Your Mid-Week Update for 07/29/20

Alright, so last week, I talked about turning murder into a family activity and enjoying the companionship and all that. So, I decided to turn it into a thing. On Sunday night, I went out to a bar (because those are open again even though they definitely shouldn’t be) and picked up a man who was incredibly easy to lure home.

Seriously, we’re in the middle of a pandemic and you’re spending your night at a crowded bar. You deserve to die before you get someone else killed with your stupidity.

As you know, I am always happy to oblige.

Getting him into the house was easy enough, luring him to the back was a cinch – p.s. that is not how that word sounds like it should be spelt. Then getting James and Casey to help me bind and gag him was almost boring in its simplicity.

But I have found that doing things as a family is always way more fun.

I can’t believe I never thought to do this before: bring people in to my circle.

Obviously, I have (sort of how I married my husband) and it’s not exactly a normal after-work hangout activity. But having people to share my experiences with has been really nice. I will always love a solo kill. Using the skills I’ve cultivated myself, to have total control over another person, is intoxicating.

Of course, I’ll never force anyone in the house to participate. Heather has still expressed no interest in wielding the bolt cutters herself but didn’t shy away from watching. About ten minutes in, she stopped asking questions and started prompting me. Encouraging me to cut here or prod there. I’ll admit, some of her ideas were pretty ingenious – the man in the chair gave a roaring review.

The thing is…

I liked it.

I liked having someone tell me what to do. I just became the vessel for her mind and only moved when she told me to.

I got a little turned on.

I’m sure it doesn’t mean anything.

I’ve let James do that before and it gave me the same feelings. I think I like…giving control over sometimes. Knowing that I can stop at any time. I could slit her throat if I wanted to – and if she were a stranger ordering me about, I absolutely would have. But I trust her.

So, her commands made me horny.

I don’t know what to do with this information. I don’t know if I should care or play in to it or ignore it completely. I don’t know if it’s her or if it’s just the concept.

I know I didn’t hate it.

And that’s…

That’s weird, right?

As always, dear readers,

Stay Safe

Cover Reveal for Stealing Embers by Julie Hall

Today Julie Hall and Rockstar Book Tours are revealing the cover and an exclusive excerpt for STEALING EMBERS, book 1 in her brand-new YA Urban Fantasy, Fallen legacies series, which releases September 22, 2020! Check out the gorgeous cover and enter to win a $10 Amazon Gift card!

On to the reveal!

Title: STEALING EMBERS (Fallen Legacies #1)

Author: Julie Hall

Pub. Date: September 22, 2020

Publisher: Julie Hall

Formats: Paperback, eBook

Pages: ?

Find it:  Goodreads, Amazon

A realm of monsters. A world of lies. She belongs to both.

My name is Emberly, and everything I’ve ever been told is a lie.

Monsters don’t exist. Wrong.

The nightmarish spectrum world is just my imagination. Wrong.

In a few months, I’ll finally be free. Wrong.

It takes being dragged to a secret training academy in the mountains to unravel the truth. My captors--an elite race of angel-born warriors called Nephilim.

The deadliest of them all is an arrogant shape shifter, Steel. He’s gorgeous, lethal, hot-headed . . . and convinced I’ll be the death of them all.

Maybe he’s right. As soon as I show up, the monsters that have haunted me my entire life breach the academy walls. My only hope of saving my new friends is learning how to control my powers, but when a stunning betrayal hurts someone I care about, I have an impossible choice.

Stay and fight for a place to belong . . . or decide once and for all that I’m better off alone.

Enter the spectrum world, a realm in-between worlds where shadow beasts draw blood, reality is a maze of twisted lights and sounds, and life goals are whittled down to just one: survive.

Fans of Jennifer L. Armentrout and Cassandra Clare will love this Crescent City meets Crave mash up!

Exclusive Excerpt

Steel takes a determined step toward me. His hair is ruffled, his clothes covered in dirt and wet from the ice and snow, his hands balled into fists. Even without a weapon, he’s a fierce sight to behold. With golden light kissing his features, he reminds me of a modern-day Apollo, dressed in a Henley and dark washed jeans.

“It’s you.” His whispered words full of awe and float to me on a rippling band of light.

I begin to ask what he means, but I catch a sliver of movement to my left and turn my head in time to see both Forsaken disappear around the bend of the building.

Instinct says to follow them, but when I take a step in their direction I’m thwarted by a six-foot-five, raven-haired angel-born.

“They’re going to—” My words die a quick death on my tongue when Steel’s hand brushes a tangle of hair away from my cheek. The small contact causes a tremor to work its way through his body.

He closes his eyes and steps into me.

I retreat a step.

“Finally,” he breathes, dipping his head to gently rub the tip of his nose up the column of my neck before his lips just barely brush my earlobe.

It’s my turn to shiver.

What is he doing? my mind screams. And do I care? it whispers as an afterthought.

Shaking my head out of a confused fog, I take another shaky step back.

Yes, I do care. The boy must have hit his head harder than I thought.

“Listen, Steel, we don’t have time for this. You’re not yourself right now.”

I bring my hands up to push him back. He’s invading my space—big time.

When I reach forward to give him a shove, he grabs hold of my wrists and uses my momentum to bring me closer.

The guy has moves, that’s for sure.

One look in his eyes and I can tell he’s not all there. His lids are lowered to half-mast and his gaze sweeps lazily over my features.

 Steel takes a step forward, forcing my capitulation until he’s maneuvered me against the rough bricks. A foreign sensation zips along my spine, as if something heavy is fused to each vertebrae, weighing me down. I don’t have a chance to investigate because Steel’s head is dipping again and I have nowhere to move within the cage of his body.

I freeze, wholly unprepared for the situation. That gives Steel the perfect opportunity to dive in and take what he wants.

About Julie:

Julie Hall is an award-winning, USA Today bestselling author of young adult fantasy fiction. 

Before writing her first novel Julie worked as a film publicist and rubbed elbows with the rich and famous . . . as in she would gently nudge them to let them know their meal had arrived during press interviews.

She now spends most of her "office hours" with her two furry writing buddies, Bear and Coco. Her daughter thinks that mommy's superpower is “sleeping all day,” but that’s because she’s often awake until the wee hours of the morning weaving tales of adventure in worlds of her own creation. When asked in an interview what she wanted to be when she grew up, she’s quoted to have answered, “to never have to grow up.”

She currently lives in Portland, Oregon with her four favorite people--her husband, daughter, and two fur babies (because dogs are people too).  

Connect with Julie here, or on social media.

Website | Twitter | Instagram | Facebook | YouTube | Amazon Author Page | BookBub | Goodreads

Giveaway Details:

1 winner will receive a $10 Amazon GC, International.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Your Mid-Week Update for 07/22/20

You’d think, after all this time, people would just stop being awful to each other. We are in the middle of a global pandemic, there is rioting in the streets. And someone thought it’d be a good idea to break into my house.

Obviously they had to die – that was a given – but because I am so inconceivably bored, I decided to have some fun with our would-be thief. Did you know, that a person is technically alive for 3-6 minutes after decapitation?

I do now.

I actually turned it into a sort of group project, since everyone in the house has killed at least one person and hasn’t objected to killing another. Heather was the most squeamish but she liked to watch and ask questions. I love a curious mind. It’s so rare that I get to talk about my process and really delve into my motivations on any one kill. Why this person? Why this method? The mechanics of a particular method.

It was really nice to share that with someone was just genuinely curious.

I let Casey and James get a few whacks in, of course. They were both eager to try out different things to see what would stick. We cut into his forearm and poured boiling water over it – we had to stuff his own socks into his mouth to cover the screams. We took a hammer the soles of his feet. Casey spent a bit of time with a knife, doodling into his chest. She likes killing quite a bit. For her, it’s not a means to an end, it’s something she takes pleasure in.

Every time I see her, I’m reminded of myself when I was just starting out. Blood thirsty and indulgently sadistic. I want to regain that youthful enthusiasm but I also want to take what I’ve learned and teach her how to avoid those pitfalls. Letting the addiction control me until I had to check myself in to a rehab, allowing my cockiness to let a monster into our lives, falling in love with a pawn (even if it turned out to be the best decision I ever made, it could have ended so badly).

I see myself in her but I don’t want her to be like me. I want her to be better.

I hope by letting her take the lead on disposing of the intruder’s body, I showed her how much I trust her. That is something that’s so important to me – always was. I want the kids to trust me. To know they can come to me with anything. That was part of my downfall with Jason. I spent so much time worrying about his sister, excited to have someone to share my secret with, that he fell through the cracks and it all fell apart.

I won’t let that happen with Casey.

I can’t.

As always, dear readers,

Stay Safe

Your MId-Week Update for 07/15/20

Sometimes I wonder if I’m too cruel. I mean, yes, I’m a serial killer who hasn’t taken a break for more than a few months for the past twenty years, and my body count will be recorded in history books if they ever learn the true number.

But, like, in a fun way.

And yes, some of my murders are incredibly violent, damaging and dismembering beyond recognition for my own safety. If someone crosses my family, I’ve been known to employ military torture techniques for my own pleasure.

But, like, in a creative way.

Murder is an art form, you see.

It’s not enough to just shoot someone and be done with it. The ones who truly understand what they’re doing are the ones who are practiced, and careful, and appreciate what they’re doing. And it pays about as well as any other art form.

It’s when I don’t kill someone, that I truly feel cruel. I take pride in my work – enjoy the creative expression and power I wield over someone else. I don’t derive the same pleasure from almost killing. Paralyzing someone, leaving them in a vegetative state, trapping them in their own minds: it’s cruel. I get nothing out of it and they’re still left in pain. I am happy to put people out of their misery once I’ve got them in my grasp. Not to, makes little sense. Who benefits?

There was a woman a few weeks ago – when I took Casey out for a ‘hunt’. Casey stabbed her in the back of the head and we thought that would be the end of it but it wasn’t. We saw on the news later that day that the woman had survived but suffered severe brain damage. I wondered about her from time to time – what kind of damage had been done, what she could feel, if she was able to tell authorities what had happened to her.

I went to see her on Sunday. Snuck into the hospital and into ICU (a harrowing story for another time) where I found the woman lying on a bed surrounded by wires. From what I could make of her chart, Casey had struck a cluster of nerves on the side of the medulla oblongata and surgery was unsuccessful in repairing the damage. She can see and hear but not speak. She can move parts of her body but not others and not enough to function on her own. For all intents and purposes, she will never get out of bed again. Her body will never heal and she will be stuck in this half-living state forever.

I dislodged her oxygen supply.

She saw me, could understand what I was doing, but from the look in her eyes, she wouldn’t have stopped me even if she could. Watching the light leave her eyes left me with no satisfaction. I went home that night and cried and then I woke up this morning, not feeling guilty – feeling absolved, instead. I won’t look into her case again, but I know what will happen. They’ll think it’s an accident or negligence and write it off as just another death. But she and I will always know that for one moment, I wasn’t cruel.

And that’s enough.

As always, dear readers,

Stay Safe

Your Mid-Week Update for 07/08/20

“I am very fond of jazz music, and I swear by all the devils in the nether regions that every person shall be spared in whose home a jazz band is in full swing at the time I have just mentioned… One thing is certain and that is that some of your people who do not jazz it out on that specific Tuesday night (if there be any) will get the axe.”

How twisted is that?

It’s one of my favourite serial killer letters. The Axeman may not have had a lot of creativity in his kills, but he knew how to craft a psychotic letter. He lays out specific demands, cites his previous crimes, and uses syntax just this side of uncomfortable. It’s easy to believe the letter was written by the actual Axeman and not some copycat trying to pull a prank on the city of New Orleans (although if it was: props to you, random asshole).

And the demand!

You must have jazz music playing in your house or else I’ll murder you. Can you imagine if that happened today? “Everyone has to listen to the new Taylor Swift album or I’ll slit your throat.” And have people believe you. Cause that was the thing, too. That Tuesday night, so much of New Orleans were locked in their homes blasting jazz and having parties in order to obey the man’s wishes.

To have that much power over a city with a few swings of an axe and a few choice words.

It’s the kind of power serial killers dream of.

Of course, it was easier to kill back then. People were inherently more trusting, and things like locked doors and accepting rides from strangers was just a cultural norm. Really, my predecessors made everything so much harder for the rest of us. More of a challenge. You have to get really creative, these days. Can’t just butcher a few people and demand that everybody follow your Spotify playlist.

Although.

I haven’t terrorized a small town in years. That year I went off to college and had my whole campus on edge for weeks when the body of a young woman was found in the fountain; those were the days. Everyone was suspicious and yet overly protective. I wonder what would have happened if I’d made any demands after I killed her. I could have asked for policy changes or demanded arrests be made at that frat house that seemed to have an addiction to rohypnol. I could have pressured the administration into releasing their donation allocation information.

I could have made some real, positive change.

I did some. I blackmailed the dean into resigning and I murdered two of the frat boys during my time (I say murdered, more like I didn’t stop them from killing themselves of alcohol poisoning). But I could have done more.

I sometimes think about legacy. When I’m gone, what will the world remember me for? Will all or some of my horrible deeds come to light and be painted as the heinous acts they are? Will no one learn of them until there is no one left to remember any of the victims? Will I be forgotten?

It’s strange to think about because I have spent so much of my time trying to be forgotten; trying to blend in to the world so no one would notice me sneaking up behind them. But do I still want that in death? Do I want to be posthumously acknowledged for my work, when there are no consequences to be faced? It would destroy my family if I ever went before them but if I didn’t. If, years after we were all gone, someone discovered the truth about what I do, I don’t know that I’d mind as much.

But that is for long after I’m gone. Today, I stay invisible and try to make changes. If I can rid the world of one bastard, or convince one neighbourhood to keep themselves safer, maybe it is possible to have a positive impact on the world despite it all.

I know the ends will never justify the means but once in a blue moon, a murder is absolutely justified, and I’ll always remember that.

As always, dear readers,

Stay Safe

Your Mid-Week Update for 07/01/20

It has been raining all week. All month, it seems. I’d be worried about flooding if I left my house.

Heather is starting to settle in which is a miracle. She and Casey have formed a mutual respect out of being stuck in the house with me 24/7 and thus have to endure my every attempt to occupy my hands.

Sometimes it’s cooking, sometimes it’s cleaning, sometimes it’s digging graves I’ll never fill. I just need to do something, you know?

The rain has been making it excellent digging weather, the ground is nice and soft. Gardening has been a breeze. Did I not mention that I started gardening? Cause why not. Just a couple of vegetables in the corner of the backyard but I’m excited about their progress. I’ve never been much of a grower or nurturer. Sure, I had the kids but they were already half-baked by the time I adopted them. Sandra was only a little younger than Casey when she first came to live with us.

Even then, she was mature for her age. I saw how much she wanted to protect Jason. The amount of babysitting I did for those kids, I saw them grow into these loving, independent people who never stood a chance. They were screwed from the day they were born but they made the most of it.

I miss them. I miss the life we could have had together. Our lives could have been so different.

You know what else rain is good for? Murder.

It’s not as good as snow but it’s a good warm weather substitute. Rain softens the ground which can make it difficult to hide your tracks, yes, but it also makes digging and moving incredibly easy. There are so many bodies buried under soft soil that get lost to time and mother nature. Rain makes people reckless, too. Unlike snow, people are more convinced that they can survive a little rain. So they run with their head down, or speed through the intersection, or offer to share an umbrella with a stranger who later stabs them with the pointed end of said umbrella (because if companies are going to make it that sharp, that’s on them).

It’s incredibly easy to play at being helpless when it’s raining. Especially in a heavy downpour. And I don’t necessarily mean the sexy “oh can you help me start my car, I never noticed my t-shirt was wet” kind of way. Although that got me a number of kills during flood season when I was 24.

People are a little more exposed when they’re caught out in the rain. Their only instinct is survival. Get to the nearest dry spot. Escape. It’s easy to lose sight of one’s surroundings when you’re so focused on one task.

There’s also something about the aesthetic that gets me going, too. Again, not as much as snow, but any precipitation can be beneficial to my cause so I love it all. Picture a heavy downpour, late evening, you’re running towards a bus stop, seeking shelter. Just before you reach the sidewalk lit by a streetlamp, you feel a blinding pain at the top of your spine. You fall to the ground just outside of the safety of the bus stop and bleed out on the ground as you lose feeling in your limbs. Your eyes are open, you can’t move them, and you see a bus pulling up as it’s required to do so. But they can’t see you lying outside of the streetlight as the rain pours down around you. You’re not found for another twenty minutes, when a stranger finds your dead body soaking the sidewalk with your blood. It washes down the storm drain, erasing all trace that you were ever there.

It’s about the aesthetic.

You cannot deny that sometimes, you just do something because it looks pretty. And that is perfectly okay.

As always, dear readers,

Stay Safe