A Perfectly Paranormal Halloween
Authors: Leisl Leighton, Hellucy Howe, Marnie St Clair, Samantha Marshall, Georgia Tingley
Publisher: Georgeous Publishing
Release Date: October 18, 2021
Series: Anthology 2 in the A Perfectly Paranormal Anthology series
Genre: Paranormal Romance
Who will get their happy ever after the night the veil to the Otherworld thins?
When Demi-Gods and Demons, Witches and Fae, Dracons and Shifters come out to play on All Hallow’s Eve, it’s a night for mischief, for revelry, for power plays. It’s not a night for love … or is it?
Anything could happen this Halloween … and probably will.
A Perfectly Paranormal Halloween is the second offering in the A Perfectly Paranormal Anthology series by new and award-winning Australian authors, and features continuing and standalone stories that will give you goosebumps of the romantic kind. With sweet or spicy romance, action, revenge, secrets and curses, delicious chills and emotional thrills, you are sure to fill all your Halloween desires with this exciting collection of paranormal novellas.
Unlock the magic and preorder your copy of A Perfectly Paranormal Halloween today.
Snippets & Blurbs:
Since this is an anthology, we thought it’d be fun to include excerpts from each author. So be sure to come back next week for more!
Soul Cursed by Leisl Leighton:
Immortal witch, Korinna Soteira, has spent 2000 years uselessly trying to save the souls lost when she didn’t stop Mt Vesuvius from erupting. Then the betraying cupid she once loved arrives with the very items she needs to complete her quest. The catch: she can have them only if she helps him wrest his mother’s stolen powers from an evil witch. All they have to do is travel through the Underworld on Halloween, vanquish the witch and get out before all hell, quite literally, breaks loose. No problems … if only the Fates didn’t have other plans.
Tamuel stumbled on the smooth black floor as the portal closed with a little whoosh behind him. He quickly steadied himself, blinked then glanced down at the chronometer on his wrist. The ancient clockwork dial glowed as it whirred silently. Not too bad. The time difference between the Underworld and the Earthly Realm hadn’t shrunk too much as the veil thinned for All Hallows’ Eve. He took a breath – time to get on with his quest. It wouldn’t do to get caught here.
He looked around, orienting himself. This wasn’t quite what he expected the tunnels of the Underworld to look like, but then again, what would he know? It wasn’t like there were tourist brochures. Perhaps there should be though. The veins of red, purple and green that ran chaotically along the glossy black rock walls, lighting the space, were quite pretty.
But why was it so warm? He didn’t think this part of the Underworld was supposed to have the Fires of Hell – that was a particular quirk only found in the Morningstar’s kingdom. Damn – had the portal dumped him in the wrong part of the Hell Realms?
He turned then stilled. He wasn’t in tunnels – he stood in what looked like a large lounge room complete with spring-green rug, red upholstered furniture and flowers on every buffet, side table and antique drawers scattered around the room.
Standing in front of a fireplace that looked like it had been hewn by giant teeth, limned by the flickering firelight, were a couple in a lover’s embrace.
Not just any couple. Hades and Persephone.
Damn-it! What in all the hells were they doing here? They were supposed to be at Persephone’s All Hallows’ Eve party.
He must have done something wrong. His spell was supposed to have dropped him right outside Varagustus’ cell. It sure as damnation wasn’t supposed to drop him into Hades’ private lounge room.
This was not at all going to plan.
Thank all the Gods neither Hades nor Persephone noticed him portal in uninvited. Famous for their displays of PDA, they were currently too wrapped up in their kiss – and in a state of half-undress – to notice him standing near the door. Actually, only Hades was partly undressed. Persephone was obviously in costume for her Halloween party. A quick glance at the broken horns, trident and torn cape that lay on the green rug in front of Hades’ throne-like armchair had Tamuel guessing it was the reason they were still here. Hades famously hated dressing up.
What a bloody cock-up! He hadn’t taken Hades’ mood into consideration when planning this. The Fates must be meddling again – they loved pulling on unexpected threads and watching the chaos that unfolded. He was certain they did it for sh*ts and giggles. He wished there was a way to show them just how not funny their meddling was.
He glanced at his bloody right wrist where the sigil for the portal spell was carved into his skin. Hades and Persephone still being here could ruin everything. He had to find Clodia and get her to tell him what she’d done with his mother’s powers. He’d made a vow and it was either succeed or die trying.
He’d prefer the dying part didn’t happen now though.
He backed up, hoping to reach the open door behind him before they finished kissing. This could still work as long as he could get out of here before they noticed him.
He was almost at the door when Persephone muttered, “Please, my hell beast. I’ll let you suck on my toes if you put on the Luther costume.”
“But you don’t like it when I do that, honey-flower.”
“But you like it, my sexy-wexy-lover-boy. And while you do that, I’ll suck your c—”
“‘Ew -ew.” TMI even for a cupid. Tamuel skittered backwards, desperate to get out of the room before he saw something he’d never be able to forget. He turned … and bounced off Hades’ naked chest.
Damn you Fates. He’d obviously made enough noise to catch the God of the Underworld’s attention. Rallying – and trying to ignore the God’s raging hard-on that tented his jeans – he smiled up at Hades. “Happy All Hallows’ Eve, Uncle.”
About Leisl Leighton:
Leisl Leighton is a tall red head with an overly large imagination. As a child, she identified strongly with Anne of Green Gables, and like Anne, is a voracious reader and born performer. Now she writes award winning paranormal and romantic suspense novels while drinking copious amounts of tea and fighting for leg space with her Belgium Shephard who insists the only place to lie while the writing is happening is under the desk – as all good writing companions do, surely?
Good Riddance by Marnie St Clair:
Lone wolf Harlow Jackson is Owlscroft Coven’s demon hunter. Happiest working alone, Harlow resents her new partner – on-the-run wizard Aiden – but it’s not long before she has to admit Aiden is not only gifted at evicting demons, he looks incredible doing it. Soon, Harlow finds herself having to choose between her coven and her new friends, between witch duty and wizard power, and between charting her own course and making room for love. And that’s before the most destructive demon known to witchkind arrives … just in time for Halloween.
Is it too late to switch teams? Can a witch become a wizard?
Not going to lie, I am envious of Aiden, envious of the wizard lifestyle. Wizards don’t answer to anyone; they’re free to make their own choices. “I’m serious. I’m ready to cross over to the dark side.”
“You’re not,” he says curtly.
But I am. “I reckon I can handle it.”
“You don’t want to have to handle it.”
But I do.
It’s not that I don’t respect my coven. It’s not that I don’t see the value in what we do. I know we make a difference, and I’m loyal. But as coven witches, we don’t have the freedom to do much of anything – there’s a limited number of spells we cast, a limited number of things we do. Helping others, mostly. The thought of having the freedom to explore, to chart my own course … Besides, maybe I won’t even have a coven for much longer. There’s a huge chasm between me and the rest of Owlscroft, with demon hunting the only bridge. If they’re going to burn it on me … “Being a witch is boring.”
“Believe me, it’s far more interesting than being a wizard.”
“How?” My utter disbelief comes blaring through.
He turns to face me more fully, expression serious. “All most wizards do is defend the power they’ve got and chase more. They’ll do anything for it. Witches aren’t ugly like that. That’s rare in the magical world. You don’t know how lucky you are.”
His words stab at me. Lucky. Right. “Wanna swap? You can take my place in the coven.”
He shakes his head, looks away and casts a reveal spell. Nothing.
I continue. “Aunt Bernie won’t mind.”
He folds his arms across his chest. “Bernadette would never accept me, or anyone, in your place.”
It hits a nerve. Because, actually, she’s pretty ready to shunt me on. “That’s what you think.”
He gives me a searching look.
But I turn, scan the square for new groups, trying to keep it together under a crash of emotion I’m not ready to deal with. “Anyway, I’m sick of Melbourne. I want to expand my horizons. Try new things.”
There must be something in my tone, because he looks at me hard for a few seconds. “What’s going on?”
My mouth skews. I don’t intend to tell him. But then I do. “I’m being taken off demon duty.”
There is a long moment while Aiden processes this. “When?”
I shrug. “Once I’ve trained new witches.”
Two guys in short gym shorts lope past the fountain. I cast a reveal spell, and one of them turns Orange.
Orange. The crash it, burn it, blow it up crew. They live for explosions and general anarchy. They don’t deliberately harm humans, as far as I can tell, but there is not infrequent collateral damage.
“I’ve got this,” Aiden says, but before he can make after the Orange, a woman in a body-con black dress and sky-high heels pops up out of nowhere. Aiden does a quick reveal and she glows emerald.
Green. The second one tonight. We usually wouldn’t even get two in one week, but it’s almost Halloween, and thousands of DFs are pinging on over from Demonsville. It’s like the portal stretches from pinhole to waterslide chute. Without Aiden, there’d be no way I could keep up. I’d have to leave Yellow, and sometimes Orange, to make sure I got Violet and Green. And I’d have to leave them all to hunt Indigo.
“I’ll take the Green,” he says.
I go to argue because we take it in turns and the Green should be mine, but he’s already moving. I pivot and run after the Orange, tapping him as I pass. “Wanna see something cool?” I yell back over my shoulder.
I jog into a nearby alleyway, stopping halfway along. Yellows are the only demon I’ll take out with an audience, because they literally just go poof. The other types fight eviction harder, and I’ve learned the hard way it’s better to be alone.
He follows. Of course. Oranges live to see something cool. He peers around the alley, grinning. “What is it?”
About Marnie St Clair:
After years of forecasting the price of tea in China, Marnie St Clair finally shut down the spreadsheets and got serious about her passion for romance, especially the kind that blends charm, humour and small towns – with a dollop of magic and mystery.
A country girl at heart, Marnie now lives in Melbourne, Australia, with two surprisingly civil teens and a weatherman husband. She likes prosecco, cottage gardens, driving at night, sandalwood-scented anything and a really strong cup of coffee. Or preferably two.
You can contact Marnie through her website www.marniestclair.com, where you can also sign up to her newsletter to be the first to find out about new releases, special deals and exclusive giveaways. Connect with Marnie: Facebook | Instagram
All Hallows Forever by Georgia Tingley:
Bryn Doyle is dying. After volunteering for experimental therapy, he is transformed into something paranormal and makes a fatal mistake on All Hallows Eve. When a powerful warlock offers a magical solution, it comes with eternal conditions. Conditions that have a delightful twist.
FRIEND – ARE YOU SICK AND TIRED OF DOCTORS?
LOST HOPE OF FINDING A CURE?
Has your doctor given up on you?
Has he or other medical professionals given you a fatal diagnosis?
My name is Doctor Richard Hanson, a professor at the much-esteemed Harvard University of Massachusetts.
I’m currently seeking volunteers to participate in new and exciting study trials – blood therapy.
This is a completely experimental and untried treatment remedy.
If you have nothing to lose, this could be an opportunity of a lifetime – your life!
Contact me through the newspaper to see if you qualify for this chance at discovering a scientific cure.
Bryn Doyle stood outside the multistorey house in Boston. It was gloomy and uninviting in appearance, which was peculiar considering the afternoon was bright and filled with summer sunshine. Would he ever get to enjoy any more sunshiny afternoons, or would this house he stood gazing at be his final resting place?
A modest copper plaque mounted on black wrought-iron gates had the name Dr. R.A. Hanson with a bunch of letters from the alphabet after it engraved into the aged metal. The first floor was accessed by a flight of wood steps that opened onto a wide porch.
The walk had been a long and tiring one from where a neighbour taking his vegetable crop into the markets had dropped him off. He’d gone first to the newspaper offices and then while the sun was still high, made his way to the address the clerk had scratched out on a crumpled piece of paper. Braced against the fence to gather his strength, he pushed open the gate and slowly navigated his way up the steps.
The porch was bare, free of any furniture or potted plants, and held only a black umbrella stand beside the front door. The entrance was made of a dark wood with a small window on the top and long, thin, side-windows that ran the length of the door frame. These were stained-glass with odd pictures of dark gothic creatures fashioned between black leadlight.
An iron-black door knocker with a demonic head with fangs protruding from its mouth graced the door. Hesitating, Bryn gingerly lifted the metal and allowed it to fall back down. A loud echo sounded inside the hallway beyond.
Leaning heavily against the frame, he straightened to attention when the door was swung wide by an attractive woman. Her light-blond brows were raised in enquiry as her eyes ran over his face with curiosity, silently noting the small bag he clutched by pointedly looking at it. Bryn could imagine what she saw – he was tall, with the muscular build of a man used to hard physical work, but in his weakened and sick condition, he’d withered to thin and gangly, his features worn with worry and haggard from sleepless nights.
“Have you come about the advertisement?” her voice was infused with a gentle Irish lilt.
“I have.” Barely able to stand with exhaustion, his speaking was reduced to small abrupt sentences.
Noting his impaired state, she clicked her tongue and reached for Bryn. “You can hardly be standing now. You’re the third one today. Let me help you to a seat.” Her fingers curled around his upper arm with surprising strength for such a tiny woman, while her other arm looped around his waist for support as she ushered him through the spacious entry hall.
The foyer was mainly constructed of wood; dark shiny floorboards and half walls carved into deeply grooved squares. A polished staircase led to the upper floors, with a crimson Persian runner that matched the larger rug he stood on, climbing the steps.
Stumbling along, Bryn stopped abruptly to stare when his gaze collided with the dark, lifeless eyes in the huge painting that adorned the wall beside the stairs. A man dressed in black stared out, a scarlet cape thrown over his shoulders. His eyes mesmerised − holding Bryn entranced by their soul-less quality. In the portrait he lifted a glass of the darkest red wine to his lips as though in a toast.
“An ancestor of the doctors,” the woman said in a soft voice.
Bryn felt a shiver course down her back, before she ushered him along into a small parlour that had been turned into a doctor’s waiting room and helped to seat him in an uncomfortable antique chair.
About Georgia Tingley:
Georgia Tingley has lived in various countries while growing up – India, England, Canada, New Zealand and Australia. She calls Western Australia home, living near some of the best beaches in Australia. Although she loves to read, she loves creating and writing emotional stories for her readers.