This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. S. R. Cronin will be awarding a $20 Amazon or B/N GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

Coral, the second of seven sisters, has been hiding her affair with the perfect man until her older sister can get her life together. But the perfect man is getting impatient and now she’s gotten pregnant. Coral decides it’s time to consider her own happiness.

But what does she want? The perfect husband turns out to be less than ideal. She adores the small children she teaches but the idea of being a mother fills her with joy. Meanwhile, her homeland is gripped by fear of a Mongol invasion and she can’t stop crying about everything now that she’s with child.

Then a friend suggests the ever-caring Coral possesses a power well beyond what she or anyone else imagines. Does she? And why is the idea so appealing?

When Coral’s big sister loses faith in the army and decides to craft a way to use magic to save Ilari from the Mongols, she decides Coral’s formidable talent is what the realm needs. Can Coral raise a baby, placate an absent military husband who thinks he’s stopping the invasion, and help her sister save her homeland?

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When Ryalgar arrived at the farm a few days before my wedding, I was happy to have someone to talk to about something other than the upcoming ceremony.

I hung up the freshly washed bedding as she rode up with Sulphur. Once she gave Sulphur her horse to tend to, she hurried over to me, standing behind billowing the sheets with me so we could talk privately for a few minutes as the smell of fresh soap surrounded us

“I’ve learned more about luskies for you,” she whispered, even before she greeted me.

“There’s no need for that.” My reply was cold. Of all the things we needed to talk about, this power I didn’t have was low on the list.

“I’m not so sure. There’s a persistent rumor that we Velka can recognize a luski, but it’s not true. It takes another luski to tell. And it takes another to train a new luski, too.”

“Okay. Why would this matter to me?”

“Because your friend could be right. I’ve learned not all luskies are mothers, at least not in the real sense of the word. The rare man has this talent. A few childless women do, too. It has to do with being a nurturer.”

“So ….”

“So one way to know if you have the talent is to examine how you feel about it. If the idea maybe scares but excites you, odds are good your reaction is for a reason. What I’m saying is based on what I’ve learned, I was wrong. You really could be a luski.”

Just hearing Ryalgar admit to me she’d been wrong was quite an event in our relationship. Yet, this was hardly the time to focus on that.

“I’m getting married in three days. I don’t need this now.”

She gave me a sympathetic look. “You don’t have to do anything about it. I’m looking for a luski to talk to you. They’re hard to find; most go to extraordinary pains to hide what they can do. But I’ll find one.”

I didn’t know what to say.

“Thanks. I think.”

About the Author:Sherrie Cronin is the author of a collection of six speculative fiction novels known as 46. Ascending and is now in the process of publishing a historical fantasy series called The War Stories of the Seven Troublesome Sisters. A quick look at the synopses of her books makes it obvious she is fascinated by people achieving the astonishing by developing abilities they barely knew they had.

She’s made a lot of stops along the way to writing these novels. She’s lived in seven cities, visited forty-six countries, and worked as a waitress, technical writer, and geophysicist. Now she answers a hot-line. Along the way, she’s lost several cats but acquired a husband who still loves her and three kids who’ve grown up just fine, both despite how odd she is.

All her life she has wanted to either tell these kinds of stories or be Chief Science Officer on the Starship Enterprise. She now lives and writes in the mountains of Western North Carolina, where she admits to occasionally checking her phone for a message from Captain Picard, just in case.

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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.

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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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