October & November 2015 - Confirmed Dates
October 26
The Character Connection
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October 27
The Plot Thickens
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October 28
City Girl Who Loves to Read
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October 29
Tribute Books Mama
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October 30
Tribute Books Reviews & Giveaways
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November 2
Tic Toc
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November 3
Kathy Talley
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November 4
Faith Flaherty
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and
Simple Wyrdings
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and
Satisfaction for Insatiable Readers
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November 6
Simplistik
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and
Romancing the Book
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November 16
Celtic Lady's Reviews
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Excerpt:
“I am not a witch,” I said.
“No but you have premonitions. You may not recognize them or understand them but you do have them. They haunt your dreams and make you a beacon for magical forces. Come with me. I’d like to show you something.” She took my hand in hers and began to lead me out of the kitchen and down the hallway toward a staircase.
Her touch sent ripples of warmth through my body, and her scent grew stronger as we walked together. I took a deep whiff of sandalwood, anise, and cloves. I could actually feel the warmth emanating from her body.
We walked up the back stairs to the second level of the home. From there we walked down a hallway to the end, where a door opened up to reveal a smaller, narrower staircase. This led to a library. Oak bookshelves lined the walls, with an oil painting separating each shelf. The room smelled of old leather.
There was an antique tiger oak library table and four maroon leather club chairs around it. A wooden podium against one wall looked like it had come from a church. In addition there was a ladder on wheels that moved along a track. The ladder was necessary because books were shelved all the way to the top of the twelve-foot ceiling.
“Mr. Levi once offered me over a hundred thousand dollars for these books. Many have been in my family since the seventeenth century. They are beyond priceless. The collection includes the grimoire of my great-great aunt.
Their pages reveal some of the greatest mysteries of magic. Mostly good magic.”
The paintings on the wall were all of stoic looking women in conservative attire. Although the pictures were well rendered, the models appeared lifeless. Only one image broke the mold. It was a picture of my hostess lying naked on her back, surrounded by lit candles. She was in the middle of a pentacle painted in red. The painting was erotic and out of place in this room. It reminded me of a heavy metal album cover. She wore the same silver necklace she was wearing this evening.
“I must say the painting of you is a lot different than the others,” I said. “I would have liked to see you model for it.” I blushed. I had spoken my thoughts aloud. She hadn’t invited me here to seduce me.
“That is not me,” she said. “Look at the date.”
I took a closer look at the canvas. The piece was signed by John William Waterhouse. The date was clearer than the signature: 1874. It was not possible, of course.
“That is my great-great aunt, Bridget Bishop. We do look alike.”
“The necklace is the same,” I said.
“It was hers.”
“Your aunt was lovely.”
Then Bridget did something totally unexpected. She kissed me gently on the lips. Passion rushed through me and I kissed her back. I was almost feverish with desire, and it scared me. It had been a long time since I had been with a woman romantically. Susan and I had broken up over a year ago. Yet what I felt now was more than desperation; it was a longing so intense that it completely overwhelmed me.
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