Carries Book Reviews

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Title: The Day Tripper

Author: James Goodhand

Publisher: MIRA

Publication Date: March 19, 2024

Page Count: 373

About the book:

What if you lived your days out of order?

It’s 1995, and twenty-year-old Alex Dean has it all: a spot at Cambridge University next year, the love of an amazing woman named Holly and all the time in the world ahead of him. That is until a brutal encounter with a ghost from his past sees him beaten, battered and almost drowning in the Thames.

He wakes the next day to find he’s in a messy, derelict room he’s never seen before, in grimy clothes he doesn’t recognize, with no idea of how he got there. A glimpse in the mirror tells him he’s older—much older—and has been living a hard life, his features ravaged by time and poor decisions. He snatches a newspaper and finds it’s 2010—fifteen years since the fight.

After finally drifting off to sleep, Alex wakes the following morning to find it’s now 2019, another nine years later. But the next day, it’s 1999. Never knowing which day is coming, he begins to piece together what happens in his life after that fateful night by the river.

Why does his life look nothing like he thought it would? What about Cambridge, and Holly? In this page-turning adventure, Alex must navigate his way through the years to learn that small actions have untold impact, even in a life lived out of order. And that might be all he needs to save the people he loves and, equally importantly, himself.

Named a Most Anticipated Title by Goodreads, Men’s Health, BookBub, and more

“Witty and wise, THE DAY TRIPPER had me pulling for Alex through all of his mixed up days. James Goodhand brings a fun, fresh voice to the time travel genre in this gem of a novel. I loved it!” —Shelby Van Pelt, New York Times bestselling author of Remarkably Bright Creatures

“A compelling look at the way decisions, good and bad, build up over time to create a life.” –Library Journal 

“A page-turner.” -BOOKLIST“James Goodhand takes the time-travel genre and reshapes it into something wonderful. A tender, compulsive, miracle of a love story.” —Adam Simcox, author of The Dying Squad Trilogy 

Find this book online:

Goodreads  /  Amazon  /  Bookshop.org  / B&N  / HarperCollins 

Excerpt:

SEPTEMBER 6, 1995 | AGE 20

It’s three-deep at the bar, and I get my order in seconds before they ring for time. I double up: a JD and Coke each and two beers to take with us. The lights are up and the music’s gone quiet as I weave the tray through the punters. Standing in the doorway out to the terrace, I am disorientated. There must be fifty tables outside between here and the river and it’s still packed out, darker and smokier than ever. I search the crowd but can’t see Holly.

I negotiate my way down to the water’s edge. She’s maybe ten tables away, oblivious, a ciggie poised skyward in her fingers like she’s posing for Vettriano. I smirk, enjoy my good fortune again.

“Excuse me, good gentlemen,” I say to a group of four in my path, voice cocky with booze and lust. They shuffle over, not breaking from their conversation. The resulting gap between their circle and the edge of the path isn’t wide enough—a careless elbow would send the tray of drinks into the river, possibly me with them.

“If you don’t mind, guys?” I lay a palm on the forearm of the bloke with his back to me. Their circle opens out and he turns side-on, ushering me past. “Nice one,” I say, glancing at him as I pass.

I look back at the ground. There’s a delay in my brain processing who it is I’m walking past. There’s a moment in which it seems that we’ll just carry on, pretend like we don’t know each other.

The air thickens. Time slows. I stop, a step past him. Look again. Razor-sharp short back and sides, hooded eyes, lopsided mouth. Preppy. It’s a face I catch myself imagining sometimes, never for long. A waking nightmare. Not that my imagination does it justice. Not even close, I now realize.

His recognition of me unfolds in slow motion. Perhaps like me, alcohol has dulled his synapses, delayed the inevitable shift of mode.

Blake Benfield. There have been times in the past when just hearing that name in my head has stopped me dead, left me incapable.

How long since we last ran into each other? I was sixteen—best part of four years, then. Feels so recent. Our paths crossing has always been inevitable; we grew up barely a mile apart. He spat at me that last time, called me faggot cunt. The many times before that I’d just legged it, hidden from his fury and his hatred. But you get too old to do that.

This crowded place seems so quiet now. Like there’s cotton wool stuffed in my ears. The two bottles tip over on my trembling tray, foam splattering to the ground. One rolls over the edge and shatters on the concrete. People turn.

How long have we stood here, him glaring at me, me unable to hold his stare? Saying nothing. A few seconds? Feels longer.

There’s the smell of burned-out house in my nose. The sound of his whisper in my ears that I try to drown out.

Don’t think about it. Do not think about that day. 

Why do I shake? I’m a fucking grown man. Why am I shaking?

He takes a half step closer to me.

I once told him I was sorry. It was years ago—when I was still a kid. I was sorry. Does he remember?

I spin around. Where’s Holly? She must be watching this.

There’s no more delay. There is, of course, nothing for me and this bloke to say to each other. We have ventured into each other’s space, and that brings with it a remembering. And, as we always have, we must deal with that in our own way.

His knuckles graze my chin. I stumble backward and the tray falls to the ground. His swing is off, though; there is no pain. Not even surprise. We definitely have an audience now.

My response is pure instinct: palms raised, lean away. Easy now.

I don’t want to fight this man. I want to go back thirty seconds, walk a different route, have this night back for myself.

Blake closes the gap, my weakness an invitation. His second punch crashes into my ear like a swinging girder. My brain slaps side to side in my skull. Vision sways. My head boils, a cool trickle from my eardrum.

Where is Holly? Panic grips. I can’t just stand here and take this.

My eyes flit to our audience. He swings again, this time with his left. But I see it coming, dodge. He stumbles.

I drive my weight, shoulder first, into his ribs. He goes over, sprawled among the spilled drinks and shattered glass.

On all fours, he stares up at me. I’m perfectly positioned. I could kick him square in the face. End this right now. Why don’t I do it? Why can’t I bring myself to do it? I’d rather turn my back and cry than kick his head in.

He glares up at me. Why do I pity him? Why am I so uncomfortable towering over him like this? It’s like the positions we’ve always held have been reversed. The power is mine.

I let him find his feet.

He’s up and level with me again. He glares like a bloodthirsty dog, wipes his nose on the sleeve of his polo shirt. If we were alone, maybe I’d run. But with people watching, with Holly watching, that’s no option.

My punch lands perfectly. His jaws scissor against each other. For a second his head floats, eyes rolling.

I realize my error too late. I should’ve followed up when I had the chance. One punch is only enough in the movies, everyone knows that. His hands are on the collar of my shirt, cloth tearing as he holds firm. His forehead slams into the bridge of my nose like a sledgehammer. My face is suddenly and totally numb. I drop to the ground. A ruby-red stain spreads fast through the jewels of broken glass around me.

He shouts above me. Every filthy word I’ve long come to expect. Something soft disperses against my head. Spit.

The neck of the Stella bottle I dropped lies on the ground. Inches away. Blood gurgles in my mouth as I take a deep breath. I launch like a sprinter. Leading with the dagger of green glass, I’m aiming straight at his face and closing fast.

Blake backs into a table, stumbles, hands slow to cover his face. His eyes widen, abject fear. But this is no time to be derailed.

I see it too late. No time to react. One of Blake’s friends windmilling a table ashtray. The side of my skull cracks like thunder.

The ground feels like a cushion, drawing me in and bouncing me back. My vision finds enough order in time to see the sole of boot accelerating toward me, like a cartoon piano from the sky.

There is no pain. Just a sense of floating in space.

Time passes. More blows land.

The surface of the Thames billows like a black satin sheet as it rises toward me. There’s no fear. Is that Holly I can hear calling my name? It’s so distant, so hard to tell.

The river gathers me in like it’s here to take care of me.

Cool water spears my lungs like sharpened icicles. I sink forever.

A low hum builds in my ears. Lights fades to nothing.

And I sleep.

NOVEMBER 30, 2010 | AGE 35

My head throbs. It doesn’t matter if I open or close my eyes, the pain worsens either way. My mouth is like dust. Joints and muscles lie seized.

Last night is a blank. I hate that. I look above me. Focusing is excruciating. The ceiling is browny cream, textured in spikes like a Christmas cake. An unshaded bulb swings in the draft, the filament shivering. It’s really cold in here.

Where the fucking hell am I?

Excerpted from THE DAY TRIPPER by James Goodhand. Copyright © 2024 by James Goodhand. Published by MIRA Books, an imprint of HarperCollins.

About the Author:

James Goodhand has written two YA novels. His YA debut, Last Lesson, was called “a powerfully charged study in empathy,” by the Financial Times. THE DAY TRIPPER is his adult debut. He lives in England with his wife and young son. 

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Title: Happily Never After

Author: Lynn Painter

Publisher: Berkley

Publication Date: March 12, 2024

Page Count:  303

My rating: 5 stars

About the book:

Their name? The objectors.
Their job? To break off weddings as hired.
Their dilemma? They might just be in love with each other.
 
When Sophie Steinbeck finds out just before her nuptials that her fiancé has cheated yet again, she desperately wants to call it off. But because her future father-in-law is her dad’s cutthroat boss, she doesn’t want to be the one to do it. Her savior comes in the form of a professional objector, whose purpose is to show up at weddings and proclaim the words no couple (usually) wants to hear at their ceremony: “I object!”
 
During anti-wedding festivities that night, Sophie learns more about Max the Objector’s job. It makes perfect sense to her: he saves people from wasting their lives, from hurting each other. He’s a modern-day hero. And Sophie wants in.
 
The two love cynics start working together, going from wedding to wedding, and Sophie’s having more fun than she’s had in ages. She looks forward to every nerve-racking ceremony saving the lovesick souls of the betrothed masses. As Sophie and Max spend more time together, however, they realize that their physical chemistry is off the charts, leading them to dabble in a little hookup session or two—but it’s totally fine, because they definitely do not have feelings for each other. Love doesn’t exist, after all.
 
And then everything changes. A groom-to-be hires Sophie to object, but his fiancée is the woman who broke Max’s heart. As Max wrestles with whether he can be a party to his ex’s getting hurt, Sophie grapples with the sudden realization that she may have fallen hard for her partner in crime.

Happily Never After by Lynn Painter is a hilarious romantic comedy featuring a friends to lovers story. While I absolutely loved this rom-com I would warn there’s some language and a bit of spice that may not be everyone’s cup of tea though.

Sophie Steinbeck was so looking forward to her wedding day but when she finds out some things about her groom to be she begins looking forward to ending the relationship instead. Sophie finds herself caught between a rock and a hard place though when it comes to ending things with her would’ve been future father in law employing her own father making his job in jeopardy if Sophie walks out.

On the wedding day Sophie’s friend hires Max whose sole job is to object to the nuptials and derail the wedding train. When everything goes wonderfully Sophie still couldn’t help but wonder how Max ended up in such a weird position. A few months pass when Sophie and Max cross paths again and Sophie finds herself fascinated with learning to be an objector herself.

Happily Never After is the third book I’ve read by author Lynn Painter and it’s the third absolutely loved it story too. First, of course it’s great that I constantly found myself laughing while reading this rom com but I also found myself rooting along for the characters quickly and finding myself enjoying such a unique setting and circumstance for those characters. With the exact opposite of the three strikes your out saying with finding three gems from Lynn Painter she will definitely be welcome into my TBR again in the future!!

I received an advance copy from the publisher via NetGalley.

Find this book online:

Goodreads  /  Amazon

About the author:

Lynn Painter is the USA Today and New York Times Bestselling Author of BETTER THAN THE MOVIES. She writes romantic comedies for teens and adults, and when she isn’t reading or writing, she can usually be found binge-watching rom-coms or shotgunning energy drinks.

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Angelbound Tales Volume 1
Christina Bauer
(Angelbound Tales, #1)
Published by: Monster House Books
Publication date: March 19th 2024
Genres: Fantasy, Young Adult

Love Myla Lewis? Don’t miss Angelbound Tales Volume One, a collection of five bonus stories from Myla’s world, including:

· Walker’s Love Connection, where Myla uncovers a secret about her honorary older brother

· Sharkie and Snickerdoodles, in which our heroine faces down an uber-evil ghoul in order to get her hands on (what else?) some damned fine cookies.

· Wedding Bells, aka the story of a certain happy couple getting married. Havoc ensues in more ways than one!

· Herbie and Baby Hotdogs, the tale of a quasi-demon whose ‘mortal sin power ’is gluttony. Consider yourself warned.

· Saving Mrs. Pomplemousse, a mini-romance that explores the true meaning of ‘soul mates. ’Say it with me now: awwww!

Originally released in special editions, these many tales now unite in one master collection that spans print, ebook and audio formats! 42,000 words.

***Warning*** If you don’t like quirky indie authors, then you’ll hate the following disclaimer from my inner pirate: Shiver me tinders, if ye haven’t read Angelbound books one through three, then these tales’ll frustrate ye more’n a drunk goat on astroturf. Argh!

Now back to my regular pirate-free self: I hope these stories provide a little escape from reality because, let’s face it, we all need one these days

Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo

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EXCERPT:

Walker’s Love Connection

Myla

My tail and I always get along.

Until we don’t.

Take now, for instance. I drive my ancient station wagon, Betsy, through the many strip malls and weedy lots that make up Purgatory. My ride is an un-pimped junker whose radio stays eternally stuck on a polka station. As ‘Roll out the Barrel ’blares from Betsy’s tinny speakers, my tail jabs my shoulder in time to the music. This is its way of saying, I’m not happy with our destination.

My tail loathes trips to the Ghoul-E-Mart.

“Come on,” I plead. “I promised Mom that I’d pick up milk from the Ghoul-E.” Technically, our overlords sell us something called white liquid product.

Saying that I’m only getting milk makes zero difference to my tail. Right now, it’s the star of its own little play called, Poke Myla’s Shoulder.

Jab, jab.

“We aren’t going to the Ghoul-E right away,” I explain. “We’ll hit the arena first.”

There’s only one arena in Purgatory—it’s where warriors like me fight evil souls and demons to the death. Is this an appropriate extra-curricular activity for a high school junior? Ah, no. But, that’s ghouls for you. Our overlords see their minions—meaning quasi demons like me—as the equivalent of pond scum.

My tail pauses for a moment as it considers a potential arena visit. Then, it acts in a way that says, what a load of B-S.

Jab, jab, jab.

Clearly, my tail has trust issues. It doesn’t believe we’re going anywhere near the arena. And there are two reasons why I shouldn’t approach the gladiator games right now. First, it’s not my day to fight. Second, even when I am scheduled to go, I should only show up with my honorary older brother, a ghoul named Walker.

But I have plans, people.

 

Author Bio:

Christina Bauer thinks that fantasy books are like bacon: they just make life better. All of which is why she writes romance novels that feature demons, dragons, wizards, witches, elves, elementals, and a bunch of random stuff that she brainstorms while riding the Boston T. Oh, and she includes lots of humor and kick-ass chicks, too.

Christina graduated from Syracuse University’s Newhouse School with BA’s in English along with Television, Radio, and Film Production. She lives in Newton, MA with her husband, son, and semi-insane golden retriever, Ruby.

Be the first to know about new releases from Christina by signing up for her newsletter: http://tinyurl.com/CBupdates

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La Bella Luna
Nicole Sharp
Publication date: March 19th 2024
Genres: Adult, Comedy, Contemporary, Romance

Can you really reject a surprise last-minute, all-expense paid trip to Italy from your sister? For Diana, a sensible CPA in Atlanta, you most certainly can.

But within the last week, Diana turned forty-five, got engaged, purchased a wedding cake and agreed to join her fiancé in another state where his current work project has been extended for several months.

Diana’s younger sister, Harper, uses these uncharacteristic life changes as proof that Diana definitely can meet her in Italy. Besides, Harper’s already cleared the trip with Diana’s boss and fiancé. So begrudgingly, Diana agrees to go.

Little did she know that her whole world would be turned upside down the second she stepped foot on Italian soil.

As Diana falls deeper into Italy’s culture, countryside and cuisine, she reconnects with the ghosts of her past and reignites passions she thought had long been extinguished – proving that life and love are full of phases.

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EXCERPT:

Navigating the tight space, Diana found a small table in the back of the café, where she could see people exiting into the arrival area.

She wasn’t sure where the thought or even the motivation came from, but she pulled out her phone, chose the camera app, held up the cup and took a selfie.

She carefully put the cup down and looked at the picture; actually thought about deleting it, but then on a whim, posted it to her account that Harper insisted she needed to set up for this trip. And why the hell not?

“Pisa, Italy. First espresso,” she wrote and posted the picture.

She took a few sips, closing her eyes to savor the bitter hot loveliness.

Finally, a message from Harper came in, demanding Diana call her right away. This was why she’d activated an international calling plan for her phone.

Diana excitedly grinned when Harper picked up on the first ring and exclaimed. “You must be nearby!”

“Well …” Harper drew out the word, “Lu, you have the itinerary, right?”

“Yes, I printed it off before I left and it’s on my phone. Where are you?”

“Happy engagement!” Harper sang.

“Harper …” Diana laughed and looked around the part of the airport she could see, as if her younger sister would appear at any moment.

“Look, if I told you the truth you wouldn’t have gone, and you needed to go; Hell, if anyone needs a vacation it’s you.”

“Harper,” Diana’s heart began to thump wildly in her chest, “where are you?”

In almost a whisper, Harper answered, “New York.”

Diana turned so no one could see her anger. She cupped a hand over the receiver of her phone. “What the hell do you mean you’re in New York?”

“I couldn’t afford to pay for both of us. But I wanted you to have something different … I wanted to get you out of the house before you got married. I wanted you to see … more, something bigger, something inspiring before you got married.”

“Harper,” Diana choked out in disbelief.

“I wanted to get you out of your fucking comfort zone,” Harper admitted, with all the loving passion she could.

Diana was certainly out of her comfort zone now, that was for sure, and she’d be damned if she was going to stay in a foreign country by herself. “I’m not staying here alone,” she hissed. “You got me into this Harper, you need to get me a return ticket and get me out of this. Now.”

“No.”

“Then I need to go, I need to figure out how to get home.”

“No. Please. You have ten days paid vacation in Italy. Do you know how many people dream of something like that?”

“Harper.” Diana’s throat was closing with the urge to cry.

“Luna, if you can’t figure out how to do this for yourself, then do this for me.“ Harper’s voice hitched with the same emotion. “Please Lu, you deserve something like this. You deserve to see something beautiful. You deserve to … sit in a Piazza in a world-famous café and sip an espresso. You deserve to be moved to tears by a painting.“ It was Harper who was crying now. “Jesus, Diana, you deserve to stand in the middle of Rome and be inspired. I understand this is the scariest thing anyone has ever asked you to do, I get that it’s a scary ass thing that I am asking you to do, but please … please, if you can’t do this for yourself, then do it for me.”

 

Author Bio:

Legend has it that Nicole Sharp was born to hippies during an ice storm in Stone Mountain, Georgia. While confirmation of said events cannot be agreed upon, one fact is for certain, it was a Tuesday.

By age twelve, Nicole was sure of two things: 1) She wanted to be a writer and 2) She wanted to travel. She begged her parents to allow her to voyage alone to exotic lands. They permitted her to go from California to Boise, Idaho to visit a great-grandmother.

After muddling through the college years, Nicole graduated with a Bachelors in History (think Greeks and Romans). Why didn’t she major in English if she wanted to be a writer? There were better stories in history class.

Nicole is Italian. According to Ancestry.com it’s a rather low percentage, but she feels that she is at least 51% Italian. When she returned to the homeland, she fell in love with the Italian cappuccino, so much so that she studied the language until she was fluent; thus she could order the magical elixir herself: Posso avere un cappuccino, per favore!

Nicole’s first concert was to see the bluegrass group The Seldom Scene when she was a fifteen-year-old, thanks to her parent’s bluegrass phase. However, she never admits it, and instead tells everyone that They Might Be Giants, whom she saw in college, was her real first concert.

Her first car was a yellow Chevy Celebrity and her favorite job was working as a docent in a museum in an old mining town in Colorado. She has written extensively about both.

Visit NicoleSharpWrites.com for more entertainment.

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Invocation
Aileen Erin
(Days of Iron and Clay, #1)
Publication date: March 19th 2024
Genres: Paranormal, Romance, Young Adult

From USA Today Bestselling Author Aileen Erin comes an all-new action-packed, romance-filled paranormal series.

There are three things I know without question.

One: demons are real.

Two: humans make awful mistakes that get them in demonic trouble more often than you’d think.

And three: I’m the only one who can help them.

I straddle the line between the mortal and spiritual realms every day. People might think they’re two different places, but they’re not. They lay on top of each other. It’s messy, and that’s why so many people need my help. Since I was little, I’ve been called all kinds of names—unusual, abnormal, even insane. Which is fitting, since they keep throwing me in to mental facilities. I’ve been in and out of them my entire life.

But no matter what people say, no matter what I’m risking, I will always help those in need.

Because there’s an endless war carrying on all around us, every minute of every day. One that can’t be seen by mortal eyes. But I can see it, the spiritual battle for mortal souls, and I’m working hard to make sure my father is on the losing side. He — Astaroth, Satan’s general— is why I can do this. He’s why I’m not normal. I can’t have friends, a life, or a boyfriend. I won’t be selfish enough to drag someone into this fight. But I’m not lonely. Not exactly. I have my mom. She’s my rock, my best friend, my partner. She helps me do what needs to be done, and she’s never afraid when it feels like I’m always afraid.

Because I hear my father whispering my name each night, his taunts echoing through the spiritual realm. He’s hunting me, and I know the day will come when I must face him again.

Every portal I open could be the one that finally pulls me back to Hell, and I wonder if I will brave enough, strong enough, good enough to fight him.

My name is Samantha Catherine Lopez, and I am Nephilim. This is my story.

**Fans of the Alpha Girls series will love this new series set in the same world, with a few familiar faces, but you DO NOT have to have read a single word of the Alpha Girls series to enjoy Samantha’s story.

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EXCERPT:

The heat from the fires of Hell were burning my feet. I needed to close the portal, but I needed to get up to the other side before I did.

And then there was a warmth—not like the burning heat from Hell—but something else—something soothing—and I knew what I had to do.

I had to get rid of the tie.

I couldn’t cut it—I’d tried that so many times—but I could shove it away. I could lessen its effects. I’d even burned it out once.

If it worked before, it could work now.

I blocked everything out except for the feeling of the tie that bound me to my father. It was always there—a leash of fire that wrapped around my body, my soul—thicker than any other tie I’d seen before on a living person. But it wasn’t just a demon-mortal tie. It was a father-daughter tie.

The tie connecting us grew hotter, burning, and I focused everything I had on burning it out.

I let my outrage fuel me. The outrage of how this monster—my father—had hunted me my whole life, tortured my mother, dragged me to Hell, and made it impossible for me to have any kind of innocent childhood.

He’d robbed me over and over of everything good.

Not this time. He wouldn’t win this time.

He laughed. He actually laughed at me. “I gave you life. I gave you your powers. Just as I give, I can take it all away.”

No. I didn’t believe that.

And I wasn’t quitting. I wasn’t listening to him.

Screw him.

I pulled again, but it didn’t work. He started to say something about how I was a failure, but screw him. Screw failing. Screw everything but sending him back to Hell.

But my mouth was dry and I wanted to throw up and my body was starting to feel weaker and my arms started to shake.

An evil, deep rumbling noise had fear skittering along my skin.

I was getting too tired, too quickly.

And then it clicked.

He wasn’t just controlling me. He was draining my strength through our tie.

Fast.

I had to be faster.

Quickly, as quick as I could, I pictured the tie knotting and pulling tight, cutting off my father’s influence. I pictured it again—forcing my will on the tie.

Knotted and pulled tight.

Knotted and pulled tight.

Slowly, with every knot, I felt my father’s control lessening. Just enough so that I could think and—

Where was Eli?

That one thought broke through.

It was a tiny crack, but it was enough.

“Eli!” I screamed along the spiritual realm as loud and with as much force as I could. I tried to pull myself up, but my arms were too tired.

The demons below me started screaming and moving faster. They knew who I’d called, and they knew what he could do to them.

Something hit my feet.

I jerked my leg away, and my hands slipped and—

Phoenix’s face suddenly above mine.

He was now hanging halfway through the portal. The only thing keeping me from dropping was his grip on my wrists. “Samantha. Please! Can you hear me?” His voice was deep and calm as it washed over me.

“I can now. Thank you.”

“Pull me up. Now. Hurry.”

“On the count of three. Okay?” He smiled. Even while all this insanity was happening—he smiled and it calmed me again and gave me confidence.

Why? I couldn’t say. But it did.

“One…Two…Three.” He pulled a little, and then all of a sudden, jerked me up, and I was lying on top of him.

“Thanks.” I gasped out the word and let my body relax against his for a second.

“You’re welcome.”

 

Author Bio:

Aileen Erin is half-Irish, half-Mexican, and 100% nerd–from Star Wars (prequels don’t count) to Star Trek (TNG FTW), she reads Quenya and some Sindarin, and has a severe fascination with the supernatural. Aileen has a BS in Radio-TV-Film from the University of Texas at Austin, and an MFA in Writing Popular Fiction from Seton Hill University. She lives with her husband in Los Angeles, and spends her days doing her favorite things: reading books, creating worlds, and kicking ass.

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