Her life was filled with constant loss and upheaval, but Marie Tousant was eager to put it all behind her. She leaves Hapville, Louisiana, hoping to find inner peace on a tropical isle. With Louisiana in her rear view mirror, Marie attempts to create a path to a normal life, but she soon realizes how inconsistent a sense of normalcy can be. Haunted by her past in every conceivable way, Marie recognizes that she can’t run from herself.
Marie’s only ally, Libby Townsend, is thousands of miles away when unsettling emotions surface and a sense of dread takes hold. A welcome surprise eases her worries, but it doesn’t last and her world begins to unravel. Evil forces take hold and tighten their grip; Marie and a sinister being summoned by practitioners of the Dark Arts clash. In the face of a heroic battle, Marie Tousant can’t help but wonder if there’s anyone left willing to protect her, even in the face of death.
PROLOGUE
Marie took one last look around her home. White sheets covered all of the furniture and the walls were bare. The taxi driver honked the horn and it echoed inside. She looked at her suitcase and sighed. The memories of her parents and Granma Tilde tiptoed into her subconscious. They were all gone. She was all that was left of them and she had to go out into the world alone. Hopefully the world would be kind and not devour her. Marie opened the front door, put her suitcases outside, and closed the door behind her.
The night sky illuminated with a constellation of stars. Marie rolled her suitcases down to the curb; the cab driver stepped out and put her suitcases in the trunk. They entered the cab and drove away. Marie lost everything that was dear to her; Libby Townsend was the closest thing to family that she had left. She said her goodbyes earlier in the day. Marie didn’t want any erratic emotions to hinder her departure when the time came.
Libby looked out of her living room window. Marie made her promise that she wouldn’t come over when she was about to leave for the airport, but she never said she couldn’t watch. Libby tried to hold back her tears, but it was inevitable. She looked at the cab drive away until the rear lights faded. Libby slouched to the floor and cried silently.
^^^
The bayou was abuzz with lights. The reflection of a fire reflected on their masked faces. They knelt in a large circle around the fire, with their heads bowed to the ground. A man huddled against a red oak tree with a Congo drum clenched between his thighs. His fist struck the drum and rhythmic sounds flowed through the air.
“Rah!” They responded, repeating the word every time the drummer hit a specific beat. Their bodies waved in a serpentine motion, sending their spines into a bell curve.
“Rah!”
The beat changed and they rose to their feet, pranced, bucked and stomped. Clouds of dust rose to their waistline and the drummer changed the beat yet again. A figure with a horned white mask broke through the circle. The fluidity of their movements trickled out to the bog people who began thrusting their right foot backward, as if they were about to charge.
The figure was stacked in hundreds of layers of tree roots that stopped below where a knee should be and another layer that ended just above the feet came to the forefront. It stomped and gyrated its body to the Congo beat. The more it moved, the wider the circle became. Suddenly the figure jumped into the fire and sent flames ten feet into the air. A face animated within the flames.
The circle closed and the bog people knelt, and bowed, resting their foreheads to the ground. The drummer’s beat lowered. A young woman in the group stood up and walked over to where two cages sat, one with a crow and the other with a dove. She removed them from the cage, pressed their breasts together, and bound them with barbwire. Their blood flowed until it became one.
She removed a vial from a satchel, and drank its contents. The bonded crow and dove fell to the floor. It didn’t take long for the black mamba’s venom to send her body into violent twitches as the venom coursed through her veins. She collapsed. A man in the circle emerged with an ivory handled knife. He knelt beside her, made an incision just below her navel, and inserted the crow and dove inside her womb.
Death loomed above her and the full moon faded when her eyes went black. She had offered herself as a sacrifice to summon a creature more powerful than the Soucouna. Once the creature was summoned, it would be nearly impossible to kill it and it possessed the ability to smell a Silken thousands of miles away.
The drummer’s beat became erratic and the bog people stomped, jumped, and spun their bodies, until the last beat hit the drum.
“Rah!”
Last week Mila was on the blog and had offered a copy of the first book, Thin Skin Soul Pinned to one lucky person who left a comment. Unfortunately something went wrong with my comments. While it showed there were some, I have never found them. I apologize. I believe we have fixed the problem, (thank you to a computer savvy friend). The giveaway will run this week!
If you would like to enter the giveaway, please leave a comment with the answer to:
If you could get away from all the cold and snow covering much of the country, what island would you choose to soak up some sun and warmth in?
Feel
free to have a cup of coffee while you indulge in one of my guilty pleasures,
paranormal mysteries. There are a lot of paranormal books to choose, and I have
read many, but there is one in particular that has left a lasting impression on
me, Thin Skin Soul Pinned by Mila A. Ballentine. Without further ado, please
join me in welcoming author Mila A. Ballentine to the cafe.
About the Author
Mila A.
Ballentine is a mystery writer who doesn't shy away from writing about things
that grasp the core of her imagination. She studied Creative Writing and
Communication Arts at a City University of New York. Her writing is an
extension of her mind’s eye and there is always an element of truth in each of
her books. When she's not writing, she enjoys traveling or doing anything that
allows her to put her creative energy to use.
What is
the driving force behind your stories?
I have
been fascinated with all aspects of unexplained phenomenon for some time now.
My fascination with such things helped to foster an imagination fueled by the
stories my mother told throughout my childhood. Her tales weren’t rhyme ridden
like Jack and Jill. The stories were scarier than Hansel and Gretel, and the
most unsettling part was that they were true stories. Writing became an outlet where I could
unleash my take on mysterious occurrences, giving life to ideas that made it
difficult to differentiate fact from fiction.
Thin
Skin Soul Pinned falls into that category. It was the first paranormal mystery
I have written. It’s a story that familiarizes readers with a fictional town in
a state that most associate with dark magic, Louisiana. As the story
progresses, the reader is whisked away to an exotic isle, the Bahamas and
immersed in the culture. It’s difficult not to get drawn into the characters
reality. They have joys, pain, triumphs and failures like we all do, but it’s
how they deal with those situations is what makes this story a gripping
fiction. I could go on and on about this
book, but I won’t. The work should speak for itself, but that would entail you
reading Thin Skin Soul Pinned.
About Thin Skin Soul Pinned
Exotic
items are invaluable and some only come around once in a lifetime. Marie
Tousant, a native of the Bayou, finds herself in a dilemma when practitioners
of the dark arts embark on an eternal hunt.
An
opposing force materializes and shares secrets that may save her from the grasp
of evil. Fortunately, her allies are willing to protect her, even if it cost
them their lives.
Thin Skin Soul Pinned Book Trailer:
Excerpt
ONE
“If
nothing ever changed, there would be no butterflies.” - Author Unknown
Marie
Tousant sat at the edge of the bayou and looked out over the water. Her red
hair flowed just above the water and her reflection blended with tall weeping
willows; their branches drooped near Cypress trees that displayed their dark
leaves with trunks that resembled elephant feet. Nearby, Swamp Oak stood tall
draped in a coat of moss. The trees cast an eerie shadow of everything that
stood around the water’s edge. It was as if there was another world beneath her
reflection. Marie picked up a pebble and tossed it into the water. It made a
circle where it landed and sent ripples that cascaded out along the surface of
the water. Her mother once said that if she listened hard enough, she would
hear the bayou call her name.
Marie
hoped to sail the bayou when most people dreamt of sailing the ocean. There
were many unknowns out there that she couldn’t wait to explore. The only people
who shared her enthusiasm were the folks who lived in stilt houses in the
marshlands. The river was a source of food for her family and others, and they
tapped into the resource often.
Her
father, Dan, liked to fish on his days off and Marie enjoyed watching him in
action. He’d ramble on about anything that came to his mind and she’d listen to
the sound of his voice even when she didn’t understand what he was saying.
Every time he caught a fish, Marie clapped as she watched the fish flip and
twist its body as it danced on the hook. He lost a few, but Dan reeled in many
fish that were bigger than the one’s he’d lost.
Afterwards,
her mother, Angelique, sat on a plastic chair in the backyard and vigorously
scaled and gutted the fish in a large aluminum basin. Later on, she seasoned
them and put them in the frying pan on the stove. As far as Marie was
concerned, nothing exciting happened in Hapville, Louisiana except for her
mother’s cooking. The smell of catfish frying filled the house and wafted out
to the porch where Dan sat on a wicker chair waiting for his share of the
spoils. The sun shone on his short tapered black hair.
The sun
cast a light shadow on Angelique’s round face and her long wavy brown hair
glistened in the sunlight as she rested on a reclined patio chair. Her full
hazel eyes hid behind strips of long lashes. She watched the clouds as they
moved across the sky. Soon her eyelids began to flutter and fall, and before
long she fell asleep.
Marie
looked over the railing. The elongated neck of Louisiana Iris’s displayed red
petals that drooped and crinkled at the edges near vascular ferns that spread
their arms everywhere. The coy beauty of white gardenia’s lined the edge below
the raised patio, followed by a stretch of manicured lawn that flowed down
close to the bayou’s edge. From there, wild shrubs took over and large trees
plumed out of the river.
Marie
looked over her shoulder and she saw that her mother was fast asleep. She
tiptoed off the porch and walked down to the edge of the banks. Marie unlatched
the rope that tied her father’s rowboat to a wooden post, climbed in, and
pushed the boat away from the shore with an oar. She was finally embarking on
the journey that she had envisioned for so long. Marie’s bluish-green eyes took
in the scenery until one of the oars slipped from her hand. She reached for it,
but it drifted away. Her thirst for adventure faded and was quickly replaced by
fear.
Her
shouts, followed by cries echoed throughout the backyard. Angelique awoke and
looked around to see where the noise was coming from.
“Marie?”
Angelique stood up and walked down to the bayou where she saw their boat
drifting to the other side. “Marie!” She clenched her hands rubbing them
aggressively against the flesh of her palms.
“Mommy,
help!”
The
longer she was out there, the more Marie thought she would be stuck there
forever. Angelique’s heart raced as she saw Marie drifting further away. She
took off her shoes and jumped in the murky water. Nothing mattered except
helping her daughter. Marie’s eyes were fixated on her the entire time. Angelique
reached the edge of the boat and pulled it to the shore.
“Give
me the rope, Marie.” Angelique put the rope around her body, and crawled out of
the water. She tied it around the trunk of a tree. Angelique wrung her hair and
water poured out.
“Dad can
get the boat later,” Angelique told her daughter softly. Marie crawled out of
the boat and hugged her mother. Angelique was wet, but Marie was the one
trembling uncontrollably.
“I’m
sorry, Mom.”
“It’s
okay, but don’t ever do that again.” She held Marie’s chin and lifted it up.
“Do you hear me?”
“Yes, I
promise.”
Angelique
broke down and sobbed as she held her daughter. It was a traumatic experience
for a four year old, but it would prime her for the things to come. Angelique
walked through a gathering of closely knit bushes and trees that snagged at
their clothing and itched when it touched their skin. She put Marie down when
they got to their back yard.
Marie
spotted a dragon fly and she took off running behind it as if nothing ever
happened. Angelique shook her head. She let Marie play for a while before they
went indoors.
Angelique
stood in the kitchen surround by tall white cabinets with ornate handles that
hung over the maple counter tops. On one side, matching glass cabinets
displayed China dishes that were handed down through the family over the
generations. A small desk stood in a corner near the walk-in pantry where she
often sat and looked through the bills. Dan entered the kitchen and kissed her
on the cheek as he always did when he came home from work. He sat on a chair
beside the refrigerator, loosened the laces on his steel-toed boots, and took
them off.
“Please
put those outside before they light up the house with your ‘toeforreal scent.’”
Dan
laughed. “That’s not even a word.” He put his shoes in the washroom down the
hall, and closed the door. His finger trailed along the edge of the family
photos as he walked through the hallway to the kitchen.
“How
was your day?”
“Your
daughter decided to tap into her inner Christopher Columbus. She sailed off in
search of the New World, and instead, found herself stuck in the middle of the
bayou with one oar.”
The
expression on his face changed from relaxed to tense. He looked at Marie who
sat across the hall from him in the living room. She lowered her head.
“Come
here.” Marie walked to her father, Dan picked her up and she wrapped her legs
around his waist. He kissed her on the cheek and she rubbed his kiss away.
“I
thought we talked about this before Poppy. I told you, ‘I’d take you out in the
boat when I’m not busy.”
Marie
bobbed her head.
“That’s
not even the worst of it.”
Dan
looked at his wife.
“I had
to swim out to get her.” His attention quickly returned to Marie.
“I
don’t want you meddling with that boat.” The sugar in his voice that was
normally reserved for Marie was absent. “Do you hear me?”
“Yes
daddy.” Her full lips drooped as she pouted.
“I tied
the boat to a tree on the other side,” Angelique told him.
“I’ll
go get it.”
His
squared jawline hardened. He never got the glamorous tasks, if there was such a
thing when it came to parenting. He got his boots from the washroom, opened the
glass door, and stepped outside on the patio. Dan put on his steel-toed boots
and walked down the steps. He parted his way through itchy bushes on the
outskirts of their property to get to the other side of the bayou.
Once he
got there, he found the lost oar along the edge near the boat and got in. He
rowed the boat to their yard. He understood Marie’s fascination with the bayou,
but it wasn’t safe for younglings to go exploring on their own. The boat cut
through the reflection of the trees disrupting the picturesque view of two
worlds that looked identical but were complexly unique.
Do you
have any new releases you’d like to tell us about?
I’ve
been working on the sequel to Thin Skin Soul Pinned for quite some time now.
I’m happy to announce…
News Flash: The sequel will be available in
February!
Title:
Unpinned by Mila A. Ballentine
Genre:
Paranormal Mystery
Release
date: February 11, 2014.
Lastly,
I’d like to gift an eBook copy of Thin Skin Soul Pinned. Leave a comment to
enter the drawing. Good Luck and thank you for spending time with us at Alaskan
Book Cafe.
When tragedy strikes a West Virginia coal mining family, two children start out on a trek that they hope will lead them to a new life. Before a day passes, the children are separated and the boy is caught up in a robbery not of his making. If his sister can find him, she may be able to save him. The problem is she’s only seven years old, and who’s going to believe a kid?
Jubilee’s Journey is Book Two in the Wyattsville Series. This story of discovering lost family and finding love reconnects readers with Ethan Allen and the other heart-warming characters of the bestselling novel SPARE CHANGE.
I can't tell you how excited I am to host this giveaway! I had featured this book on a Wednesday WAITING FOR meme. I think it is going to be a fantastic book to read.
Another Bad-Dog Book: Tales of Life, Love and Neurotic Human Behavior
by
Joni B Cole
Paperback, 200 pages
Expected publication: October 4th 2011 by PublishingWorks
Here is the description:
In this collection of twenty-eight essays, Joni B. Cole reveals a mastery at mingling low moments with high comedy; and social awkwardness with social observation. At once insecure and narcissistic, loving and wanting to be loved, Cole reveals (and revels in) what it means to be human, in a way that will make readers laugh and think at the same time. The title essay in this collection was inspired when the writer went to the bookstore and noticed all the bestselling books about adorably naughty dogs. At first resentful of these other authors' success, she eventually realized she had her own "bad dog" story to exploit, in the form of her adorable, nine-pound dog, Eli, who won't be contained by invisible fencing, and won't let anyone pet the family cat in peace. Yet, from this huffish beginning evolved a sincerely heartwarming and hilarious story about love, longing, and the adventure of midlife. The collection includes "Strangers on a Train," nominated for a 2011 Pushcart Prize
Back to me, (because I haven't read it yet):
I went to the author's site and read her sneak peek excerpt. I knew then I had to read this book! She is a snark queen. By now you all know I love snarky people. Humor gets you through all of life's moments. Snarky humor sweetens the bad and/or embarrassing ones. Okay maybe not at the moment but in retrospect. Actually if your really good with snark some of those bad ones can leave you feeling pretty good, (well so long as the cops don't show up. Sorry. I'm getting off track.). So you can imagine my delight when I received the email from Joni saying she would like to give away a SIGNED copy of her book on my blog! YAY!
Third Sentence Thursday is a weekly meme which likes to sculpts castles out of clouds!
1) Take the book you are reading now and post the third sentence
2) Review this sentence anyway you want (funny and silly reviews encouraged)
3) Post a link to your sentence here (in the comments) or if you don't have a blog, just post it in the comments!
I am reading a few books at the same time. So here they are. The first I am at the end.
"My father's calling me," I said to my best friend, Naima. - Daughters of Iraq by Revital Shiri-Horowitz
When my father called me I was in trouble 9 times out of 10. I'm thinking she is in trouble. What did she do? Will she get out of it? Will her friend help her? Or will she suddenly have to go home?
The sort of unusual quiet that happens right after a big storm rips through.-The Choice by Lorhainne Eckhart
And that is when I say I'm out of here. You know there is a problem. Time to go. Party over. Oh wait. This is from the book. "Sorry, Honey looks like you should stop for Chinese tonight if you expect to eat. Yeah I'm kind of busy - you know the house and the kids." "What? We don't have any kids?" "How about a dog. We have a dog right?"
This is my kid read:
His math teacher, Mr. Beasley, was actually a good teacher compared to most. - Grimsley Hollow: The Chosen One - Nicole Storey
Compared to which other teachers? I want a recount. I never found math teachers to be all that good. I vote for the reading teacher. What? Not only does my vote not count; they don't have reading teachers anymore? Wow! Did they do away with library time too?
My banned book choice:
That was all. - The Facts Speak For Themselves - Brock Cole
What was all? What did I miss? And why are the police involved?
And the one I just started:
I had to be different. - Ghouls Night Out (Larue Donavan) - Rose Pressey
Well, different can be a good thing. Okay with the title Ghouls Night Out maybe not. So then, different can be exciting? No? How about scary? Maybe. Hmm it is Rose Pressey. I got it! Different is snarky! Which means I was also right with all of the above. HA!
For many years, my heart has been filled with piercing regret at how I behaved toward my father. My mother was the center of our household, the center of my world and the world of my siblings. My father was cast aside, and I never had a chance to tell him I loved him or ask his forgiveness.
From The Choice by Lorhainne Eckhart:
Not long ago, she’d rejoiced for being a major part in Dan’s life. And put all her love into growing these plants for him. However, that was before she was smacked upside the back of the head. That awakening made her face the truth of her role in this drug-related insanity. Now forgiveness for what she’d done is all she wanted, and to protect Sam.
From Grimsley Hollow by Nicole Storey:
Gage had no idea what Ladon was talking about but Kateri did. She gave the young vampire a sad smile. “I’m sorry, Ladon. I know that it must be hard for you and your father, knowing that Inari has taken your mother hostage. But,” she gave Bram a disgusted look, “your father needs to remember that he is in Opa now and he will act respectfully to everyone, especially Gage.”
From The Facts Speak For Themselves by Brock Cole:
I thought I would give him a chance to be sorry and beg for mercy, and then I’d say very calm, sorry, that’s not good enough. You got to go. And then Bang Bang, I’d shoot him in the heart.
From Ghouls Night Out by Rose Pressey:
When she walked away, I said, “I’m sorry for turning our date into some kind of adventure out of a Scooby Doo cartoon.”
MY REVIEW:
Daughters of Iraq by Revital Shiri-Horowitz
Paperback, 288 pages
Published April 1st 2011 by Horowitz Publishing
When I was first approached to review this book I wasn't sure if I would be interested. I'm not from Iraq, I have no family from there and I am not Jewish. Then I went wait a minute. Jewish? In Iraq? Really? I could not fathom what it would have been like to be Jewish in Iraq. Granted I have never been to Iraq and public school education when I was in school was sadly lacking on both Iraq and Jewish people. Mainly we were taught about the Holocaust and that was it for Jewish people. And Iraq. I think I heard more in geography which just focused on where it was located. So all I had to really go on was the Iraq that we have been hearing about in the media and the Iraq I heard about from Muslim friends. They never mentioned Jewish people lived there. So I was intrigued.
The book was so much more than I expected. The story revolves around 3 women, two sisters, Farida and the deceased Violet, (we hear from her via her diary) and Violet's daughter, Noa. It is a story of family, hurt, love, forgiveness and growing up.
Violet passed away six years earlier from cancer. Noa was in the military at the time. When her mother was sick she could not handle seeing her that way and so she enlisted. Now she regrets doing that as she misses her mother so much. She is feeling guilty about that decision and also has many mixed feelings about life in general. She is at her Aunt's home telling Farida all this when Farida tells her that Violet had written a diary for Noa and her brother. You can imagine how Noa must have felt; her aunt and her father kept her mother's diary from her for six years. She loves them and forgives them but I can imagine how hurt and angry she felt.
Through the diary and Farida's memories we come to know Violet and Farida as young girls, first in Iraq and then in Israel. We hear about how things were in Baghdad in the 40's and we hear what the exodus to Israel was like. Through Noa's eyes we see how things were in the 80's and we see her search for herself in the past and the present. It is a journey most women take I think. Wanting to know where we came from, what are roots are, how we came to be shaped and ultimately who we are as a result. I felt that this book was about finding your roots, your home and being comfortable with it. Farida and Violet were torn from their home in Iraq and forced to make a new one in Israel. While Noa in a sense ran away from home with her mother's illness and was now searching for her home. It is about enduring. not only surviving but victory. No matter what was lost the family remained together. Love and food are major themes in this book. Yes there is romantic love. Remembered by Farida, written about by Violet and searched for by Noa; but also the love of a strong family. This is a heart-wrenching story at times. I cried in several places. But it is also a heartwarming story with warmth, laughter and hope. It is the story of 3 strong women who endure and find a way to what makes them happy. It is a fictional story written so well that you forget that. Then you see the haunting beauty of it. I believe there are aspects of this story that most women can relate to, whether you are Jewish, Christian, Muslim or other. We are all women and we all take the same journey; we just travel different paths. I found this book to be informative, emotional and most of all inspiring. From the start of it I had a hard time putting it down. When I began it we had a wind storm that took out our power. I read by candlelight. I give this book a solid 5 stars. It is one I would recommend.
There are some parts of the book that did not bother me but may cause some problems. However I feel the author did her best to address the issues. There are a lot of people and it can get confusing. This did not bother me but I think that is because I am always reading multiple books. My brain is trained for multiple people, I guess. The author has put a list of each person, chapter by chapter and how they relate at the end of the book. There is also a section which tells point of view for each section, some of these have dates and places listed. There is also a small section with word translations, which is also a part that may bother some readers. I had no problem with it and came away with knowing what a few words are so if I see them elsewhere I already know what they mean.
I believe this book will especially appeal to women who like inspirational books, historically based books, those who like to learn more about other cultures and women of the Jewish faith. I must ask you not to pass it up because you feel that if you are not Jewish you will not have an interest in it. If you do you will be missing an excellent book that could enrich your own life regardless of your religion.
* I received this book from the author who requested an honest review. I was not compensated for the review. Opinions expressed are my feelings about the book.*
Revital Shiri-Horowitz was on the blog as a guest yesterday. She is giving away a copy of this awesome book to one winner. You only need to leave her a comment HERE to enter. She is also selecting a winner for a cookbook, (I hope I win LOL), Mama Nazima's Jewish Iraqi Cuisine by Rivka Goldman.
Andy looked around in desperation as the hallways flooded with other staff members running and screaming. Some were grabbed and taken down by the zombies coming out of the elevator. He decided that it was time to make his own escape. He ran to the door, swiped his card, and rushed out of the facility. Alyssa was in the driver's seat of a four door truck, and Dr. Nelson and Nurse Wilson sat in the back seat. Andy jumped in the passenger seat, and Alyssa drove out of the parking lot and down the narrow road leading away from the building. "What the hell happened back there?" Alyssa said. "Those two in the back ran over here and still haven't calmed down yet." "The virus. It's loose inside North Star," Andy said.
Kittrell, Brian. The War of the Dead (a zombie apocalypse novel) (The Survivor Chronicles) (Kindle Locations 1745-1753). Late Nite Books.
