Philosopher George Santayana is quoted as saying, “Those who cannot remember the past are doomed to repeat it.” I believe it’s true that if we don’t remember the mistakes of the past we’ll repeat them, but I also believe there are things in the past that are not only worth remembering, but repeating as well. Case in point: Arthur A. Schomburg.

For instance, what can you tell of someone’s past from their name? My real name is Anna Taylor Sweringen. Except perhaps that I’m female, what would you guess about me? From the way Sweringen sounds (swur-in-gen) would think Dutch or German? My husband’s family name was originally van Swearingen, so if you guessed Dutch you were right. But without meeting me, would you have guessed by that name I’m African American Manhattan born and Brooklyn bred?

What about Arthur A. Schomburg? Male? Maybe with some Latinx ancestry? Some European? You’d be right on all counts. Arturo Alfonso Schomburg was born in 1874 in Canegros,Puerto Rico of African and German ancestry. I first learned of Mr. Schomburg when as a teen I visited the Schomburg on 135th Street off Lenox avenue in Harlem. I remember learning there that one of Schomburg’s teachers told him black people had not contributed anything to history, that black people had no past to remember. Schomburg spent his life dispelling that myth. In 1926, the Carnegie Corporation gave the New York Public Library $10,000 to purchase his collection of books, artwork and other materials that by then exceeded 10,000 items. Mr. Schomburg served as the curator of the collection until his death in 1938. In 1972, the library’s collection was moved from its 135th building to a brand new building next door on the corner of Lenox Avenue and became the Schomburg Center for Research in Black Culture. The Center is now a National Historic Landmark and houses over eleven million items.

I’m now 62, but I’ve never forgotten the wonder and pride I felt in my youth as I walked from one end to the other of the original 135th street building looking at the sculptures, the paintings and the books created by people of African ancestry. I’ve always loved history in general, but I’m sure the seeds of my love for African and African American history in particular can trace their roots back to those visits. The Center is sowing similar seeds in present generations through their Junior Scholars and Teen Curators programs. One current exhibits includes work by the teen curators, combined with work by anthropologist Melville Herskovits, who like Schomburg also argued against the myth that those of African ancestry had no past.

If remembering the past leads to revelation and reverence in ways that uplift and inspire the better angels of our nature, then that’s a past I don’t mind being doomed to repeat. If you ever visit New York, make the Schomburg a must-see stop. Until then, enjoy it online at https://www.nypl.org/locations/schomburg.

One Breath Away

Sentenced to hang for a crime she didn’t commit, former slave Mary Hamilton was exonerated at literally the last gasp. She returns to Safe Haven, broken and resigned to live alone. Never having been courted, cuddled or spooned, Mary now fears any kind of physical intimacy when arousal forces her to relive the asphyxiation of her hanging. But then the handsome stranger who saved her shows up, stealing her breath from across the room and promising so much more.

Wealthy freeborn-Black Eban Thurman followed Mary to Safe Haven, believing a relationship with Mary was foretold by the stars. He must marry her to reclaim his family farm. But first he must help her heal, and to do that means revealing his own predilection for edgier sex.

Then just as Eban begins to win Mary’s trust, an enemy from the past threatens to keep them one breath away from love…

Get your copy here!

God created something unique from Africa’s ebony clay when He made this one. Eban’s broad nose and high cheekbones belonged on a statue in a museum for all to enjoy. Legs long enough to cross the length of Texas in five strides brought Eban in her direction. An expensively tailored jacket hung off shoulders that could span the banks of the Rio Grande. A ruby glinted in his left earlobe and conspired with his shaved head to give him an air of mystery and menace.

Mary closed her eyes and again tried to resist his allure.

The devil often appears as an angel of light.

She sucked in a breath, opened her eyes, and gnawed her lip. This angel of light hadn’t stopped his approach. Clenching her thighs hadn’t stifled the desire swelling within her privates.

Hadn’t smothered the hope reviving in her heart.

Felicity slanted her head to the right. A coy smile gave the angle weight.

“And what brings you to our side of the room, stranger?” She repeated her breast-swelling move and grinned, peacock proud. “See something you like?”

Eban tapped a finger in salute at his brow. “More than like, miss.”

His smile turned up the heat in his gaze. Mary frowned, painfully aware the smell of her passion lingered in the air, despite the woolen barrier of her skirt.

He stepped forward so his hand-stitched boots stood toe-to-toe with Mary’s second-hand shoes. “Eban Thurman, at your service, Miss Hamilton. May I get you something to drink?”

At her service? The air congealed. Mary gasped, trying to suck in air too solid to inflate her lungs.

“No—no, thank you. I’m not thirsty.” Her stutter mimicked the tremor between her thighs. She clasped her hands and planted them hard against her lap.

“It’s a really hot night.” He turned his hand palm up in a silent plea. “Perhaps you’d find a waltz more cooling.” He eased his fingers into her clenched hands. “May I beg the honor of this dance?”

“Beg?”

“Yes, Miss Hamilton.” He tilted his head, slanting his smile to the right. “Beg.”

“You don’t strike me as the begging type, Mr. Thurman.”

“To everything there is a season and a time for every purpose under heaven.” He tongue-swiped his full lips as if he’d just tasted something he wanted to taste again. “I know when it’s time to beg.”

Buy links:
Wild Rose Press: https://bit.ly/2Oog1Ny
Amazon: https://amzn.to/2DmrZWC

About the Author

A native New Yorker, Michal Scott is the pen name of Anna Taylor Sweringen, an ordained United Church of Christ and Presbyterian Church USA minister. Using the writings of the love mystics of Begijn for inspiration, Michal Scott writes Christian erotica and Christian erotic romance (i.e. erotica and erotic romance with a faith arc), hoping to build a bridge between the sacred and secular, spirituality and sexuality, erotica and Christ, her readers and a well-written spiritually-stimulating and erotically-arousing story. As an African American, she writes stories to give insight into the African American experience in the US. She has been writing romance seriously since joining Romance Writers of America in 2003 and had her first novel published in 2008. She writes inspirational romance as Anna Taylor and gothic romance as Anna M. Taylor. You can connect with Anna on Twitter @mscottauthor1 and learn more about her and her writing at her various websites: www.michalscott.webs.com, www.annamtaylor.webs.com and www.annataylor2678.webs.com.

A Reminder about CONTESTS!

These contests are still open!

1. Contest Roundup! Reminder to Authors! And a Very SEXY Excerpt!
2. Diana Cosby: International Food Bank Food Drive Challenge (Contest)

African-American History Exhumed

If asked to place African-American slavery and freedom geographically, most people automatically cite the South with the former and the North with the latter. But did you know slavery existed in the North as late as 1860? I’ve spent many enjoyable hours unearthing the hidden and not so hidden history of African slavery in the North. One of my best resources is The African Burial Ground National Monument (ABGNM) at 290 Broadway in lower Manhattan, which not only instructs but inspires.

ABGNM’s exhibits show the lives of northern slaves had much more in common with their southern counterparts than that of Boston slave poet Phillis Wheatley. The 24-foot high Ancestral Chamber—designed to resemble a ship’s hold—provides a place for remembrance and prayer. The walls of the Ancestral Libation Chamber’s Circle of the Diaspora surround you with symbols from Africa, Latin America and the Caribbean as you spiral down a processional ramp that brings you “physically, psychologically and spiritually close to the ancestors and the original interment level.”

Rarely do we realize how we are witnesses to history in the making. I received a blast from my native New Yorker past as I read ABGNM’s timeline and the five scrapbooks that chronicle the community activism I witnessed on the news and read in the local papers that ultimately led to the creation of this national monument.

In 1989 before excavating to build a new federal building, records showed the proposed site was once an African burial ground. It is estimated that 15,000 free Africans and African slaves were buried in the “Negros Buriel Ground” from the 1690’s until 1794. Government researchers concluded that “after 200 years there are no remains, but recommended archeological testing.” Test excavations proved the assumption wrong. Untouched human remains protected by 25 feet of soil were discovered.

A whistle blower call to the office of then State Senator David Patterson revealed that the government was going to do a “backhoe” excavation, i.e., use a backhoe on the grounds decimating whatever was there. The caller asked could their office do anything to stop it. Community indignation and activism combined with political will resulted in the halting of excavation on the site. Meetings were held, enabling the community to give input on how to go forward. The result was the creation of the African Burial Ground National Monument in 1993. A multidisciplinary research team, African Burial Ground Project, recorded and measured the remains of 419 men, women and children. The project concluded in 1999 and the remains were re-interred on the site in handmade coffins from Ghana.

The African Burial Ground National Monument is an amazing amalgamation of videos, interactive exhibits and displays that show the effectiveness of community activism, strengthen my sense of African American pride and stimulate my historical romance writing imagination.

How about you? Where and when has a museum visit, a book or a conversation sent you on a journey of discovery?

Follow this link for more information on the landmark itself: https://www.nps.gov/afbg/planyourvisit/basicinfo.htm.

*~*~*

Better To Marry Than To Burn

Freed Man seeking woman to partner in marriage for at least two years in the black township of Douglass, Texas. Must be willing and able to help establish a legacy. Marital relations as necessary. Love neither required nor sought.

Caesar King’s ad for a mail-order bride is an answer to Queen Esther Payne’s prayer. Her family expects her to adhere to society’s traditional conventions of submissive wife and mother, but Queen refuses. She is not the weaker sex and will not allow herself to be used, abused or turned into a baby-making machine under the sanctity of matrimony. Grateful that love is neither required nor sought, she accepts the ex-slave’s offer and heads West for marriage on her terms. Her education and breeding will see to that. However, once she meets Caesar, his unexpected allure and intriguing wit make it hard to keep love at bay. How can she hope to remain her own woman when victory may be synonymous with surrender?

Get your copy here!

Excerpt

She locked her legs and glared with her hands on her hips. Defiance flashed in her eyes like a bronc not yet broken. “I haven’t agreed to your terms.”

“Yet.”

“I’ll be honest with you then. You’ll have to force me.”

He crossed his arms. “That’s not the way I want it.”

She crossed hers. “That’s the only way you’ll get it.” The impudence of a Black who had never known the overseer’s whip ripped through her tone.

He blinked into her glare. Would she really make him force her? He wanted her willing submission, but what if he couldn’t obtain it? The anticipation of the struggle, of her eventual surrender flipped his stomach.

And not in a bad way.

“I will, if you make me.” He grabbed her upper arms and pulled her tight against his chest. “Remember, I’m no gentleman.”

The soft but firm press of her breasts more than pleased. He flicked his tongue behind her ear, tasted lemon soap, perspiration and enticement.

She broke away, chest heaving. “You have to be one hell of a negotiator, Mr. King to get me to yield on that point.” She’d spoken rapidly, breathily. He heard capitulation in her panting, despite the insolence in her glare.

“I’m known in these parts as a mighty fair horse trader, Mrs—”

He froze, stunned by the sight of Queen squatting. She reached between her spread thighs and withdrew a dark rubber phallus. He gawped, amazed how the strange contraption mirrored his aching member in size and shape.

“Wha—what in the name of heaven are you doing with that?”

“Preparing me for our first time.”

He groaned, captured by thoughts of the dildo priming her for his use.

“You are full of surprises, Mrs. King.”

She walked to the washstand, doused the phallus with water and laved it with his own sage-scented soap. A vision of her doing the same to his cock knocked him back a step. Yes, dinner could definitely wait.

Suddenly, he stiffened. The meaning of her earlier words penetrated.

There are many ways to prevent your seed from taking root, Mr. King.

“Wait a minute.” He pointed a shaky finger at the dildo. “That wasn’t in your sex when I fingered you in the wagon. I’d have felt it.”

*~*~*

Buy links: https://amzn.to/2JyLKu1, https://bit.ly/2DHdb0x
Website: www.michalscott.webs.com
Twitter: @mscottauthor1

UPDATE: The winner is Keri Richards!
*~*~*

A Quick Note about CONTESTS!

These contests are still open!

1. Procrastination is my middle name… (Contest)
2. Cynthia D’Alba: Two SEALs in Paradise (Contest)
3. Today’s! (Details below!)

A Reminder to Authors!

Call for Short Story Submissions!
(Click on picture to learn more!)
Deadline November 15th!

A Sexy Excerpt!

The walk to her bedroom was as slow as she could manage. She didn’t want him knowing how badly she wanted this. He’d think her completely desperate.

But when she crossed the threshold, he was already stripping. Just as eager, just as breathless as she was.

The sight of his bared chest left her gasping. Wide-set shoulders with thick mounds of muscle on top and at the corners of his shoulders.

Breasts bulging, rippling as he flexed involuntarily with the clenching of his fists. “You sure about this?”

Maybe he asked because she’d halted, and her mouth was hanging open. She toed off her shoes, stripped her tight tee over her head and unclasped her sports bra before she looked at him again. A good thing, because he was naked, and the lower half of him was equally ripped, equally breath-stealing. His huge, ridged cock made her mouth water.

It turned upward, as thick and imposing as the rest of him. She couldn’t wait to feel the pinch of his girth stretching her from the inside as he crammed inside her. But first, he rolled a condom down his length.

She shoved down her shorts and briefs and headed straight for the bed, pulling back the coverlet and exposing the clean sheets she’d swapped for the drenched set she’d woken in earlier.

Here was a more appropriate, licentious fuck. She didn’t have to feel guilty about wanting it. Didn’t have to worry about losing everything she valued, including herself respect. She climbed onto the bed, knowing he was staring at her ass and rolled to her back, before slowly spreading her legs in invitation.

A low groan, sounding more like an animalistic growl, rumbled from him, and she smiled and reached down to trace the edges of her folds.

He stomped forward, staring down at her sex, then gripped her ankles hard and pulled her toward the edge of the bed. When her legs draped over it, dangling toward the floor, he knelt between her thighs, spread her with his fingers, and bent to run his tongue along her damp slit.

Gillian closed her eyes on a sigh and lifted her legs over his broad shoulders, snuggling her bottom closer the end of the bed as he continued to lick and suck, his teeth capturing an inner fold and nibbling on it for a moment before his tongue stroked into her entrance and swirled.

She moaned, and her chest rose faster with her labored breaths. Like she’d run miles. When fingers joined the teasing strokes, she heard the wet sounds as her inner lips clasped moistly around his thick fingers, and then she smiled because he burrowed deeper at her body’s lewd invitation, pumping inside her, stretching her with a third, and then a fourth finger.

When his lips latched onto her clit, she couldn’t suppress the cry he surprised from her. Thick digits continued to sink inside her, stretching her, making her pussy pulse as she began to undulate her hips, climbing toward the apex.

But then he pulled out of her and backed away, abandoning her when she’d been ready to let go. He gripped her hips hard and shoved her up the bed. His knees landed on the mattress between her spread legs, and she lifted them high, but he nudged her bottom roughly to scoot her higher. When he was satisfied, he grabbed her legs and urged them around his hips, then prodded her sex with the blunt, round head of his cock. His gaze locked with hers, his hands flattened on the mattress beside her shoulders. When he had her undivided attention, he took a deep breath and stroked deep.

She was wet, ready, but not prepared for his size. She cried out, and then bit her lip, not wanting him to stop or even slow the forceful motions that thrust his cock deeper and deeper into her body, until his balls slapped her tender perineum.

There was nothing smooth, nothing easy about the way he made love. He powered into her, grunting at the end of each thrust, forcing an equally unfeminine grunt from her lips that pleased her primitive, primal core.

She’d feel bruised, sore, used when he was done, but satisfied like she’d never been before.

Her arms wound around his shoulders, and she pressed her cheek against his hot throat, feeling tears leak from between her tightly squeezed eyelids. She didn’t know why she cried, but he forced powerful emotions from her just as he forcefully, brutally took her body.

Her bed thudded heavy against the wall, the sound pulling her away, giving her something else to think about rather than how shattered she felt, and she laid back her head, opening her eyes to meet his fierce gaze.

“Did I hurt you?” he growled.

“Yes. Please don’t stop.”

A gust of laughter shook his chest, and he hiked her legs higher around his waist and slammed harder, his strokes shortening, quickening.

She couldn’t catch her breath. And she was quickly flying apart. She raked her fingers down either side of his spine, digging deep.

He grunted again, gathered his knees closer to her, laying his chest on top of hers and resting his forehead on the mattress beside her face.

Gillian skimmed her lips along the edge of his ear, licked a trickle of sweat sliding alongside his cheek and nuzzled closer, waiting, waiting….until the tension he built with his hard, sharp strokes finally coaxed her orgasm into full bloom. She gasped into his ear, clung hard to him, and gave a keening howl as it ripped through her.

His release came quickly on the heels of her own. His choked breaths and gasps added texture to the slowing staccato of his last strokes. Then he was falling over her, wrung out, his cock jerking inside her as his breaths rattled through his chest.

*~*~*

Be looking for this one, coming soon! It’s the sequel to Sin’s Gift, and a very sexy paranormal!

Contest: Do you watch paranormal television shows? What’s your current fave? Answer for a chance to win a free copy of one of my recent releases!

UPDATE: The winner is…Betty Sue Payton!
*~*~*

Masquerade: an action or appearance that is mere disguise or show

Book #3
Corporate Heat

Leave a comment for a chance to win a $10 Amazon GC

There are too many masks in place. Too many false fronts. Everyone seems to be playing a role, including the modeling agency, the marketing representatives, the gracious Caribbean host and the owners of the high-end spa. But what were they all hiding?

Everything is turning upside down. The owner of the marketing agency dies in a mysterious one-car crash. Girls are disappearing and so are large chunks of money.

When hot, hot forensic accountant John Martino is reunited with very sexy Lindsey Califaro, with whom he had a short but intense fling, the heat between them rises high enough to burn down the town. So does the emotion. Lindsey is afraid tot rust him again, and John is trying to correct the biggest mistake of his life. But first they have to find the answers to a puzzle that reaches international proportions.

Excerpt:

The elevator car arrived and they stepped into it, the only occupants from the high dollar floor. He followed her in and as soon as the door closed he pressed the button to hold the elevator car in place.

“John, we can’t do this now. People will be looking for the elevator. And I think a warning sounds if it doesn’t move for a certain amount of time.”

“Then I’d better talk fast.” He leaned forward, caging her with his arms. “Any excuse I can give for not calling you all this time is going to sound lame. Business crowded my schedule, time got away from me, all of that is true. But that’s not the whole story.”

“Oh? Then what is?”

“We need more time than five minutes for me to tell you. I was a first class jackass and I suffered for it. I’m not going to let that happen again. I’ve spent four years kicking myself for being such an asshole. When Taylor called, I pushed another job off on my partner so I could take this one. So I could see you.”

Lindsey stood there, scarcely able to breathe. Her heart was beating hard and her throat was so dry she could barely swallow.
“John.” She wet her lips. “I don’t think—“

“Don’t think. Listen. Like I said, I’m an asshole. I’ll be the first one to admit it. And any other names you want to add. When I left you four years ago I had every intention of calling you within the month. Hopping a plane to Miami or wherever you were by that time. Following up on what had started between us. Having a fun weekend.”

“A fun weekend,” she repeated.

“Because whatever it was, everything else aside, it was fucking good. Agreed?”

She just stared at him, unable to say a word.

“Okay. Don’t say anything. I don’t blame you. I got caught up in some international finance shit, used it as an excuse and time just kept passing. I’ve been single a long time, Lindsey. I told myself I wasn’t interested in anything more than a good time. I kept myself busy and after a while too much time had gone by. It suddenly hit me I’d tossed away what could be the best thing that ever happened to me. When Noah called and asked me to come here, told me who I’d be working with, I jumped at it. Saw a chance to make up for being such a jerk, even if I had to get down on my knees and beg you. Because that’s what I’m ready to do.” He blew out a breath. “Listen. You have no reason to believe anything I say after what I did. Or didn’t do. But I’m asking you for another chance, Lindsey. Begging you. Please. At least listen to what I have to say.”

While she was still trying to figure out how to answer him, his mouth descended on hers, his lips warm and smooth. He ran the tip of his tongue gently over her mouth, tracing the seam and urging her to open for him. Without thinking she did just that and he thrust his tongue inside.

And she went up in flames.

https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/masquerade-desiree-holt/1129574220?ean=9781786864345
https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/masquerade-159
https://www.totallybound.com/book/masquerade

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UPDATE: The winners are…Katherine Smits and Mary Preston!
*~*~*

First, thank you so much, Delilah, for hosting me on your blog. Much appreciated.

Since it’s Halloween month, I want to talk to you about ghosts and the five haunted cities you should put on your Bucket List (“Things To Do Before I Leave This Earth”).

Not long ago, I was browsing through my back list of books and came to a surprising realization—many of my books have ghosts between the pages. The translucent spirit is usually a secondary character (at least, so far – lol). I had to ask myself two questions: 1) Why do I gravitate toward writing about dead people… er, I mean those who have crossed over and, 2) Does it have anything to do with seeing them as a child? Yes, you read that right—I started seeing ghosts about the time I turned three years old.

My wonderful Mom, now 91 years young, will vouch for me. She remembers those days with excellent recall. Every night, I insisted there were little people sitting on the coving near the ceiling of our very old home. I remember being frustrated that she couldn’t see them like I could.

I still don’t know if that’s why I write about them but it’s an interesting theory, isn’t it?

Anyway, back to the haunted cities. If there’s any way you can get to these ghost-sighting places, you should really check them out. You won’t be disappointed.

1) Savannah, Georgia

It’s believed that Savannah was built on American Indian burial grounds, which goes hand-in-hand with hauntings. It was also the site of Revolutionary and Civil War battles and yellow fever outbreaks. Best-selling novel Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil boosted the city’s spookier side, putting such locales such as Bonaventure Cemetery on the national radar.

Or go the DIY route and take your pick of haunted restaurants, like The Pirate’s House or The Olde Pink House. If you’re brave enough, spend the night at a haunted hotel: Room 204 at the 1790 Inn & Restaurant is reportedly visited by a ghost named Anne. She can be heard crying after turning off the lights. The Marshall House was once used as a hospital during the Civil War and yellow fever outbreaks, and tales abound, from ghost children who bite to soldiers carrying severed limbs. Other majorly haunted sites include Moon River Brewing Company, which was the city’s first hotel in 1821, and featured in an episode of Ghost Adventures.

2) Washington, D.C.

The White House, The National Theatre and Hay-Adams Hotel are among the city’s haunted hot spots. Get the lowdown on its seedy past with Washington DC Ghost Tours, Scary DC or Washington Walks. However, The U.S. Capitol Building, which was built in the mid-1800s, is filled with specters, from construction workers to politicians (John Quincy Adams actually died there). In fact, there’s even a “demon cat” that appears right before national tragedies.

Historical hauntings also happen at The Octagon House. Dolley Madison, wife of president James Madison, lived there for a spell, and loved throwing parties; she’s sometimes seen in her party frock. Less happy occurrences in the mansion’s past include rumored murders and unexplained deaths. If you take a self-guided tour of the now museum, don’t be alarmed to feel cold spots on the staircase or hear knocking inside the walls.

3) Chicago

The Great Chicago Fire of 1871 lasted two days and killed at least 300 people. However, even worse was the 1903 fire at the much-touted fireproof Iroquois Theater, which killed more than 600 people at an afternoon performance. In fact, the alley behind it has been nicknamed “Death Alley,” after those who jumped to their death to escape the fire. It’s also where recovered bodies were temporarily placed. The Oriental Theater now resides on the spot, and people have seen ghosts in period dress, heard screams and smelled smoke.

Try your luck by booking a room at the Congress Plaza Hotel, said to be overflowing with ghosts. Room 441 is believed to be among the most haunted, with a woman that shakes the bed, shadowy figures and projectile objects. Even scarier, there’s a sealed shut room with no doorknob on the 12th floor. You probably wouldn’t want to spend the night there anyway. Weird Chicago Tours and Chicago Hauntings cover more haunted spots around the city.

4) San Francisco, CA

The lawless gold rush period and the 1906 earthquake, which triggered a fire that killed at least 3,000 people, likely contributed to San Francisco’s haunted present. However, Alcatraz Island is also notoriously haunted. Tales of death, murder and insanity surround the prison that once held mobster Al Capone. You can visit at night for the chance to experience cold spots, whispering in empty cells and sounds of slamming doors. Learn about other haunted sites, from the USS Hornet to Chinatown, with San Francisco Ghost Hunt Walking Tour, Haunted Haight Walking Tour or SF Chinatown Ghost Tours.

Although about an hour from the city, it’s worth detouring to visit the Winchester Mystery House, whose history is just as fascinating as its hauntings. Long story short, a medium advised Mrs. Winchester to never stop building a house in order to prevent ghosts from haunting her. Mrs. Winchester took this to heart, and after 38 years of endless construction, the result was 160 rooms with baffling architecture, from doors that open into walls to staircases that don’t lead anywhere. Ironically, despite her efforts, Winchester is most certainly haunted; take a candlelight tour in October and watch out for lights turning on or Mrs. Winchester herself calling your name.

5) Portland, Oregon

At one point, Portland was considered one of the most dangerous port cities in the world thanks to prostitution, gangs, opium dens and gambling rings. One of the most persistent stories from this era is about the Shanghai Tunnels, which are underground tunnels that connected hotel and bar basements to the docks. Originally intended to transport goods from the waterfront, they’re rumored to be where hired hands in the 19th century would kidnap, or “shanghai” men to work as slaves on ships bound for Asia. Victims would be dropped into the tunnel via trapdoors found in bars and imprisoned in cells until their ship set sail. Some ghost tours such as Beyond Bizarre Ghost Tour, Haunted Pub Tour, Hawthorne Ghost Tour and Shanghai Tunnels/Portland Underground Tours start at Hobo’s Restaurant, where there’s a basement entrance to the tunnels. Besides hearing screaming and crying, people report seeing Nina, a prostitute who met an untimely end at the bottom of an elevator shaft of what’s now Old Town Pizza.

Happy Ghost Hunting!

* * *

I’d like to share an excerpt from my most recent book Comes A Specter, Book 2, Ghostland Series. Several reviewers said the ghost scared the bejeebers out of them (although they loved the book).

Setup: Sutter (known as the shaman Yellow Smoke) confronts the ghost, Ten Wounds.

Excerpt:

A haze of gray mist swirled around the spirit’s form, his human form. If the situation weren’t so serious, Sutter could have shouted with joy. He took in the ghost’s visage. A quiver hung from his shoulder, stocked with sharp, pointed arrows—a sign he’d transformed into the fierce warrior who once walked the earth. Steeped in blood (no doubt from his recent kills), his clothing hung in tatters around his massive frame—a vest made of animal hides, a breechcloth and fringed leggings. Sutter’s gaze traveled to his painted, pock-marked face. Yellow and white stripes marked his forehead and chin, and black circles blended into his dark eyes. For a brief second, Sutter’s insides quivered and ropes of tension knotted every cord and fiber of his body.

Bleary, unearthly eyes speared Sutter when the wraith raised a hand of claw-like fingers and pointed at his enemy’s chest. The wind, much like the sound of a thousand women wailing, keened into the deafening silence. Fire exploded from the ghost’s eyes—flames the fires of Hell couldn’t compete with.

Sutter shouted over the infernal noise and flames. “You are not welcome here! Hear my words, you are dead!”

Like a misty cloud of energy, Ten Wounds lurched forward, a staccato rhythm of hisses and howls spewing from his foam-drooling mouth. Sutter had never imagined such a demonic apparition.

Read More On Amazon

* * *

Contest! Contest!

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Thanks so much for visiting Delilah’s blog and reading about Comes A Specter, Book 2, in my Ghostland Series (Comes an Outlaw, Book 1) available HERE.

It’s too early in the morning for me to be getting the giggles, but I just re-read my title. Don’t get it? Say it out loud now. LOL! Get it? Okay, I’m over it. Or maybe I’ll wait until I have this little bit written then I’ll go back and laugh again.

I’m still finishing up Hook. But it’s coming very, very soon (October 16th!). I’m sharing a snippet from the opening. I love my bounty hunter openings. I always try to introduce the heroes as they’re right in the middle of the action, taking some skip down. Hope you enjoy meeting Hook!

Hook

Former Army Ranger, Dylan “Hook” Hoecker, has a new job along with a new prosthetic arm. Being a bounty hunter is the closest career field he could find as a civilian that gives him the adrenaline rush that is his addiction. So, when his first solo assignment is to keep an eye on a flight risk the boss bonded out of jail, he’s not thrilled. However, he soon discovers a fresh addiction—one mouthy, nerdy redhead, who resists his attempts to keep her out of trouble.

Felicity Gronkowski is grateful for the bone the head of Montana Bounty Hunters threw her. She didn’t have the money to pay for bail, but he has a soft spot for former soldiers, and she bartered to install a new computer system in his satellite office in Bear Lodge. Being on the outside of jail was her first imperative because she has to figure out who framed her for a series of high-end robberies while she worked installing home security systems. However, her bounty-hunting babysitter isn’t giving her any slack. Every time she thinks she’s given him the slip, he’s one step ahead of her. Either she must find the perfect method of distraction to escape him or she has to enlist his help.

Pre-order  your copy here!

Dylan “Hook” Hoecker had no problem keeping pace with Dagger and Cochise as they raced along the dark alleyway, following the skip they’d tracked to a gun shop in Libby. Scooter James had made the crew the moment Dagger entered the premise. Perhaps it was Dagger’s burly physique that had tipped him off, or maybe he was just nervous having three intense-looking dudes enter the store, but he’d run for the back exit.

No, Hook’s legs had never been an issue. He ran like the wind, easily leaping over a barrel Scooter dumped on its side, hoping to trip them. Beside him, Dagger cursed, and Hook couldn’t help smiling as the big guy went down. This skip was his. When he reached the end of the alley, Scooter veered left and ran through a stand of motorcycles, tipping over one, which sent the rest slowly falling like dominoes. Bikers sitting at outdoor café tables nearby rose and filled the street, shouting and moving toward their Harleys, forcing Cochise and Hook to push past them.

Cochise went down when one biker stuck out a foot, perhaps angry that their chase had scratched his ride.

Hook waved his prosthetic arm, which, sometimes, had even those who weren’t so tight with the law pausing and giving him a break. He didn’t mind one bit using his disability to give him an advantage. He shouted out a “Thanks, man,” when one biker rolled his bike forward to clear his path.

Now, it was just him following the slap of Scooter’s Adidas on the pavement. Hook paced himself, forcing himself to keep his breathing even so he’d outlast his target. He didn’t use every bit of his strength to close the gap, because he knew he’d need anything extra to take the fucker down once he began to slow.

In his mind, Hook thanked his physical therapist, who’d concentrated on helping him make the adjustment to his new circumstance, learning to use his prosthetic, but who also continued to meet him on the track three or four mornings a week to make sure he worked out the rest of his body to help, not only keep him toned for the work he did, but to keep his dark moods at bay. Raydeen Pickering was a hero in his mind, because she went the extra mile for every man and woman she accepted into her treatment program.

Ahead of him, Scooter ducked into another alley.

“He’s turned again,” he said, knowing the others could hear him through the radio in his earpiece. “Left, into an alley.”
“I’m behind you,” Cochise said. “Don’t let him out of your sight.”

“I’m cutting through another alley. Will try to get to the street before he does,” Dagger said in his ear.

Hook went left and entered an alley lit by a single golden bulb at the back door of a restaurant. He ran past rank-smelling trash bins and plastic bags but didn’t see his mark ahead. “Don’t see him,” he said, and then slowed and turned.

Something dark swung at his head, and he held up his right arm to deflect the blow from a two-by-four from a pallet, no doubt. But the board hit plastic and metal and bounced off. Hook swung under it with his left, catching Scooter in the chin. Their target dropped like a sack of rocks across a row of trash bags lined up on the dirty, smelly pavement.

Hook stood over Scooter, shaking his left hand because it hurt like hell. Then he noted that his prosthetic dangled kind of funny. He tried to open and close the claw, but apparently, Scooter’s blow had damaged the cable. “Fuck,” he said, and gave Scooter a light kick in the side. “Bastard.”

The sounds of two individuals converging on him from different directions forced him to contain his anger and tuck his prosthetic against his body to hide the damage. The last thing he ever wanted to have happen was for one of these guys to think he was less capable of mixing it up. For the most part, he thought of his arm as an advantage in a fight. Metal hit harder than flesh and bone, and, generally, it could sustain a punch much better, too.

Thankfully, he kept a spare in his vehicle. He just had to get there. But first things first.

Scooter moaned from the ground as Cochise then Dagger came to a halt beside him and stared downward.

“Like we tried to tell you before you ran like a scared rabbit,” Hook said to Scooter, “we’re fugitive recovery agents, and we’re taking you to jail.”

Scooter pushed up on an elbow. “What the hell is that smell?”

Dagger sniffed. “Don’t know, but now I’m hungry. Could be chili.”

“I think it’s stew,” Cochise dead-panned. “Benny’s Eats makes a mean beef stew.”

“Shit, it’s all the way up my shirt,” Scooter said as he sat, rubbing his jaw.

“Well, looks like you’ll have something to snack on during the drive back,” Dagger drawled.

Scooter let out a huff. “Goddamn. My car, man. I left it at the gun shop.”

“You’ll just have to pick it up from impound,” Dagger said, “if the judge is stupid enough to let someone bond you out again.”

Hook reached down his left hand to help Scooter to his feet.

Scooter frowned. “Damn, you wearing armor on your arm? My teeth about rattled out of my head when I hit you.” Then he glanced at Hook’s metal claw. “Well, shit. That explains a lot.”

Hook reached for his handcuffs from the pocket on the back of his web belt. When he pulled them forward, he realized he wasn’t going to be able to cuff him, not one-handed.

Cochise held out his hand. “Let me do the honors.”

Hook pressed his lips together and handed him his handcuffs. If he’d been on his own, he’d have managed, somehow, but he might have had to put Scooter back on the ground first. He hadn’t quite mastered the single-handed snap using his left hand. Everything was harder to master with his left. Maybe he should ask Raydeen to add handcuffing to the everyday tasks he worked on improving.

Once Cochise had Scooter restrained, he stood back and let Hook grip Scooter’s upper arm to take him back to their vehicles.

The walk back was interminable. They passed the bikers who shot them birds but otherwise stayed pretty mellow. Back at the gun shop, Lacey, Dagger’s partner, gave a wave to the shop owner and sauntered their way. She’d canvassed the businesses in Libby days ago, leaving cards. No doubt the middle-aged owner had been only too eager to snitch, because then she’d grace his shop again. Dressed in skin-tight jeans and a pink button-down blouse that she’d knotted at her midriff, Lacey looked like a sweet confection. All that was missing was the powdered sugar.

“Hey there, Scooter,” she said. Then she shook her head and held her nose. “Good Lord, he is not riding in our vehicle.”

Hook grunted. “You can ride with me. I’ll even let you drive.”

Lacey might have looked like a cupcake, but she was one sharp cookie. Her gaze went to the arm he’d tucked close to his body, and she gave him a broad smile. “Dagger, you don’t mind if I ride with Hook, do you? I’ve never had the chance to talk with him alone.”

Dagger narrowed his eyes.

Lacey gave him a blinding smile. “See you back in Bear Lodge! Only you’ll be way later than us,” she said, then held her nose again and gave him a wink.

Cochise chuckled. “Come on, Scooter. You’ve got a new date with a judge. Bet if you sweet talk your jailers, they’ll let you have a shower before they put you in your cell.”

Hi Gang,

It’s been a while since I’ve had the pleasure of visiting with you. First, a major thank you to Delilah for hosting me again. I owe her an even bigger thanks for taking time, nearly six years ago, to guide a new writer down the path of knowledge and skill. I stayed the course and have 16 novels, 4 novellas, and 7 short stories to show for it. Thank you for being an great mentor and friend.

My latest and (IMHO) greatest novel is WHO! Get a load of this cover.

And that’s not the best part!

It’s an homage to one of my favorite shows, Sex & The City, and my favorite genres, thrillers and romance. There is a central group of strong, successful women who are fierce friends at the heart of the story. I’ve wanted to write this novel for the last three years, but other projects kept me away from it. But lookout world! The story is written! And it’s the book I’m the most proud of out of all the others. Shhh, don’t tell them. 😉

Here’s a peek inside, Who.

*****

“Why were you on the roof the other night?” she tried.

He simply stood and watched her.

“How’d you get up there?”

“You said a lock wouldn’t stop me.”

“Fine. Fine. You won’t come in. You won’t let me dry your clothes. You won’t answer my questions.” Larkin yanked off her coat, glad for the working thermostat. At least he wouldn’t freeze for as long as she could keep him inside. She sidestepped him and hooked her coat on the rack. If she was going to get this out, she couldn’t look at him. The sight of him all big and fucking sexy as hell muddled her brain. Her feet carried her from one side of the foyer to the other.

“That night on the roof … I wasn’t trying to kill myself.”

When he didn’t protest, she looked at him. His gaze followed her, calculating her again and again like a high-functioning computer. Reading and reading and not asking a single question.

“I know it looked that way. I know, now, why you acted the way you did, but it scared me. No one is ever up on the roof. It’s my place to get away from … everything. I hadn’t been up there in a while. Too long. Things were pressing in on me. Work. My …” Why was she blabbing so much to him? He didn’t give a shit. He was probably worried about where his next meal would come from. What did he care about her problems? Which really weren’t problems at all in the grand scheme of the world. People lived not knowing where their next meal was coming from. People lived without proper clothing. Without proper shelter.

Beckett didn’t look homeless. He wasn’t malnourished in any way. His clothes were used but clean and well maintained. The scruff on his face wasn’t more than three days growth.

“Your … boyfriend?”

She stopped pacing and found his gaze. “I don’t have those. They’re … messy.”

“Husband?”

Her face crinkled. “Even worse.”

“Finally, someone who understands.”

“So many people don’t.” She nodded and walked, studying the intricacies of the woodwork and the fibers of the entry’s rug.

“They’re needy.”

“And you don’t need much, do you?” She stole a quick glance at him. His head shook.

“So who was it that night?”

Her gaze dropped to the ring on her finger. “My family.”

His fingers came into view. They grazed the thick band and large stone.

“It was my mother’s.” She hated the words as soon as they were out.

“Why are you mad at a dead woman?”

Her gaze flashed to his. He stood over her, eyes warmer than before. She hadn’t said a word about the rage that boiled inside her bones for her mother, but he was smart. Smart enough to add her action that night and her words tonight and ask the one question she wouldn’t answer.

Larkin’s head shook, jarring loose the tear she’d been fighting back.

“Seems we both have our boundaries.” His thumb wiped the tear from her cheek, dragged it down her face, and smoothed it over her lips. They parted for him. He took his time tracing the high arch. The salt from his fingertip bled into her mouth as the pad dragged over her lower lip and pulled it wide. “Unlock the door and tell me to leave.”

“No.” Her tongue slid along the path with his finger. “You ran away from me Saturday. I’m not going to let you do that tonight.”

“It’s what I should do.” His thumb left her lip and joined the rest of his fingers at the side of her neck. He tilted her face up. “Tell me to stop.” His face, scarred and angry, neared hers, open and intent.

Not a sound passed through her lips. She grabbed his jacket, only inches from his hand, and tugged. His hold broke. The cold exterior chilled her fingertips. The weight of it forced her muscles into action but not for long. She dropped the thing on the ground behind her, toward the wall and away from the door. Her gaze never left his. His gave nothing away.

He was too tall for her to lift up onto her tiptoes and press her lips to his, and he didn’t move from his battle-ready posture. She could climb him like a tree, but if this was going to work, he would have to give … just a little.

Toe to toe, she studied him as blatantly as he did her. A healthy pulse swelled the veins of his thick neck. His gaze narrowed and cooled as though begging her to lose interest. Not a chance. Every inch of him intrigued her. Even the ugly scar that hid in the shadow of the foyer. She reached up slowly. His head shifted higher into the stratosphere of her entryway.

“Don’t tell me a big guy like you is scared.”

His jaw worked back and forth. “Cautious.”

“I won’t hurt you. Don’t think I could if I tried, but I won’t.”

His head lowered.

Larkin grabbed his chin. It barely fit in her hand. The short hairs pricked her fingers. She turned his face to the left and held her breath. Webbed and raised skin slightly darker than the rest of his face gleamed with a waxy smooth finish in the lamplight. Its dips and rises spread wide from a point just below his eye to encompass the hinge of his jaw and a two-inch swath of his cheek. It was fully healed but not an old scar. Her fingers slid up the side of his face. She mapped the ridges of scarred and unmarred skin alike.

He moved under her touch, not visibly, but energy hummed under her fingertips. She dragged her touch down over his scar, his neck, and gripped the collar of his shirt with both hands. Cool water seeped from the fabric, running through her fingers.

Hunger flashed in his eyes.

She pulled his face down. Her heart beat against her chest, urging her to take his mouth, but determination made her wait. He had to give. Saliva pooled. Her breasts ached. Oxygen, so skittish before, heaved in and out of her lungs as though she was chasing him down the street again. If he broke down her door and ran away, she’d chase him again. This wasn’t like her. She took what she wanted. Men gave it freely. But this man just looked at her.

*****

Who is a 410-page beast of a first-in-series novel released October 2nd. It’s regular $6.99, but is on sale for the next two weeks for $4.99!

Amazon
US: https://amzn.to/2DuzlIw
UK: https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B07HDDTNVB
CA: https://www.amazon.ca/dp/B07HDDTNVB

iBooks: https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/who/id1434316342
Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/who-19
Google Play: https://play.google.com/store/books/details/Megan_Mitcham_Who?id=1dRqDwAAQBAJ

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/41540582-who
Author Website: http://www.meganmitcham.com/index.html

*****

Down to business. What is the thing in life you are most proud of? Answer the question in the comments below for a chance to win a signed copy of Never Mine.

All the best,
Megan
—
Megan Mitcham
USA Today Bestselling Author
Sizzling Suspense – Are you sizzling yet?
www.meganmitcham.com