(Author’s note: As the scene begins, the characters are about to go through a previously concealed door at the back of the pitch-black room in which they’re standing. The only light comes from two flashlights.) Unlike Aaron, I wasn’t so sure that I could trust all of my friends. Poor Grace. She didn’t even know most of us that well, and she was now stuck with us in a house straight out of a gothic novel. Wanting to hurry this up for her and for myself, I flashed the beam of my light at the spot I thought I’d seen a door. Air rushed out of me. “There it is.” “Did you see these bookshelves?” Grace said from my right at the same time. She pulled out a slim volume as Aaron went to check the door handle. “It’s in Latin,” she muttered, sliding it back while I was still digesting the fact that she could make out anything in this light. “I think I recognized the word ‘demon’ from school.” I wanted to ask what kind of school taught Latin in this day and age, then remembered that she’d been educated at boarding schools in Europe. Answer had to…

Maybe I drank a lot last night. Or maybe I had a mini stroke or something. The only thing she knew for sure was that her first name was Celia. She stood up again and walked into the dining room. At one side of the room there was a large cabinet with glass doors on top and drawers on the bottom. The cabinet matched the dining set, and she crinkled her nose at it. I hate that matchy‑matchy thing. I bet all the dishes are in a matching pattern, too. When she opened the glass doors, she confirmed that her prediction was accurate. All the tableware and serving plates were in a matching pattern, a kind of country floral that made her think of wedding registries. On the wall opposite the cabinet there was a large, posed photograph of three people. The background was soft gray, like they’d been in a photo studio. There was Celia, sitting next to the tall dark-haired man. They both wore white-cabled fisherman-style sweaters. The lunch-demanding little girl stood in front of them, positioned so that she was halfway between them. She, too, wore a cabled sweater, this one in pink. All three of them…

SLAY EXCLUSIVE EXCERPT   “Well, speak up, Fredrick, we are all waiting to hear your secrets.” He stood up straight like he hadn’t realized he was hunching forward. “I didn’t call Anita and tell her that my mother was coming because I knew Anita would have said no.” “No to what?” Grandma Blake said. “To you coming with us, Momma.” “She has no say in this, she is a child, you are her father.” “I’m over thirty, Grandma; I have a say in my own life.” “Both you girls over thirty and no great-grandchildren yet.” I glanced at Andria, who sighed and rolled her eyes like this was a long-standing complaint. I hadn’t spoken to Grandma in so long I hadn’t heard it before. Both Andria and I had still been on the why-aren’t-you-married-yet list for Grandma back then. “You don’t want us to have children out of wedlock, do you, Grandma?” Andria said. “Of course not!” She sounded outraged. “Then you have to wait for Anita and me to actually get married before there’s a chance for great-grandchildren.” Grandma glared at Andria, then turned to me. “Though there will be no children from your marriage. Your demon lover is…

Excerpt from WHITE HEATHER by Jaclyn Reding Then came king Arthur unto Galahad, and said, Sir, ye be welcome, for ye shall move many good knights to the quest for the Sancgreal, and ye shall achieve that never knights might bring to an end. Then the king took him by the hand, and went down from the palace to shew Galahad the adventures of the stone. “Catriona?” Catriona MacBryan abruptly raised her head from the small circle of light given off by the single tallow candle she’d been using to read by. She glanced quickly around the shadowed room, her heart thumping in her chest as she half expected to see King Arthur himself standing there before her, swathed in rich velvets, grumbling her name. But he wasn’t there. No one was. The room was dark and she was sitting with legs akimbo on the floor, feet tucked neatly beneath her woolen skirts. The book she’d been reading, the Malory, lay open on her lap while others were scattered around her like fallen leaves from a grand oak tree. The quill and paper she used to scribble her notes rested somewhere among them, lost beneath the burgeoning pile of literature….

Chapter Ten   Adrian got the ball over the net with an underhand serve and then managed to send it back when she re‑ turned it in a high parabolic curve. They passed the ball back and forth for a few minutes. His confidence grew every time he returned the ball. She’d beat him, but he’d probably win a couple points, he decided. He didn’t play tennis or racquetball, but he ran several times a week. He was tall, so he had a good reach. He swung his shoulders to loosen them, smiling back at Caroline as he relaxed into the unaccustomed activity. “If you’re still interested in a match, let’s see your serve,” he told her. “Okay!” Caroline called, voice bright and eager. “Ready?” Adrian bent over as he vaguely recalled tennis players did during matches, holding the racket in both hands. “Ready,” he said. Caroline tossed the ball into the air, going to her full height as she bounced on her toes and slammed the ball in his direction at the approximate speed of a cruising 747. It hit in the left corner of the service box and then careened off the chain‑link fence behind him with such…

Fresh Fiction Excerpt of AGAINST THE WIND by Amanda Cabot   “Where are we headed?” Josh directed his question to the woman who’d rescued him. The water she’d given him had relieved some of his discomfort, but the damage to his head must have been more severe than he’d realized, because he thought he recalled her saying she would set his leg. Obviously, he’d been mistaken. With her caramel-colored hair and those deep blue eyes, not to mention her self-assured air, Miss Vaughn was striking. But she was no more capable of setting his leg than Winifred. Miss Vaughn turned slightly. “We’re going to Sweetwater Crossing. It’s about an hour away. Once we arrive, I’ll be able to set your leg. As far as I can tell, the lump on your head will heal itself.” It hadn’t been his imagination. Miss Vaughn had indeed claimed she would set his leg. “You’re a doctor?” Josh knew there were a few lady doctors, but he hadn’t expected to encounter one here. Grandfather would have approved of Miss Vaughn. She had the cool composure he claimed was essential. If she had the business connections he craved, Grandfather would deem her worthy of being…

Excerpt from CROWN OF SALT AND BONE by Katherine Quinn   Her heart skipped a beat and excitement pulsed in her veins. Her crew should be here with her, but there wasn’t time to waste, and she suspected they were growing weaker—if the dark circles below their eyes and sallow skin were any indication. Once the portal’s foggy blue mist cleared and she landed on its other side, Margrete scanned the grand foyer of the main floor. There were no lingering guards stationed, which she found peculiar, but Halio had told her that this area was deemed neutral, so armed soldiers would likely go against the agreement. The lone sound arose from the ticking of a clock stationed above the staircase’s first landing, its steady rhythm matching the beating in her chest. On the ground floor, so close to the mysterious hall, Margrete’s skin tingled. She could practically smell Bash’s signature scent of pine and sea, and she yearned to race to the portal and— And what? Fuck. She hadn’t thought it all through, and if this was some fantasy tale she was reading, she’d curse at the heroine and wonder why she hadn’t planned better. Whenever Bash was concerned,…

Chapter Four Jessica needed to pee. And then she needed to go home and sleep for about a thousand years. Last night, she’d had a dream about waking up with white hair and a frail body, surrounded by the loving family that it was now questionable she would ever have. Now that she was single and firmly in her late thirties, she was more likely to end up in a Golden Girls–type living situation. Instead of waking up to loving grandchildren reminiscing about baking cookies or crocheted blankets, she’d be waking up to her best friend Kelly roasting Barbie about what a slut she was being in and around the retirement community. As she made her way through the almost-empty bar, her gaze snagged on a man sitting alone, staring into a glass of amber liquid. He was slumped over the bar, holding the side of his head with one hand. There were two empty glasses in front of him, and the bartender cleaned glasses while giving him a pitying look. She stopped short, which was weird because her bladder was seconds from bursting. She walked past him, toward the bathroom, but she noticed his big hands as she went…

Calay tried to slow each breath, to make herself smaller. Quieter. Whatever was going on up there, she wanted no part. A shadow grew over the light. It crawled across the laundry, over her toes, obscuring her face. The silhouette was broad. Clearly out of breath. Human. “Who’s there?” Calay asked, her voice barely above a whisper. The light shifted as the figure picked up what turned out to be a heavy-duty, utility light, like the kind her dad used to have on the farm. They hoisted it up to their chest. Shined it down. She grimaced when the beam hit her square in the eyes. Calay’s heartbeat increased, her pulse raced. She needed to know who was up there. Watching her. “Who are you?” Calay tried again, raising her hand to try to shield the glow. “You alright?” The figure called back. Calay exhaled. Her shoulders relaxed. Of course. Jacob. He was always dashing to her rescue. Showing up when she needed him most. When she wanted him least. After the way she stormed out of the Loft, the last thing she needed right now was for him to rush in and save her. Except, she very much did…

The Heirloom    1 Ella Mae carried her round yellow teapot with its padded tea cozy to the trestle table in her sunny kitchen and placed it in the center. She’d just finished steeping her favorite peppermint tea this lovely Wednesday, the eighth day of June, expecting a visit from her eldest daughter. Last Sunday, Mattie had made a point of telling her she planned to drop by today. Mattie’s husband, David, was the older brother of their newly ordained young bishop, John Beiler, but Ella Mae doubted this visit had anything to do with church. No, she was quite sure of Mattie’s reason for coming. There’s a bee in her bonnet. Eyeing her placemats, where two small yellow-and-white plates matched the teacups and saucers, Ella Mae was ready to hear Mattie out and then politely set her straight. And the freshly baked maple-syrup-and-sour cream muffins might just help her cause. She’d risen early to redd up the house, mopping all the floors on the main level as well as sweeping the long and deep back porch adorned by hanging baskets of Boston ferns. But now she was glad for a rest. Since her husband’s passing five months earlier, she…