One of Two by S.R. Cronin – Exclusive Excerpt and Giveaway

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. S.R. Cronin will be awarding a $25 Amazon/BN GC and a kindle copy of another book from the 46. Ascending collection (winner’s choice) to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

Telepathy creates as many problems as it solves, as everyone in the secret organization x0 would admit. When new member Lola discovers another group of telepaths with a totally different approach, those problems multiply at the speed of thought.

Soon, Lola’s family and friends are in danger. Lucky for her, she’s not your average budding psychic. Each person she is close to has a special gift of their own. That’s good, because it’s going to take every power they possess to stop these others from tearing apart x0.

Enjoy an Exclusive Excerpt

When the whimpering woke Lola a few hours later, she assumed someone was hurt. She scanned the household for anyone in trouble. Family and guests were all in deep sleep, but Lola could feel sorrow, fear, and rage, roiling around in an unintelligible mélange of agony. She sat up with a start.

“We have an intruder.” She shook Alex to wake him.

“It’s probably the cat.”

“The cat died a year ago. It better not be the cat!” She paused. “It’s coming from the front lawn, and it’s several people.”

She got out of bed, tiptoed into the hallway, and peaked around the dining room curtains. The first thing she saw was smoke. She rubbed her eyes awake and looked again. Either there had a been a freakish hail storm or there was dry ice laying on the front lawn. So it was mist she was seeing. Mist someone was creating. Why?

She squinted into it. A dozen people were on the lawn, dressed in grey cloaks, swaying and crouching in fear. Some were moaning in pain while others were grunting in anger. There was no obvious source of their troubles. Rather, it looked like an amateur acting workshop devoted to expressing negative emotions. Had this been staged to wake her and Maurice and make them afraid?

Alex came up behind her. As he looked out, a tall hooded man raised a dagger high above his own head and started to wail at the top of his lungs.

“What is this shit?”

“Maybe we should call 911,” Teddie’s voice was behind them.

“I wouldn’t, unless you think they’re going to hurt us,” Zane said. “This has got to be what Ariel saw. Something to make our family look eccentric.”

“Make us look eccentric? We’re not the ones dancing around on the lawn making strange noises.”

“How much do you want to bet that isn’t the way the story gets covered?”

“Maybe if we all go back to sleep they’ll get tired of this and go away,”

“The last thing we want is call more attention to them.”

They were all speaking at once. Lola looked through the window. “If they get loud enough, a neighbor will call the police. Then what?”

Zane nudged in beside his mother and studied the scene. The man with the dagger was waving it in the air, and his sounds were becoming shrieks. Several of the others began to screech too.

“I could go out and spray them with the garden hose,” Zane offered.

A lone, grey hooded figure emerged from the bushes carrying a tray holding a small, lifeless orange animal. The tray was laid in front of the dagger-holding shrieker as the four family members tried to get a good look at it through the mist.

“Please tell me that’s a dead chicken.”

“I wish. It looks more like the Nelson’s cat.” Lola said. “Hopefully only drugged.”

The groans and screeches began to coalesce into chanting. It was a little free form, but the gist seemed to involve begging the Zeitmans to come outside and accept their sacrifice.

“They want us to stop the murder of this pet, by appearing with them,” Zane said. “They’re trying to force us to engage in this nonsense.”

About the Author: Sherrie Roth grew up in Western Kansas thinking there was no place in the universe more fascinating than outer space. After her mother vetoed astronaut as a career ambition, she went on to study journalism and physics in hopes of becoming a science writer.

She published her first science fiction short story and then waited a lot of tables while she looked for inspiration for the next tale. When it finally came, it declared to her it had to be a whole book, nothing less. One night, while digesting this disturbing piece of news, she drank way too many shots of ouzo with her boyfriend. She woke up thirty-one years later demanding to know what was going on.

The boyfriend, who she had apparently long since married, asked her to calm down. He explained that, in a fit of practicality, she had gone back to school and gotten a degree in geophysics and had spent the last 28 years interpreting seismic data in the oil industry. The good news, according to Mr. Cronin, was she found it at least mildly entertaining and ridiculously well-paying. The bad news was the two of them had still managed to spend almost all of the money.

Apparently she was now Mrs. Cronin, and the further good news was they had produced three wonderful children whom they loved dearly, even though to be honest that is where a lot of the money had gone. Even better news was that Mr. Cronin turned out to be a warm-hearted, encouraging sort who was happy to see her awake and ready to write. “It’s about time,” were his exact words.

Sherrie Cronin discovered that over the ensuing decades Sally Ride had already managed to become the first woman in space and done a fine job of it. No one, however, had written the book that had been in Sherrie’s head for decades. The only problem was the book informed her it had grown into a six book collection. Sherrie decided she better start writing before it got any longer. She’s been wide awake ever since, and writing away.

Buy the book at Amazon.

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