Author Bio:
I have
been an author since the age of fourteen and write Young/New Adult historical
romance, suspense, supernatural/paranormal thrillers, fantasy, sci-fi, short
stories, novellas—you name it, I write it! I am also a classically trained
soprano/violinist/pianist and have been performing since the age of three.
Additionally, I hold a BA in Management and an MBA in Marketing.
If I
had not decided to become a writer, I would have become a marine biologist, but
after countless years spent watching Shark Week, I realized I am very attached
to my arms and legs and would rather write sharks into my stories than get up
close and personal with those toothy wonders.
What
would you risk for the love of a stranger?
Ilyse
Charpentier, a beautiful young chanteuse, is the diva of the 1894 Parisian
cabaret scene by night and the unwilling obsession of her patron, Count Sergei
Rakmanovich, at every other waking moment.
Though
it has always been her secret desire, Ilyse’s life as “La Petite Coquette” of
the Paris stage has turned out to be anything but the glamorous existence she
had dreamt of as a girl. As a young woman, Ilyse has already suffered tragedy
and become estranged from her beloved brother, Maurice, who blames her for
allowing the Count to drive them apart.
Unhappy
and alone, Ilyse forces herself to banish all thoughts of independence until
the night Ian McCarthy waltzes into her life. Immediately taken with the bold,
young, British expatriate, Ilyse knows it is time to choose: will she break free and follow her heart or
will she remain a slave to her patron’s jealous wrath for the rest of her life?
City of Lights: The Trials and Triumphs of
Ilyse Charpentier Book Trailer:
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Corcitura. Some call it hybrid, others half-blood,
mongrel, beast. They are all names for the
same thing: vampire—the created progeny
of the half-wolf, half-vampire, barb-tongued Grecian Vrykolakas, and the suave
but equally vicious Russian Upyr.
Corcitura: this is what happens
when a man is attacked by two vampires of differing species. He becomes an entirely new breed—ruthless,
deadly, unstoppable…almost.
London,
1888: Eric Bradburry and Stefan Ratliff,
best friends since childhood, have finally succeeded in convincing their
parents to send them on a Grand Tour of the Continent. It will be the adventure of a lifetime for
the two eighteen-year-old Englishmen, but almost from the moment they set foot
on French soil, Eric senses a change in Stefan, a change that is intensified
when they cross paths with the enigmatic Vladec Salei and his traveling
companions: Leonora Bianchetti, a woman
who fascinates Eric for reasons he does not understand, and the bewitching
Augustin and Sorina Boroi—siblings, opera impresarios, and wielders of an
alarming power that nearly drives Eric mad.
Unable
to resist the pull of their new friends, Eric and Stefan walk into a trap that
has been waiting to be sprung for more than five hundred years—and Stefan is
the catalyst. Terrified by the
transformation his friend is undergoing, Eric knows he must get Stefan away from
Vladec Salei and Constantinos, the rabid, blood-crazed Vrykolakas, before
Stefan is changed beyond recognition.
But after witnessing a horrific scene in a shadowed courtyard in Eastern
Europe, Eric’s worst fears are confirmed.
Six
years removed from the terror he experienced at the hands of Salei and
Constantinos, Eric finally believes he has escaped his past. But once marked, forever marked, as he
painfully begins to understand. He has
kept company with vampires, and now they have returned to claim him for their
own.
Corcitura Book Trailer:
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Social Media Links:
I love
to chat with readers and other writers. Please feel free to connect with me on
any or all of the following sites:
Spotlight Interview Questions:
1) What is your all-time favorite book and
why?
David
Copperfield. I read this book close to sixteen years ago and can still quote
passages and remember scenes vividly. All the suffering and hardships this
young 19th century Englishman endured and all the mistakes he made in love and
in life transcended the ages and became so relevant to me, a preteen living in
the United States in the 20th century. That is truly a testament to the genius
of Charles Dickens. It is also what I think makes a book a classic—its
timelessness.
2) Is there an author you could be compared
to or popular fictional characters your book's characters could relate to and
why?
The
characters of City of Lights: The Trials and Triumphs of Ilyse Charpentier
would empathize with any young people who have ever felt like they were being caged,
denied the chance to live out their dreams, or achieve happiness and love.
Since there is a healthy dash of sibling conflict in the book between Ilyse and
Maurice, anyone who has had to deal with a bitter or impossible brother or
sister would relate well to the characters, too. The villains would likely get
along with anyone who has insane control issues and can’t stand seeing other
people happy! ;)
As for
the characters of Corcitura…calling all fictional people who have ever had to
match wits and do battle against vampires! Apart from that, Corcitura’s
characters would truly be kindred spirits with anyone—fictional or
otherwise—who has faced something unknown and terrifying and has been forced to
adjust quickly in order to stay sane and, in some cases, survive. I’ve had
readers of all ages and walks of life tell me they can relate to the
characters, but since the main ones are young and go through some growing pains
in a rather dramatic set of circumstances, I would say older teens and young
adults would relate best to them, since they are also trying to find their way
in the world. When it comes to Eric, Madelaine, and Zigmund (my three
narrators), if you’ve ever felt betrayed and realized that the people you think
are your best friends, those you have trusted for practically your whole life,
turn out to have been wearing a mask and are nothing like what they truly
are—then you and these three characters will have a lot in common.
I
always like people to go into my novels not having another author’s writing
style in mind. I want readers to love my writing for its own merits and let the
story and characters speak to them and touch them in their own special way,
without any preconceived comparisons. Hopefully, people will feel my novels are
like nothing they’ve ever read before. In the best sense possible, of course.
;)
3) Can you give us your favorite quote from
one of your books and explain it?
I have
a lot of favorite quotes from Corcitura, but one of my favorite snippets is
actually a small bit of character interaction:
“Tell
me, Eric,” he said, licking a droplet from the corner of his mouth. “Have you
ever tasted blood?”
My
mouth was so dry I could barely find the voice to answer him. “What an odd
question…”
“But
a valid one. Well, have you?”
“I’ve
cut my lip before, so yes, I suppose I have tasted blood, but…”
“Not
your own, you foolish boy.” He let out a short, derisive laugh and leaned in so
that he was only a few inches from my face. “I mean the blood of another.”
“Good
God, Stefan, of course not!”
“Pity…”
This
mini-scene was in my mind about three or four years before I began writing the
book. It is really the “Ah ha!” moment of the first half of the novel, the
climax as Eric realizes that there is no logical explanation for what he’s been
trying to deny. Everything he’s witnessed with his own eyes has turned out to
be one hundred times worse than anything he could have imagined. I ended up
writing this scene first and then working my way back from it because it served
as the springboard for quite a bit of the story arc and helped me tie several
plot points together for the rest of the book. I also happen to think it’s a
deliciously horrifying and creepy way for someone who has not been deemed
worthy of induction into the ranks of the undead to be exposed to the reality
of a vampire’s thirst for blood, but, of course, I might be a bit biased in
that assessment. ;)
4) What types of things/people/music
inspire you and make you want to keep writing?
I have
always drawn a tremendous amount of inspiration from music and artwork,
especially the paintings of the Pre-Raphaelites, which have inspired scenes,
characters, and whole story arcs in my fantasy duology.
Movie
soundtracks and epic music really fuel my creativity, too. Currently, for the
dystopian/fantasy novel I started working on again after dropping it when
school and life intervened more than a decade ago (I was 14 and it was my first
novel), I keep epic music/soundtracks looping at a low volume in my ear buds.
It really spurs my imagination and helps when trying to strike the right mood
in battle and intense scenes, especially when there are “creatures” involved.
And that’s all I can say about some of the beasts of my dystopian world without
giving the entire game away. Just keep in mind that I used to want to be a
marine biologist, so you’ll probably be able to figure out what kind of
creatures they are descended from.
Writing
something fresh and new and exciting, with characters you would want to know in
real life and villains you absolutely would not; creating worlds you can lose
yourself in and stories you’ll remember long after the last page has been read.
All these things motivate me and keep me excited about getting to work each and
every day. Writing is as much a part of my existence as the air I breathe. I
cannot imagine life without it. There is also the fact that my characters are
very insistent and want their stories told NOW! So how would I have a moment’s
peace if I ignored them? ;)
5) Describe your typical writing day or
week.
I try
to carve out writing time at least every day. Sometimes, I’ll have a span of
maybe four or five hours in the evening, and sometimes weekends are totally
devoted to writing. It depends on family obligations and other things that are
going on, those so-called “life interruptions” that can be so detrimental to
letting the muse have its day!
6) Is there a food or drink you have to
have when you're writing?
I like
to keep a glass of ice water near me at all times when I write. I also like to
take cheese breaks. Give me a handful of Jarlsberg and I can write for hours.
7) Can you tell us what you're working on
right now (& possibly provide an excerpt & cover)?
I’m
currently completing my final revisions on Uendelig, the first book in Dwellers
of Darkness, Children of Light, an eight part series of loosely connected
novellas in which young adults battle against creatures and fantastical beings
from the otherworld that have crossed the void and ended up in our own.
Uendelig (which will hopefully be released before the summer ends), is the
story of Ragna and Sylvi, two young girls whose lives were forever changed when
catastrophe tore their family apart. Now, living with their aunt in a small
village in 19th century Norway, Ragna begins to change. She is distant,
hostile, and has taken to carrying around a pair of viciously sharp scissors
that frighten Sylvi for reasons she cannot understand. Most alarming of all,
Ragna seems to want nothing more than to see Sylvi dead. The tragedy of the
past must have finally driven Ragna mad. That has to be the reason, or so Sylvi
tells herself. But as she digs deeper, Sylvi discovers that an ancient beast of
terror and darkness is rising to finish the work begun before Sylvi was even
born and claim the blood sacrifice it was denied a generation ago. But who made
the devil’s bargain in the first place? And how can Sylvi—young, alone, and
believing she is as useless as Ragna has always said—save her sister before The
Bottomless devours them both? This excerpt is from Chapter 1: Unraveling.
Enjoy!
My
eyes darted toward Ragna’s lap, then up to her face, then back to her lap
again, and I winced as I watched her razoring off the threads with a jackknifed
blade. That ancient thing in her hand looked like a relic, something that had
been dug up after being buried for hundreds of years. I had never seen her
using those scissors before and wondered where she’d found them. With each tug,
bits of rust flaked off one of the blades and fell against the crisp white
fabric, leaving ugly red-brown stains behind. It was baffling to me that
something so old and filthy was being used to mend her precious apron when I
wasn’t even allowed to go near it until my hands had been practically scrubbed
raw.
My
gaze shifted to the other blade. This one was polished so brilliantly that I
saw half my face reflected in its surface. There was no rust to be seen on this
side, no dull edge, just a ribbon of steel that shone with silver fire and
tapered to a lethal point.
Ragna
relaxed her grip for a second, giving me a clear view of the handles—buttery,
light-capturing gold, chased with strange shapes and runes in a language that
had probably not been spoken on this earth in a thousand lifetimes. And yet…the
markings looked new, the grooves still fresh and deep. That was curious. What
could they mean? And where on earth had Ragna found this treasure? There was no
question of the scissors belonging to her. That was impossible. Even with the
generous allowance Tante Jannicke gave her each month, Ragna would never have
been able to afford something so old and priceless.
I
thought about running, now that she seemed to have forgotten I was there, but
my curiosity was too great. No matter her reaction, I had to know. “Where did
you get those scissors?” I asked.
Her
lips were moving, but I couldn’t hear any words. I leaned forward for a better
look into her eyes, but there was no one home behind them. They were green and
murky and vacant, like two pools of algae-poisoned water. I wondered if she
even knew what her hands were doing.
I
cleared my throat. “Hoy, Ragna?” I ventured. “Didn’t you hear me?”
“What?”
“Where
did those come from?” I said, pointing at the scissors.
“I
found them. And I claimed them. And there’s nothing anyone can do about it.”
“Why
would they want to?” I asked, confused. “They’re just scissors. It’s not like
they’re Queen Sophia’s crown jewels or anything, haha!” My teeth ground
together as I snapped my mouth shut, biting off the laugh. To make such a loud
noise seemed obscene in the stillness of this place, where the only sound was
the eerie creak of Ragna’s blades.
She
smirked and went on with her work, but that wasn’t good enough for me. I wanted
an answer. I needed an answer, and felt as though my heart would explode if I
didn’t get one. “They’re so ancient, maybe even centuries old. It’s not
something you’re likely to come across in old Birgit’s shop.”
An
aggravated sigh was the only answer I got. That should have been my cue to stay
quiet. I bit my tongue to keep the burning questions from spilling out, but I
had never been very good at lidding my feelings, and no matter how annoyed she
was, now was certainly not the time to start battening down the hatches.
“You’ve
been delving too deeply in the barrow,” I said in a voice that would have
terrified a ghoul in its grave.
“Why
would you say that?!” she snapped
“It
was just an observation.” Good gracious, she was trembling! Maybe I should have
tried scaring the truth out of her sooner.
“Well,
it’s a morbid observation. Wipe that smirk off your face before I do it for
you. You know perfectly well that there was never anything buried in that
barrow. It’s just a mound.”
“A
burial mound,” I said, giving her the sepulchral treatment again.
“Stop
that right now!”
“Suit
yourself.” I let it lie for a few minutes…revolving different scenarios in my
mind…and then I finally saw the light.
“I
know what this is all about! No wonder you’re being so secretive. Those
scissors were a gift! From an admirer. Although I wouldn’t think too highly of
his taste if he gave me a present like that. So, who is it, Ragna? Has Ulf
finally declared himself?”
“Stop
being such a child.”
“I
am a child.”
“That
doesn’t mean you have to be a fool.”
“So
it is true?! Why else would you be so snippy?”
“Snippy?
I’ll show you snippy,” she said, lunging at me.
I
jerked back, but not quickly enough. A chunk of dusty red hair fluttered to the
ground, catching on a sprig of crowberries. Hot tears stung my eyes, but I
swiped my hand against them to keep them in their place. I wouldn’t give Ragna
the satisfaction of seeing me cry.
“It’s
an improvement, trust me,” she said, laughing. I shivered despite the heat, for
the laugh that bubbled out of her was a mad little giggle that didn’t even
sound human.
“You
never know when to stop, Sylvi. You never know when the joke is no longer funny
to anyone but you.”
“I
would have never done that to you,” I said. I glanced at the clump of my hair,
wondering why the strands were shifting in and out of focus, like twigs sinking
below the surface of the waves. Something wet trickled down my face, and I knew
why.
I
pawed at my cheek and clenched my teeth, determined not to give in.
“I
was only having a bit of fun. You can be so tiresome.”
“You
meant to do that. Or were you trying for something worse?” I said, my voice
ratcheting up an octave as a new and terrifying possibility suggested itself.
What if she’d intended to put out my eye and I’d only been saved because I
jerked out of the way? The loss of a few strands of hair suddenly didn’t seem
like such a sacrifice.
“Oh,
Sylvi, please. Come, now, enough is enough. Do make an effort and try to
concentrate on finishing your side of the mending, won’t you? There’s so much
work to be done. I can hardly waste the entire day sitting out here listening
to your wild ramblings. Guard your tongue, Sylvi. If you’re not careful,
someone will lock you up for thinking everyone is against you. That’s the first
sign of madness.”
I
felt a rebuke rising up inside me, but something told me to hold my peace.
The
seconds ticked by, with her still hacking away at the threads. A nagging
thought tugged at the back of my mind, refusing to be ignored. My resolve to
stay silent had lasted all of a minute. That was long enough. I had to risk it.
I had to know. “So, who did give you the scissors?”
“Will
you never stop?! I already told you. I found them…”
“Found
them where?”
“In
a secret hiding place known only to the dead. Don’t press me, Sylvi, or I’ll
send you there.”
That
was a joke. It had to be. If the old Ragna had said it...
…but
the old Ragna would have never said it, that was the trouble.
Silence
blanketed us again. The light was fading, and before we left this spot that had
always been filled with sunshine and laughter, I was determined to drag the
truth out of her. She wouldn’t answer my questions, but maybe threats were a
language this new Ragna would understand. “I think Tante Jannicke would find it
veeery in-ter-es-ting that a girl your age has a secret beau.”
Stars
exploded before my eyes as my lip was shoved into my mouth, the flesh catching
in the space between my bottom teeth. I was so startled, I didn’t realize what
had happened, until my tongue pushed against the skin, and I felt it rip open.
Blood washed back into my mouth, gagging me into action.
I
leaned over and spat it out before it could slide down my throat. One deep breath,
in, out, and another… My hands shook as I braced them against the ground and
tried to still my galloping heart. Finally, after more than a minute, I felt
calm enough to face her.
“What’s
wrong, Sylvi dear?” she said innocently.
“Who’s
the one without a conscience now?” My lip had swelled alarmingly in the seconds
since she’d hit me. The pain throbbed through my whole face and made me feel as
though an army of demonic little creatures had burrowed inside my head and
started striking my skull with hammers. “Don’t you understand what you’ve
done?”
“Oh,
that.”
“Ragna!”
I was too stunned to say more, too horrified to move, my ears still ringing, my
body shaking more from shock than anything else.
“I
told you I’d wipe that smirk off your face. Let that be a lesson to you. This
is what happens to all little girls who stick their noses into other people’s
business. You’ll know not to pry next time.”
“Fine,”
I said, my voice so low it startled me. I didn’t even sound like myself. “Keep
your secrets and your scissors and your bloody minded thoughts to yourself, for
all I care.”
I
didn’t expect her to suddenly apologize, but her silence was worse than the
blow.
Mechanically,
relentlessly, she continued to hack off those threads. Slice, tug, pop, slice,
tug, pop, like bone being yanked out of a socket.
She
was so focused, so determined…
And
that’s when I knew that this had nothing to do with mending the apron. There
was something else in her mind, an image of something with a head she was
mentally trying to lop off.
Or
someone….someone like…
I
turned away and willed myself to leave that thought in the dark where it
belonged.
The
time had come to escape. Blood pounded in my ears, magnifying the sound of each
sliver of grass that slapped against my legs as I eased away from her. Just a
little bit closer…but I should have known this new Ragna would never let me go
so easily.
Before
I could move another inch, she skewered me with a stare that knocked the will
straight out of me. Terror staked me to the spot. I sat frozen, not breathing,
pleading with her in my mind to look away and free me from her Gorgon eyes.
“Oh,
Sylvi, don’t look so horrified,” said Ragna, wrinkling her nose at me. “It had
to be done. You needed to be taught to respect your elders.”
“Elders?
You? You’re fourteen years old!”
“That’s
old enough to discipline a nosy little hellion like you. Sometimes, Sylvi,
force is the only thing wayward animals understand. My actions were entirely
necessary…”
“And
will the accident that ends my life be necessary, too?”
She
was stunned! I’d done it! I’d finally shocked her as badly as she’d shocked me.
Her hand spasmed, the scissors snapping shut on air. If she hadn’t been so
quick, hadn’t moved in time, her little finger would have been severed.
She
looked down at her hand with a curious expression in her eyes, then the shock
seemed to wear off and she was back to her calm and collected new self. Why did
my victories never last more than five seconds? “An accident, really,” she said
airily. “If I were to kill you, I would have done it ages ago. And I can assure
you it would have been no accident. But murder is a sin…”
“And
ten times more damning than suicide,” I added, to drive home the point.
“You’re
so right. I have absolutely no intention of going to Hell for you. But there
are other ways of keeping my soul unblemished and still getting the result that
would benefit us all. There are other means to achieving an end. I could always
call in a third party.”
“What…”
but my question was never asked.
Ragna
had started to hum.
All
anger and fear was pushed aside as I recognized the melody that always made me
think of a mist-shrouded castle in the sky. Her voice dropped low to catch hold
of the first note, then spun upward and came down again, rolling like a wave
over the peaks and valleys of the music I had loved for as long as there had
been life within me. This was our lullaby, our song, more comforting than the
warm blanket Ragna wrapped around me when I screamed myself out of my night terrors.
The
words danced in my mind’s eye as I swayed back and forth to the melody.
Little
bear, little bear, do you hear me? How wonderfully warm is your fur. In your
arms I sleep tight, in my mind dreams take flight, as we rock on the edge of
the night.
I
opened my eyes, ready to join in. How could she be lost to me if she still
remembered this? She was still Ragna, my sister.
“Sing,
Ragna.”
“Little
bear, little bear, can you hear me? Draw near and attend to my song. See her
veins are so plump, one quick snip and she’ll jump, and the earth will run red
with her blood.”
I
stared at her in horror. What had she done? How could she have done this? She’d
butchered our song, twisted it into something thorny and evil, bent it into a
lullaby fit for the children of Hell itself.
I
tried to swallow, but my throat had gone dry. Fire burned across my
shoulders—my muscles as taut as a fisherman’s line. My hands were balled into
fists. When I finally forced my fingers to uncurl, bits of earth fell to the
ground. I looked down in wonder. How could I have dug into the grass without
feeling anything?
She
was trying to scare me out of my mind.
And
she was succeeding.
Icy
fingers wormed their way into my heart. I rocked back on my heels. No matter
that my legs were weak, that my mind felt as though it had split in two, I had
to get out of here.
“Take
one more step and I will make sure you never walk again. I can just as easily
snip a tendon as a vein.”
Her
gibbering laugh ricocheted off the trees. I cringed at the sound and the
reality that went along with it. For the first time that day, I considered the
possibility that my sister was insane.
She
had always looked so innocent, so pure. Her hair was like a glorious red
waterfall flowing out behind her. Her emerald eyes captured people’s attention
the minute she walked into a room. Even her freckles were an asset, unlike
mine, which people often took for scars left over from an attack of German
measles.
I
used to think she looked like an angel.
She
was no angel now.
The
sun glinting wickedly off that razor-sharp blade brought me back to my new
reality. Ragna’s mesmerizing eyes were
dancing. What was she thinking? I shuddered as my mind conjured up a vision of
her stabbing the scissors into my back.
“What
did you think of my song?”
“I
think you’re mad, completely barking mad, and I don’t want to have anything to
do with you.”
“Oh,
Sylvi, I was only funning.”
“Funning…
No, Ragna. You were dead serious.”
“That’s
where you’re wrong, my dear girl. If I were, I would have sent someone to
finish you off years ago.”
At
those words, I fell back onto the grass.
A
secret smile skittered across her face.
“What
are you talking about?”
“The
Bottomless.”
Finding Sheba by H.B. Moore
An ancient legend is reborn . . . One that might prove the Bible false.
For centuries, historians have theorized the Queen of Sheba as only a seductive legend, and scholars have debated over the legitimacy of King David or King Solomon. When undercover Israeli agent, Omar Zagouri, stumbles onto a tomb in Northern Jerusalem he unknowingly finds the final clue that threatens to overthrow government claim to the Holy Land, pits wealthy collectors against one another, and sends ruthless archaeologists scrambling to find the queen’s secret burial place. An assassination attempt on the Coptic Pope, His Holiness, Patriarch Stephanus II, is only the first in the chain of lethal crimes. Omar must find a way to prevent the greatest discovery of the century from becoming the most deadly.
Author Heather B. Moore
Heather B. Moore is the award-winning author of ten novels, two inspirational non-fiction books, and two anthologies, including The Newport Ladies Book Club Series, A Timeless Romance Anthology, and Christ’s Gifts to Women (co-authored by Angela Eschler).
Her historical fiction is published under the pen name H.B. Moore. She is the two-time recipient of Best of State in Literary Fiction, two-time Whitney Award Winner, and two-time Golden Quill Winner for Best Novel. Her most recent historical novel under H.B. Moore is Daughters of Jared (2012 LUW Gold Award of Excellence & 2012 LUW Best Book Trailer).
