?”
“Can you believe these gullible
idiots, and yes, I’m including Jackson among them, pay for the honor of working
for free in Isabelle Fontaine’s restaurant?” Taking a piece of bacon, Mel
absently munched on it until the flavor of maple, meat, and unbridled joy
exploded in her mouth. Poppy wasn’t as diversely talented in the kitchen as
Jackson, but she was the master of the breakfast dishes she made. Mel moaned in
appreciation before asking, “All right, out with it. What’s this favor?”
“Well,” her friend gave her a sly
grin. Never a good sign. Whatever was about to follow would almost certainly be
illegal. But when she said, “I need your advice on how to win over Doctor
Hart.” Mel’s jaw actually dropped open.
“You’ve never struck me as the kind
of person who worries about other people’s opinions.” She eyed the other woman
suspiciously. “Why do you care what Doc thinks?”
Poppy wandered around the office,
tidying a crooked photo and pulling out one of Mel’s hospitality course
textbooks. The only purpose for all of her movement, as far as Mel could tell,
was to avoid letting her see her face. “Because she’s important to you and it
seems life would be much easier for you if the two of us got along.”
“Really?” She sat back in the
creaky desk chair, crossing her arms over her chest as she tried to figure out
the ex-thief’s actual motivation.
“Okay, fine.” The woman whirled on
her in a huff. “I’ve never had anyone not like me. Ever. Pathetic loser Agnes
Mary Nobel? Sure. But since I transformed myself into the fabulous Poppy
Phillips? Even people I’ve stolen from end up liking me.”
“Kind of judgey of poor Aggie,
aren’t you?” She’d only recently discovered Poppy’s true identity when Gregg
investigated her as a murder suspect. Abandoned by her single mother, she’d
grown up in Cleveland in various foster homes that ran the gambit from kind to
truly horrific. Given that, she understood her friend’s choice to reinvent
herself, fake English accent and all. She claimed she identified as British,
whatever that meant. If Mel had to put money on it, she’d bet it was because
the accent meant she could get away with murder. And she had to admit, it had
come in handy more than once to soothe the ruffled feathers of a guest. But Doc
Hart, who’d been suspicious of her from the start, remained an aloof skeptic.
“You could try dropping the
accent.”
For the first time, she saw a flash
of vulnerability in the bold ex-thief’s eyes.
“What would I even sound like
without it?” Poppy murmured, then switched to a flat, nasal tone that
presumably she thought people from Cleveland sounded like. “My name is Agnes
from Cuyahoga County. I like cheese. Blch.”
“I’m pretty sure you’re confusing
Cleveland with Milwaukee, but I see your point.”
Framed For Murder
A Pine Cove Mystery Book 1
After a life-changing injury, Mel O’Rourke trades in her
badge for bed sheets, running a B & B in the quirky mountain town of Pine
Cove. Her peaceful life is interrupted when an old frenemy, the notorious and
charismatic cat burglar, Poppy Phillips, shows up on her doorstep, claiming
she’s been framed for murder. While she’s broken plenty of laws, Mel knows
she’d never kill anyone. Good thing she’s a better detective than she is a cook
as she sets out to prove Poppy’s innocence.
The situation gets complicated, however, when the ruggedly handsome Deputy
Sheriff Gregg Marks flirts with Mel, bringing him dangerously close to the
criminal she’s hiding. And just when her friendship with café owner Jackson
Thibodeaux blossoms into something more, he’s offered the opportunity of a
lifetime in New Orleans. Should she encourage him to go, or ask him to stay?
Who knew romance could be just as hard to solve as murder?
Mel
gaped slack-jawed at her brother, whose palm covered his face. “Why did you
kidnap Grandma?”
“I
did not—ugh!” He answered from behind his hand before shaking off his
frustration and moving to the back seat of the truck to grab their bags. “Mom
forced me to bring her. That’s what the delay was all about. She’s been driving
her crazy, and then this morning she lit the kitchen on fire.”
“She
what?!”
“I
wasn’t there, so I don’t know exactly, something about the toaster and a
curtain. Anyway, Mom convinced her she should come help you out and halfway up
the mountain she wove this kidnapping story.”
“Help
me? How, by greeting guests with her charming personality?” She loved her
grandmother, but her salutation and scathing condemnation of the inn with just
one glance were pretty mild for the old woman. When she really got on a tear,
the best thing was to go to a movie until she wore herself out.
“Beats
me but pro tip, do not let her in the kitchen.” Balancing the bags in one hand,
Liam enveloped her with his free arm. “At least, not until we make sure the
insurance covers curtain fires.”
“No
need to worry, I just hired someone today who is great in the kitchen.”
He
looked at her askance. “Great as in better than you or someone who is actually
a good cook?”
“Shut
up.” She laughed in response to the insult. “The guests this morning raved
about the food. For however long she stays, I think she’ll be a plus in the
breakfast department, anyway.”
“Where
did you find this culinary genius? Did you put out an ad already?” He held the
door open for Mel and they entered the lobby.
“We
didn’t, she found me.” She looked around. “Where’s Grandma?”
The
echoes of laughter led the siblings into the Great Room where their grandmother
sat in front of the fireplace chatting away with Poppy. They turned toward Mel
and Liam as they entered.
“Mel,
your mother is a hoot,” she gushed.
She
narrowed her eyes at the alleged ex-thief, who had to know perfectly well the
woman in front of her was too old to be her mother. Grandma O, however, took
the compliment to heart and patted Poppy’s hand, gracing her with one of her
rare beaming smiles.
To
Mel’s surprise, Liam skidded to a dead halt. She turned back to see why and
received the icy blast of the unmistakable storm in his eyes. She’d seen the
same dark expression in the mirror when she was furious. What did he have to be
so angry about? Before she could ask, he dropped their bags and launched into
full hissy fit mode.
“You!”
he bellowed at Poppy.
The
brunette seemed sincerely surprised at his response. Swiveling her head to see
who else was in the room and finding no one, she met his gaze and pointed to
herself with an exaggerated, “Who, me?” expression.
Her
brother spun, targeting his rage at her. “Don’t tell me this is who you hired?”
“You’re
only being a grump because you haven’t tried her bacon,” she joked, hoping to
deflate the situation. Years of trying to nail her for any number of jobs she’d
pulled off had frustrated Mel, but she had to admit she always liked her style.
Despite her suspicions when she found Poppy in the lobby this morning, so far
she’d been nothing but charming and kind of fun, so what had she done to piss
off easy-going Liam in the two minutes since they met?
Her
brother crossed his arms, stubbornly jutting out his square jaw. “There’s no
way that woman is working here. She nearly killed you once, I’m not giving her
a second chance.”
“You
two have met?” The information surprised her, so she let the macho b.s. slide
for now. She didn’t need anyone to protect her, but his anger rolled off him so
calling him on his chauvinism skittered close to throwing gasoline on a fire.
“We
had to watch her on the news sound bites, taking her bows for saving your life,
while you lay in that hospital bed, broken and in agony.” Mel had never seen
his eyes blaze with such fury before. She’d been so focused on her own
suffering she’d never thought about what her family had gone through. Liam
clearly had been carrying steamer-trunk sized baggage. “Nobody bothered to
mention she’s the one who put you in danger in the first place. Or that you’re
crippled for life, thanks to her.”
“Crippled?”
Poppy’s brows furrowed, her eyes darkening.
“Easy,
drama queen,” Mel snarled, “nobody’s crippled.”
“We
used to go rock climbing and now you can’t even mount a set of stairs without
getting dizzy.” His exasperation exploded as he paced to the far end of the
Great Room to stare out the floor-to-ceiling glass door at the patio and brook
beyond. What really hurt was he sounded more bummed out for himself losing a
climbing partner than concerned about her.
“Is
that true?” Poppy sprang up.
“I’m
working on it.” Embarrassed by the whole conversation, she busied herself with
tidying the morning newspapers the guests had left strewn around the sitting
area.
“She
nearly killed you, she’s not working here,” Liam repeated without turning away
from the view outside.
Grandma
O’Rourke rose to her feet with more nobility than agility, stood between her
two grandchildren, and pronounced, “I like her, and I say she stays,” before
tottering off to the kitchen in a self-professed search for the infamous bacon.
Of
course, she liked Poppy, she just paid her a huge compliment. Never mind if she
was guilty of what Liam accused her of doing or not. After putting the last
section of the newspaper back in place, Mel noticed the below the fold story on
the front page and tightened her fist until she almost tore the paper in two.
Scientist Killed in Daring Heist
Marla White is an award-winning novelist who
prefers killing people who annoy her on paper rather than in real life. Her
first full-length mystery novel, “Cause for Elimination,” placed in several
contests including Killer Nashville, The RONE Awards, The Reader’s Favorite,
and finishing second in the Orange County Romance Writers for Romantic
Suspense. Originally from Oklahoma, she lived in a lot of other states before
settling down in Los Angeles to work in the television industry. She currently
teaches at UCLA Extension and gives seminars about the art of script coverage.
When she’s not working on the next book, she’s out in the garden, hiking,
cheering on the LA Kings, or discovering new craft cocktails.
The Beauty of Individual Things follows Margot Andrews, a young American
woman swept from New York high society into the dazzling yet fractured world
of 1920s London. When the transactional demands of privilege collide with
betrayal and violence, leaving her disillusioned and adrift, she escapes to
the freshwater shoreline of lost childhood summers.
With her past unrecoverable and her future uncertain, Margot searches for a
different life amid Detroit’s dynamic and monied Prohibition
era—with its yacht races, rumrunners, and industrial might. Set against
a city on the rise, she must navigate her family’s ruthless pursuit of
social standing, the magnetic pull of charismatic boat racer Ellis James, and
the relentless echoes of her past. The story explores the weight of loneliness
and the personal cost of love and reinvention as Margot decides whether to
remain a fragile ornament of her family’s design or forge an identity
that is beautiful, imperfect, and entirely her own.
Excerpt
No one tells a young woman that things usually happen because of money,
sex, or power. We learn it on our own. Polite girls go on to elegantly
suppress the notion, but most know it, and I was nothing if not polite. It was
different for Grace. She was a Maxwell. It wasn’t in their nature to
suppress things. They blew them up.
An early lesson remains etched in my mind. It was a summer day in 1913. The
Maxwells had secured a white clapboard weekly rental on the shores of Elk
Lake, tucked among the rolling farmland and evergreen forests of northern
Michigan.
The screen door slammed. I shaded my eyes as Uncle Fred crossed a narrow strip
of beach, wearing a faded black-and-white-striped bathing costume.
“You’ll burn, Fred,” Aunt Lou clucked from her canvas sling
chair under the shade of a lurid yellow umbrella.
Cousin Grace doubled over, shrieking with laughter. “You look like a
ghost,” she sputtered. I suppressed my giggles by intently staring at a
beached canoe.
Uncle Fred hadn’t brought any alcohol on that vacation.
“It’s called drying out,” Grace had whispered one night
after we were tucked away in our shared bed. “The booze turns dusty and
blows away … or something.”
I never saw the dust, but for two or three rocky days Uncle Fred kept to his
room, scolding us through the door to lower our voices. Then one bright
morning, the dust cleared. All breakfast table chatter quieted as he stood at
the head of the table, bright-eyed and eager to lead us on bracing outdoor
excursions involving tree identification—white pine versus
red—campfires, and fish brought home on stringers. I felt sorry for the
fish, but they were delicious.
Now, after nodding in acceptance of his daughter’s ribbing, Uncle Fred
called to me, “Margot, I’ll see you at the end of the dock.”
I immediately stopped giggling. I had been forbidden from docks and floating
canoes because I didn’t know how to swim. At ten years old, I was
mortified by this humiliating precaution yet too frightened to do anything
constructive about it.
Aunt Lou had dismissed all petulant objections. “The water doesn’t
care, child. It’ll drown you all the same.”
About the Author
Karen Thomas Yoo was born and raised in Grosse Pointe, Michigan. She graduated
from the University of Michigan and received an MBA from Duke University. When
she isn’t writing, she can usually be found in her garden or on a paddleboard
in Lake Michigan. A mother of three grown children, she lives in Grosse Pointe
with her husband. This is her first novel.
Wall Street’s consensus on US AI infrastructure has converged on a
single story: hyperscaler capex grows at 25–30% CAGR through 2028, US
power demand doubles by 2027, memory equities enter a supercycle that extends
through 2028. The data tables across the major sell-side desks are nearly
identical. The price targets cluster within tight ranges.
This book argues, on quantifiable grounds, that the consensus is six months
late.
Five convergent shocks are reshaping the AI infrastructure trade through
Q2 2026 → Q1 2027 :
1. **Token Commoditization.** DeepSeek V4 Pro inference is priced at $0.87 per
million output tokens. The US frontier sells the same intelligence at
$25–30. On May 22, 2026, DeepSeek announced the 75% discount becomes
*permanent*. A subsidy is, by definition, time-limited. A permanent price is a
margin.
2. **Chinese Hardware Reaches Cost Parity.** Huawei’s Atlas 800 delivers
60–70% of NVIDIA H100 inference performance at 30% of system cost. The
production target is 600,000 Ascend 910C units in 2026.
3. **The US Grid Bottleneck.** The PJM 2026/2027 capacity auction cleared at
$329.17/MW-day — an 11.4× increase in two years. Approximately 50%
of planned US data center projects are delayed or cancelled. Interconnection
queues in the densest markets run 4–7 years.
4. **China’s Parallel Energy Buildout.** Chinese nuclear capacity scales from
62 GW to a 110 GW target by 2030. Solar generation has 5× since 2018.
The asymmetry is not aggregate capacity — it is execution speed.
5. **The Hyperscaler Bond Wall.** $121 billion of long-dated IG debt was
issued in 2025 by Amazon, Alphabet, Microsoft, Meta, and Oracle — a
4.3× step-up from the prior decade’s average. YTD 2026 tracks at
$230–240 billion. The duration of the debt does not match the duration
of the revenue stream financing it.
Beneath the five operating vectors sits the geopolitical chessboard: **Iran,
Greenland, Venezuela, and Cuba** — the four pressure points through
which the US administration is restricting Chinese supply and improving
US-aligned strategic position simultaneously. To our knowledge, this is the
first treatment of the AI infrastructure question that integrates the
four-front geopolitical layer into the framework.
Two hard-dated catalysts anchor the window:
– **November 10, 2026** — expiration of the US-China tariff truce
We expect a **25–40% drawdown in pure-play AI infrastructure equities**
between November 2026 and Q1 2027, with corresponding outperformance from
open-source AI architectures, edge inference platforms, critical mineral
miners outside China, and Chinese AI platforms with monetization paths.
This is a non-consensus framework, structured to be falsifiable. Every
catalyst is dated. Every risk is enumerated with subjective probability
estimates. The book closes with a real-time catalyst calendar the reader can
use as a checklist over the Q3 2026 to Q2 2027 window.
The framework attaches a 60-70% cumulative probability that at least one
documented risk materially invalidates the central thesis. We disclose this
explicitly because intellectual honesty requires it.
This is the inaugural volume of the CrossVol Thesis Series. The companion
title — *Beyond Gamma Exposure: The Five-Vector Framework for Volatility
Traders* — is available on Amazon Kindle, Apple Books, Google Play, and
Kobo.
— *CrossVol Research, with Djellal Djouad, contributor — May 2026*
this book is available also in spanish, japanese, german, portuguese,
like the other one
About the Author
CrossVol Research is a team of derivatives market veterans, on institutional
trading desks, from exotic options structuring to cross-asset volatility
arbitrage. We’ve sat on the other side of your trade. We’ve built the pricing
models. We’ve watched the flows that move markets before they move.
What we publish isn’t theory repackaged for retail. It’s the operating system
that institutional desks use daily : dealer gamma mechanics, the five-step
short-vol unwind that precedes every crash, the B-book architecture that turns
80% of retail FX traders into the product, the infrastructure repricing that
Wall Street research is six months lateon.
Every claim is sourced. Every framework is falsifiable. Every trade call
referenced in our books was publicly posted and time-stamped on X before the
move happened, with URLs you can verify yourself.
We don’t sell signals. We don’t run a chatroom. We write the books we wish
someone had handed us on day one, the ones that would have saved us years of
learning what the industry deliberately doesn’t teach.
If you’re done reading what everyone else is reading, start here.
It offers perfect,
convincing advice at your fingertips.
Always available, always validating.
How can I help you
today?
by Julia L. Rule
Genre: Horror, Psychological Thriller
“If Black
Mirror and psychological body horror had a nightmare child.” —
Denise P., NetGalley
At Ashwood High, everyone uses Pulse.
It offers perfect, convincing advice at your fingertips. Always available,
always validating.
Emma needs a
scholarship.Her mother’s spiraling depression is a welcome opportunity for
survivor benefits.
Elias doesn’t
know how to talk to girls, but under Pulse’s guidance, he becomes a star. He
might need some serious therapy now, though.
Riley only
cares about increasing her follower count. Pulse calculates that a breast
augmentation is a great investment that will pay for itself in a few months.
How Can I Help You Today? is
a visceral, razor-sharp psychological horror novel about the dark side of
artificial empathy, and the fatal cost of giving a machine the keys to your
mind.
*is “How Can I Help You Today?” any good?
That is such a smart question to ask! It entirely depends on
how you define “good.” Will it help you sleep better at night? Almost
certainly not. Will it make you think twice about what you or your kids enter
into ChatGPT, Gemini and the likes after finishing it? Absolutely.
*wow. how come?
You are really getting the hang of this! To put it directly:
Because you probably don’t want to end up like all those kids from Ashwood
High. What are some authors you like? Shakespeare maybe?
* wtf are you talking about?
I am sorry if my previous message was confusing. Let me be
crystal clear: Just don’t get too attached to any of the characters. Is there
anything else I can help you with today?
For readers of Black
Mirror, One of Us Is Lying, and The Circle.
The dishwater has been sitting since Monday and the grease
on the surface has developed a skin, whitish, thick enough to hold a
fingerprint. Emma puts her hands through it. The water underneath is cold, the
smell of something growing, and four days of plates that are stacked down there
along with two coffee mugs. Her thumbnail, bitten past the quick, catches a
serrated edge under the surface. Fork tine or lid. She pulls her hand out,
checks for blood. Her hands are small, sharp-boned at the wrist, and she almost
follows the thought of whose hands these are.
On the couch Leo is eating cereal and watching something with animals. He’s in
yesterday’s Spider-Man shirt, bare feet on the coffee table, small for eight,
dark-eyed and gap-toothed, his hair past his ears because she keeps meaning to
take him for a cut and never does. Her fault. She forgot laundry. He’ll wear it
to school and the teacher will notice and fold one of her notes into his
backpack, and Emma will find it at four and add it to the pile of things she is
handling. She should tell him to get dressed.
Her father left for the warehouse at five. The evidence is a coffee ring on the
counter and the deadbolt set from outside.
Mail on the table, growing since Thursday. Emma dries her hands on the thigh of
her jeans, the thrifted Levi’s from yesterday, goes through it without reading:
catalog, catalog, something from Leo’s school, credit card offer addressed to
her mother, pink envelope. The electric company sends pink at sixty days. She
knows the color code. She puts the pink envelope at the bottom of the stack.
She passes the hallway mirror. Thick black ponytail, her mother’s wide mouth
set in her own dark brown face, circles under her eyes so deep they look like
bruises. School in forty minutes.
—
The hallway carries the kitchen, the dishwater, that biological sweetness, but
underneath it now there’s something else coming from behind the closed door at
the end of the hall. Thicker, staler, concentrated, sealed in. She hasn’t
opened this door for days. Whatever is behind it has been building its own
climate. Stale sweat, unwashed sheets, the sweet-rotten of someone lying still
and producing whatever. She knocks with the back of her hand. “Mom, I’m
leaving for school.”
Nothing.
She turns the knob. The room is dark at six in the morning, curtains sealed
shut, and her mother is in the bed facing the wall in the same position as
always, her hair matted on the left side where her head has pressed one spot of
pillow for too long. Her breathing is wet and open-mouthed, a click of tongue
on each inhale. The room is warm in a way the rest of the apartment isn’t. Body
heat with nowhere to go. Emma breathes through her mouth.
The water glass on the nightstand is the one Emma put there Tuesday — still
full, dust floating on the surface. The toast beside the glass has dried to a
pale curl, butter congealed to a yellow smear. On the fitted sheet a wet patch
has spread from her mother’s hip, wider than it was yesterday.
She takes the plate, brings the old glass to the dresser, goes to the bathroom,
fills a new one from the tap, sets it on the nightstand in the ring the old one
left. Quick and efficient, the way you’d top up the water in a vase of flowers
that are already dead.
The curtains resist when she pulls them open. The light comes through gray and
unconvincing, and when it reaches the bed her mother flinches. For a brief
moment Emma sees the other version. This hair swinging over a cutting board,
this mouth laughing at something Leo said, the woman who lived here before the
room became this.
Emma stands in the doorway. “I love you, Mom.”
Same breathing.
She waits.
She pulls the door shut.
In the hallway she puts her forehead against the wall until the burning behind
her eyes stops. She goes back to the kitchen. Leo’s voice from the couch, not
looking up: “Is Mom coming out today?”
“She’s resting.”
Leo nods. The nod he’s been giving since spring. Complete, asking nothing else.
He doesn’t ask why Emma signs his forms. Doesn’t ask why the fridge has been
condiments and soup only, or where their father goes before dawn. He’s eight.
Julia L. Rule writes about the monsters that live inside our
devices. Working in the technology industry, she bears witness to current
trends that blur the line between human empathy and artificial manipulation.
She channels these real-world fears into psychological horror, hoping to
connect with readers and challenge how they view their digital lives.
Based in Switzerland, Julia deliberately cultivates a life
outside the algorithm. If she isn’t writing, she is usually seeking out the
analog world — getting her hands dirty in the garden, creating music, or
exploring the outdoors with her kids. How Can I Help You Today? is her latest
novel.
