Blog Tour- Rogue Crystal by Jordan Elizabeth

Your family history has a way of haunting you.

Available now on Amazon for 99 cents!

Avery loves the prospect of visiting the country of Scarya with her cousin and boyfriend. Adventure and romance surely await. Instead, war breaks out, and Avery ends up with an ancient sword everyone is dying to possess. 

Scarya isn’t just a foreign land – the longer Avery is trapped there, the more she learns about her past. Her ancestors lived in Scarya, and one of them brought an enchanted crystal from space. She never expected an alien to ruin her vacation, but sometimes the past has a way of reappearing. 

ROGUE CRYSTAL is a fantasy for young adults.  This young adult novelis filled with elements of history and romance, published through CHBB, and is now available for purchase. 

Check out ROGUE CRYSTAL on GoodReads for fabulous reviews!

Jordan Elizabeth, formally Jordan Elizabeth Mierek, can often be foundexploring historical ruins and imagining what life would be like with magic.You can contact Jordan via her website, JordanElizabethBooks.com.

Blog Tour: Promo Post + Excerpt- Wicked Treasure by Jordan Elizabeth

WICKED TREASURE

Book 3 of the Treasure Chronicles

A young adult novel of romance and the paranormal set in a steampunk world.

An asylum patient has a cryptic vision: Clark will overthrow the presidency. She's just insane...right? 

When a clockwork lion kidnaps their daughter, Clark and Amethyst's calm new life shatters. Hunting down the beast leads the Grishams and Treasures to a conspiracy not just against Clark, but also against the country. 

The conspirators attacked their little girl. An offense like that can’t go ignored. With his old gang at his back, Clark is ready to take on an abandoned circus, dethroned royalty, a corrupt orphanage, and the presidency itself. 

WICKED TREASUREis available nowon Amazon from Curiosity Quills Press.

Check out early reviews on GoodReads!

Can’t wait to read the next installment in the Treasure Chronicles world?  Check out the first chapter:

They washed her hair, so she knew it was coming: the next visit.The nurse shoved Samantha’s head beneath the water in the tin tub, the liquid already cold from the air, and she stayed still; if she fought, they might bind her wrists.Last time they did that, the linen ropes had cut her skin.

Droplets splashed over the edge as the middle-aged woman shoved her deeper, Samantha’s chin striking the bottom.Blood filled her mouth where her teeth had nipped her tongue.She fought to not gasp as the nurse pulled her up to drench her hair in lavender oil.

The gas lamps shone too bright in the ceiling.Yellow glows twirled around each other like macabre dancers.She could drift back into the soapy water and inhale; death would take her to join that dancing.

“Filthy nits,” the nurse mumbled as she yanked a silver comb through Samantha’s ginger curls.Oil splattered onto Samantha’s bare shoulders, pooling along her collarbone.

She could say the nits weren’t her fault.She could request regular bathing.

Samantha stared out the room’s lone barred window as tears stung her eyes.Each jerk of the comb snapped more hairs from her scalp, and the oil’s scent burned her lungs.

A bell rang from somewhere deep within the asylum, muffled by brick and wood.Two nurses laughed in the hallway.They all got to go home at the end of their shifts. They had families and houses.

Samantha could have pushed them into the tub until the final air bubbles burst past their lips.

The comb clattered onto the side table, where cosmetic products had been lined up on a silver tray like medical instruments.Her gums where they’d ripped out her molars ached at the thought.Whatever rich sod received her teeth better have taken care of them.

“Ugly thing.”The nurse jabbed pins into Samantha’s hair to keep her curls up.“Should shave your head, we should.Get rid of those nits and all this fussing.Get you a wig then.You’d like that, wouldn’t you, chit?”

If it kept away the suffering of bathtime, then yes.

“Rise.”Nurse Hairy Mole—the huge brown mole grew at the tip of her nose—slapped a ragged towel against Samantha’s frame.“We’ll put you in the sitting room this time.He didn’t like the parlor, said it was too cold.That man doesn’t like a thing.”

And Samantha didn’t like him.

Captain MacFarland gritted his teeth as he took the front concrete steps two at a time.The stone plaque beside the door matched well with the asylum’s cold interior.

Wade Asylum.The only institute in the northeast for the mentally unhinged.

He hummed under his breath to keep away morbid thoughts, and the bronze attendant opened the door for him with a nod that sent the machine’s gears grinding.They might think him off, bringing music into the darkness, but the walls tended to close in around him, as if he too might become strapped into one of the cribs.

He’d seen the cribs once when his friend had insisted they come to visit his wife.The cribs, Captain MacFarland understood, were reserved for those who fought confinement, and his friend’s wife had screamed as though a banshee had possessed her.

Come night, dreams of Wade Asylum plagued him, and she’d haunted the majority for the past year.He could still hear her shriek, “You only put me here so you could be with that slut!”

His friend had stroked his fingers across her arm, her wrists bound to the sides of the metal crib.“Of course.I’ll always love you, but you didn’t like my mistress.You’ll need to stay here until you can accept her.They’ll help you right your mind here.”

The woman had spit at him, one of her eyes swollen shut.No one had told them who had punched her.

Captain MacFarland hummed louder as he approached the mahogany front desk where a young nurse in a low-cut white bodice wrote in a journal.

“Hello, Captain MacFarland.”She closed the journal and clasped her hands atop the leather cover.“Always so punctual, aren’t you?”The girl bent forward to expose more of her pale bosom.The song faltered in his throat as he pictured hopping over the counter to push her against the wall.He could push up her skirt, he imagined her without bloomers, and take her there in the waiting room that smelled of lamp oil.Those pink-painted lips of hers would part in a gasp, and she might even bite his neck.He loved it when they bit.

“I pride myself on punctuality.”He pulled the brass pocket watch from his brown jacket to flash her the time, and she smiled enough to show her straight white teeth.

“I made sure to assign you the sitting room in her ward, Captain.I recall how much you loathed the parlor.”

How anyone could call that drafty room a parlor escaped him.“Wonderful.I was wondering, Miss Nurse, about how you would feel meeting over a meal this evening.We could talk more about what it’s like here at Wade.”

“Captain, yes!I get done here at six if that works.”She chewed on her fingernail before she tipped back in her seat, her bosom bouncing.“I’ll get an orderly to show you to the patient, sir.”

He leaned one arm on the desk and winked.“I’d like that.”

His pleasure diminished with each step as he followed the brass orderly, who moved on wheeled feet, toward Ward 8.The machine unlocked door after door, and sealed them behind, until he seemed he’d entered a box he could never escape.Bars covered the few windows; bare bricks replaced wooden paneling on the walls.Gas lamps flickered close to the ceilings.

The air adopted a damp, musty odor, mixed with medicine he didn’t recognize.

The orderly unlocked a final door and entered what he assumed counted as a sitting room.Unlike the parlor with a table and chairs, this space offered velveteen settees.Light shone through two windows across the chipped tile floor.

Samantha sat on the settee closest to the door.Iron cuffs fastened her ankles together, visible beneath her black velvet skirt.The material matched the collar of her purple brocade jacket.

“I see you’re wearing the clothes I sent.”He cleared his throat when it rasped, and he glanced at the orderly, but of course it couldn’t make judgments on what it overheard.By order of the government, the orderly who attended them had to have its recorder removed so the conversation wouldn’t leave.

Someone had painted her lips a too dark red.“You can take them with you when you leave.I never get to see them again.”

“What do you wear normally?”Captain MacFarland had always imagined the girl posing in them before a mirror whenever he departed.He chose the highest fashion for her to make her feel… well, like she wasn’t a mental patient.

“A shift.”Samantha shrugged.“We’re not allowed anything else, and it’s sewn on us, didn’t you know.If we had loose sleeves, we could strangle ourselves.”

Her matter of fact tone made him shudder.He dropped onto the settee across from her. The last time he’d sat beside her, she’d lunged toward his eyes, and the orderly had pinned her down while administering a sedative from those brass fingers.The trip had been wasted.

“Do you remember,” he murmured, “when you were a child and I brought you peppermint sticks?”He should have done that for her again.Her green eyes had always adopted a life then, rather than the bloodshot, bulging quality they possessed otherwise.

“Better than the toys.They took those away after you left.”

He coughed.“How are you, Samantha?”It seemed wrong to take what he wanted and leave.She deserved a social call; he knew he was her only visitor, and his boss only required one visit every two months.

“They don’t allow me to take lessons anymore now that I’m sixteen.”

Captain MacFarland winced.Her birthday had occurred earlier in the month.He should have given her more than the clothes, no matter they would vanish.A nurse probably commandeered them.

“What do you do with your days then?”When she was younger, before she realized what it meant to be in Wade Asylum, she would have chatted with him about nonsense, like shapes she spotted in the clouds.He could have told her about the upcoming date with the nurse, and she could have told colors looked best on him.Brown, he already knew, but hearing from her had always brightened him.

Then, she asked questions he couldn’t answer.She learned about life outside from the nurses.She came to hate him as her jailer.

Samantha tipped her head as if judging his query.He’d brought her a hat this time, and it slid cockeyed across her head.Sixteen…young lady now despite her frail frame.He was thankful he’d delivered the white blouse with the high lace collar, fastened with a cameo one of the nurses must have supplied; it fit with a more mature age.

“I’m drugged up,” she said.“They didn’t give me anything, because of you I suppose.This is Ward 8.I hear stuff, you know.Ward 9 is the toughest.Constant lockdown.Violent criminals.I’m just in the criminal wing.”She scowled, her yellow teeth crooked.“We can’t wander.Oh no, that would be too dangerous.We get ropes and medicine.”

Ropes and medicine.Bile burned his throat.It wouldn’t help if he voiced aloud his wish for a different life, one where his boss didn’t make her stay under lock and key.One where he didn’t have to venture into the sterile building to see her on a clockwork basis.

“I’m not crazy.”She’d said that at every visit since she turned ten.“I know why I’m here.Someday the doctor’s going to believe me.”

“Oh, sweetie.”The doctor could believe her all he wanted.Money kept him quiet and her confined, and so long as he kept getting his checks, he wouldn’t so much as whisper the truth in his sleep.

Her pale face hardened, and she stuck out her hands, the fingernails broken, blood caked under them.“Come get what you want.”

He pulled off his leather gloves and placed them in his jacket pockets.Something told him he’d be doing this for the rest of his life, and was only thirty-four.“Tell me what the country needs to know.”

She squeezed her eyes shut and breathed through her mouth, the sound loud and harsh in the room where the only noise came from the tick-tock of the orderly’s body.He gripped her hands and interlaced their fingers, hoping it would lend her strength.

Perspiration dotted her skin despite the frigid winter air.Snowflakes stuck to the window glass.A trickle of blood seeped from her left nostrils and her teeth chattered.Her eyeballs rolled back in her head as her lids fluttered.

“Tell me what the country needs to know,” he repeated.

“Clark Grisham will overthrow the presidency.”

Jordan Elizabethbecame obsessed with steampunk while working at a Victorian Fair.  Since then, she’s read plenty of books and even organized a few steampunk outfits that she wears on a regular basis (unless that’s weird, in which case she only wears them within the sanctuary of her own home – not!). Jordan’s young adult novels include ESCAPE FROM WITCHWOOD HOLLOW, COGLING, TREASURE DARKLY, BORN OF TREASURE, RUNNERS AND RIDERS, GOAT CHILDREN, PATH TO OLD TALBOT, and VICTORIAN. WICKED TREASUREis her sixth novel with Curiosity Quills Press.  Check out her website for bonus scenes and contests. 

In honor of WICKED TREASURE, check out book one, TREASURE DARKLY, on sale now for 99 cents!

Blog Tour: Excerpt + Giveaway- Kistishi Island by Jordan Elizabeth

KISTISHI ISLAND

A young adult novel about what happens when your imaginary friends aren’t so imaginary after all.

Serena Cole can kick serious butt thanks to young women only she can see. School bullies aren’t her only problem. To shield Serena from a dark secret, her family tries to convince her that her friends are imaginary. 

Fleeing her distrustful aunt, Serena joins her mother on an archeological dig at Kistishi Island. There, Serena discovers an ancient scroll and realizes her invisible friends are goddesses native to the island, and they are in danger of enslavement for their abilities. Only Serena can save her friends if she can discover the past her family has hidden her entire life – the reason why only she can see the goddesses.

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KISTISHI ISLAND is now available on Amazon from Clean Reads.

Check out early reviews on GoodReads!

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Check out Chapter 1:

“How are your imaginary friends?” Serena read aloud from the black marker scrawled on her locker. Her dry lips stuck together with each word as the sarcasm stung her mind. The janitor might scrub the permanent marker, but it would always remain a faint reminder of how much people ridiculed her. The washed out marks from last week, “Schizo,” “Fake,” and “Your imaginary friends hate you,” still showed up against the brown metal.

“Aw, someone cares about my day.” Krieg hovered behind, picking fuzz off her dress. “You should answer them. Write ‘Krieg says hi’ underneath.”

The last thing she needed was people knowing how much she still communicated with Krieg. Serena glanced down the hallway, but the students strolling by didn’t look her way. Who could have written the graffiti? Roxanne? Her hand trembling, Serena spun the combination on her lock and jerked open the dented locker door. The hinges rattled.

Did it hurt them if she had an invisible friend? As she exchanged a textbook for her social studies notes, someone bumped her butt. She lost her balance, flinging out her hand to grab the locker.

“Whoops,” a boy said and snickered.

Serena’s cheeks burned as she stuffed her supplies into her messenger bag. One more hour of high school and she could go home. Tomorrow she would bring another marker to scribble out the words that branded her.

Krieg leaned in close enough for Serena to smell her peppermint bubble gum, and said, “Bludgeon them. It’s the only way to get them to shut up.”

“No one’s talking about me right now.” Serena’s sneakers squeaked against the tile floor as she ducked into the classroom. Afternoon sunlight reflected off faded Holocaust posters on the off-white walls.

“It’s annoying when you allow the little rodents to torment you.” Krieg stuck her tongue out at the few students settling into their seats. “Where are the beheadings and crocodile pits? How about some maiming? I want to hear screaming and bones crunching.”

“This is the suburbs in the twenty-first century. People don’t do that stuff here.” Serena took her favorite seat in the back near the globe and opened her messenger bag to remove her notebook. Glancing around the room at the few students, she smiled. Since the teacher hadn’t arrived yet, she could grab a few minutes to work on her novel. Hopefully, the story would be done by her mother’s next visit. Look what I did, Mom!

“Whatcha doing?” Krieg leaned her hip against the desk and rearranged the pleated folds of her silk stola. Beneath the sleeveless dress, she wore a turquoise tunic. A thin silver belt fastened beneath her breasts, and another clasped around her narrow waist.

 “I’ve got an idea for chapter seven of my Jennifer Erik story.” Serena pressed her pen to a clean page. “Jennifer’s going to be caught by a gargoyle.”

 Roxanne stalked from two rows over and blinked her glittered eyelids at Serena. “Did you just call me a gargoyle?”

Serena tightened her fist around her pen. “No.” Her throat constricted. Why does Roxanne always have to single me out?

Roxanne yanked Serena’s black notebook from the desk; the metal spirals scraped against the hard surface. Serena’s pen slipped from her hand and struck the tile floor, the sound eerily loud.

 Fail. She hadn’t made it through that last hour of the school day. “I wasn’t talking to you.”

“Who were you talking to? Your imaginary friends?” Roxanne bent the notebook, her biceps flexing beneath the short sleeves of her skull-and-crossbones T-shirt.

Serena cringed. Even though she would still be able to read the words, her stomach twisted into a knot. It wouldn’t be the same as having the pages crisp, new.

“I told you to bludgeon everyone before they could start on you.” Krieg rubbed her knuckles together.

“Forget to do your homework again?” Roxanne asked.

“It’s not my homework—”

“Maybe they should put you in Special Ed.”

Blood drained from Serena’s head, her heartbeat ringing in her ears. Classmates stopped getting out supplies from their backpacks to stare. Of course Roxanne would have to bring that up.

Serena toyed with her nose ring to calm her nerves. I will not fight back.

Krieg flounced across the room to push Roxanne’s baseball cap off her desk and jumped aside when a boy almost walked into her. He stopped to pick up the hat, and Krieg pointed at his bottom as he bent. She lifted her foot in a mock kick. “You know you want to.”

Serena drew a deep breath, dragging her gaze away from Krieg and back to Roxanne. “Please give my notebook back.”

One, two, three… uno, dos, tres… Her last psychiatrist promised counting in foreign languages would help her calm down faster because it took more conscious thinking to do it.

Her pulse still pounded.

Serena wouldn’t react. She knew better. It was just a spiral notebook.

Roxanne, standing over Serena’s desk, thumbed through the pages, tearing the college-ruled paper with her thick fingers. “Your handwriting sucks.” Needles scraped across Serena’s skin with each rip.

“Do something.” Krieg punched her fist into her palm.

Four, five, six… no, Serena would not talk back. Seven, eight, nine… she wouldn’t say anything this time. Ten, eleven, twelve… maybe she could still make it through the final hour.

“What is this crap?” Roxanne ripped out a page. Smirking, she crumpled the paper and tossed it at the garbage can in the back of the room.

“Don’t let her ruin your story.” Disgust coated Krieg’s words; she spat them out as if they were spoiled milk. Eyes narrowed, Krieg brushed her hand across Serena’s shoulder. Electricity shot through her body, arching her back.

“Give it back!” Serena launched to her feet. No, not again. She grabbed the notebook with two hands while she jammed her shoulder into Roxanne’s sternum. The force knocked Roxanne backward, but she clung to the notebook, dragging Serena with her as she hit the floor. Roxanne rolled until her muscled frame pressed against Serena’s ribs, forcing the breath from her lungs. Serena squirmed to get away, bumping her leg against a desk. She wouldn’t fight, didn’t want to, couldn’t, not here, not again…

Krieg’s voice echoed in her mind. Squelch her. Tie her to the rack.

“Cool. A fight.” A girl sitting across the aisle from Serena laughed.

I don’t want to fight. Krieg’s electricity still burned Serena’s veins, muting her urge for peace. Even if Serena didn’t win, she wouldn’t let Roxanne walk away without a few bruises. Maybe Roxanne would finally quit bullying her. Then Serena would never have to fight again, no matter how much the urge overtook her.

“You think you’re better than the rest of us?” Roxanne bared her teeth. “All alone back here, just because your mom was in National Geographic?”

She wrapped her legs around Serena’s, and they rolled. Serena’s back hit another desk leg. Pain flared along her nerves. A few quick twists of her hands on Roxanne’s head, and Serena could have broken her neck the way Krieg had taught her, but she stilled. Perspiration broke out across her forehead as she forced herself not to move.

“Fry her.” Bloodlust tainted Krieg’s voice. Her unbound hair hid her face, purple eyes peeking out.

“You gotta see this,” a girl said from the other side of the classroom into her cell phone. “Roxanne took on Serena!” 

Roxanne didn’t have to antagonize her, but if she wanted a fight, so be it. Serena slapped Roxanne’s huge, red face. Roxanne seized Serena’s wrist. Serena tried to squirm away, but Roxanne pinned her down and grabbed the edge of her sweater, yanking it up to reveal Serena’s bare chest.

Serena gasped. Cheeks burning, she ripped the fabric away and tugged her sweater back down. “I…I can’t…” My aunt thinks I’m still ten and only buys me undershirts sounded pathetic, even if it was the truth.

“Bras only get in the way,” Krieg yelled from Serena’s desk. “Real women go nude.”

Serena’s classmates hooted laughter and her cheeks burned. A few people lifted their cameras as if to take a photo. Fantastic, just what she needed—a compromising picture of her flashing through the school. Maybe she should rip off Roxanne’s shirt to see what their classmates would do then.

Mr. Clayton walked into his classroom, his beer belly straining against the front of his green button-up shirt. “The copier got jammed and I had to—” He dropped his papers. “Roxanne Bynes! Serena Cole!”  

The chill of the tile floor bit through Serena’s clothes. A growing ache pulsed in the back of her head. She gritted her teeth. At least the fight was over.

Krieg clapped her hands. “Who cares if Mr. Clayton’s here? Kill her already.”

“Roxanne Bynes, are you going to let her up or do I have to pull you off?” Mr. Clayton rubbed the bridge of his nose.  

Roxanne rolled off and wiped her cheek on her forearm. Serena remained on the floor with one hand over her head and the other resting on her stomach, eyes squeezed shut so tight they hurt.

“Serena, please, I thought we discussed this before.” Mr. Clayton sighed. “Get off the floor. Both of you, head to the office. Now.” He snorted. “I’m sure your aunt will be interested in hearing about your newest escapade.”

Now Aunt Nikki will have to promise the principal and the teachers, again, how I’ll behave better in school. Maybe I should have gone along with the school when they wanted to put me in Special Ed. Someone there might also have a friend like Krieg – a friend who wanted her to off people.

“I’m waiting, Serena.”

“Come on.” Krieg danced behind Mr. Clayton and fluttered her eyelashes. “Even you can take him on. He’s just a teacher. I doubt he’s ever been to a gym.”

“I’m not fighting the teacher.” Serena opened one eye to glare at her invisible friend.

“Hmm?” Mr. Clayton tapped his foot. Krieg puckered her lips at his back, making kissy sounds.

Groaning, Serena stood up. Roxanne glared at Serena before she grabbed a tissue off the teacher’s desk, pressed it to her wounded cheek, and stomped from the room.

“You started it,” Serena muttered. She dragged her fingers through her tangled hair before Krieg approached to tuck it behind her ears. Maybe Krieg was right, a few little twists and Serena would never have to worry about Roxanne again. Tension beat through her tight muscles. She wanted to punch a hole through the classroom wall and give Mr. Clayton something to punish her for. The thought made her snicker. Maybe she should become the delinquent everyone believed her to be and succumb to Krieg’s instigations without trying to resist.

“Pick up your things and head to the office,” Mr. Clayton said. He picked up the phone near the door and dialed four numbers. “Yes, this is Clayton. I’m sending Roxanne Bynes and Serena Cole down for fighting in my classroom.” He paused. “Roxanne is on her way and Serena will leave shortly. I don’t want anything starting in the hall.”

Serena snatched her notebook and slipped the ruined pages into her black bag. Blood thrummed in her ears. A few students whispered from their seats, staring at her. She wanted to wave her notebook at them and ask, “How does this make me the weirdo? I’m the victim.”

Krieg leaned against Serena’s desk. “You could’ve beaten him.”

Serena picked up her pen from the floor and blew on it.

“Roxanne, too.” Krieg grinned. Some of her thick black hair fell over her face. “Clayton’s old. Roxanne would’ve been a little tougher, but I know you could’ve done it. It’s like they say on that box thing.”

Serena stared ahead at the Smart Board. She hated it when Krieg pretended to forget English words. “Television?”

“Yes, that.” Krieg tucked her wild tresses behind her elfin ears. “If you put your heart into it, you can do anything. Why don’t you believe in yourself?”

“I do,” Serena whispered. I could’ve killed Roxanne. Is that what you want, Krieg? To see me behind bars with blood on my hands? What kind of imaginary friend are you?

****

Serena sat in a hard chair near the door to the principal’s office. She peered at the clock on the wall. Five after three. She wished she could go home already, but the principal was still lecturing Roxanne. Soon it would be her turn. Silhouettes danced through the frosted glass of the office door. Principal Reed gestured out the window and Roxanne had her arms folded, shaking her head.

Krieg dropped cross-legged onto the floor beside Serena. The white stola rode up over her knees. “What if we put super glue on her chair? Then Roxanne will be stuck.” Krieg giggled.

“That’s immature.” Serena groaned from behind her hand. The secretary glanced over, then returned to the files on her desk, just like last time Serena visited. She could almost read the secretary’s thoughts: Serena Cole, back with another issue.

“So? It’ll be funny.” Krieg held her knees and rocked. Then she bounced to her feet, pranced to the secretary’s desk, and swiped her arm across a stack of papers to knock them onto the floor.

The secretary jumped to her feet. “What was that?”

“Let me help.” Serena rose, picking up an attendance form that had landed near her foot.

“It’s fine. I’ll do it, but thanks.” The secretary frowned at the closed office window before accepting the form and starting on the other papers. “What a mess.”

“Mayhem is fun.” Krieg returned to Serena’s side.

I wish I could travel with Mom. Then I could have tutors. Serena unfastened her nose ring and dropped it into the zippered side compartment of her bag before Aunt Nikki saw she still wore it. “What do you think my dad would say if he was still alive?”

“Get out your notebook,” Krieg said, “and we’ll find out.”

****

Dear Dad,

Maybe up in Heaven, you’ll be able to read this. I’m going to burn it, and maybe you can find the ashes. Krieg told me it’s a good way to speak to the dead.

 I wish you were here. I wish I could’ve met you. There’s always so much I want to say. So much I want to do with you, and sometimes I pretend you’re with me. It never feels right, though. You’re never as solid as my other imaginary friends are.

Maybe it’s because you’re not imaginary. You’re dead.

Krieg talks about death a lot. What do you think, Dad? Should I listen to her and fight? It feels so good.

Love,

Your daughter down here on Earth,

Serena Stymerya Cole

****

Serena shut the notebook. Maybe Dad’s spirit will convince Mom to take me away from New York.

Jordan Elizabeth is known for her odd sense of humor and her outrageous outfits.  Surrounded by bookshelves, she can often be found pounding away at her keyboard – she’s known for breaking keyboards, too.  Jordan’s young adult novels include ESCAPE FROM WITCHWOOD HOLLOW, COGLING, TREASURE DARKLY, BORN OF TREASURE, GOAT CHILDREN, VICTORIAN, and RUNNERS AND RIDERS.  KISTISHI ISLANDis her first novel with Clean Reads.  Check out her website for bonus scenes and contests. 

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Blog Tour: Excerpt + Giveaway- Runners & Riders by Jordan Elizabeth

Runners & Riders

Companion to the Treasure Chronicles

A young adult novel of gangs and love in a steampunk world.

Juliet loved growing up at the seaside, although it meant lonely hours chasing after the other beach rats while her mother worked as a seamstress. Juliet never expected her seaman father to inherit a fortune and move the family to New Addison City. Suddenly her mother is a socialite and Juliet is best friends with a strong-willed girl who actually likes her. When Juliet’s new friend welcomes her to the Runners, a gang that has plagued the East Coast for years, Juliet sees it as the opportunity to fit in, learn tricks, and make eyes at one of the hottest members. What the gang does isn’t really wrong…right? She’s used to being a pawn for the Runners, but she starts to question what she sees as harmless fun when the gang uses her to attack a young officer.

Jonathan Montgomery vowed to end the Runners after they murdered his family. He joined the Riders, an elite police force dedicated to stopping the Runners’ crime spree. They have put him in New Addison City, but rookie mistakes follow Jonathan as he struggles to accomplish his goal, until a young woman feeds him inside information to bring down the Runners.

Between murders and secrets, Juliet will need to find her strength to help Jonathan, before the founder of the Runners crawls up from the sewers amongst her inventions to burn down the city.

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RUNNERS & RIDERSis available nowon Amazon from Curiosity Quills Press.

Check out early reviews on GoodReads!

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Can’t wait to read the next installment in the Treasure Chronicles world?  Check out the first chapter:

A figure ducked behind the work shed where the glow of the back porch gas lamp didn’t reach.Jonathan shielded his eyes so he could see more clearly through the bedroom window, but the backyard lay still.The white sheets the maid had hung fluttered in the evening breeze.

His uncle would have a ghost story to tell about those.

Another dark shape bolted across the yard; this one crouched in his mother’s flower garden.It might have been one of the boys from school come to throw pebbles at the pale blue siding until Jonathan sneaked out, but they seemed too tall for eleven-year-olds.The one in the flowers crept closer to the house.

Movement in the woods drew Jonathan’s attention farther across the yard, where two more shapes lurked.They had to be grown men.He gulped as he crawled away from the window to the hallway where the light from the living room glowed up the stairs.

“Found you.”The maid grinned from his parents’ bedroom, a stack of table linens in her arms.“When we play hide-and-seek, you ain’t supposed to come out till I call for you.We gotta practice the rules again?I was gonna come looking soon as I put these cloths away.”

He grabbed the railing.“There’s people out in the yard.”

Her eyes widened before she clicked her tongue.“Ain’t nobody out in this cold.I’m dreading my own walk home.Bless your father if he gives me a ride.”

“I saw them.There had to be ten, at least!”Jonathan took the stairs down two at a time.

His uncle sat in front of the living room hearth, the fire crackling to stave off the autumn chill, with Jonathan’s sister nestled in his lap.“The old king rose up tall as that old oak out by the water pump, and he waved his scepter as if he was a wizard.”

“Uncle Henry,” Jonathan interrupted.“There are people out back.”

“What’s that?You get to bed already?”

“What?”His uncle never made them sleep as early as his mother did; they usually got to stay up until their parents came home from the opera house.

“You must have had a nightmare.”Uncle Henry chuckled, and the little girl giggled from his lap.

“No, I saw them.They were slinking through the yard.”Jonathan pointed toward the rear of the house.His uncle would appreciate “slinking,” as if the word had fallen from one of those mystery novels he read them.

Uncle Henry glanced at the clock on the mantle.“Your parents shouldn’t be much longer.It must’ve been them you saw.”

“There were a bunch of people.Lots of them.Fifteen at least!”Jonathan’s heartbeat increased.Some of the natives – those Bromi warriors – from out west might have crept across the country.Pirates might have invaded from the sea.His parents whispered about those when they read the newspapers.

“Fifteen, huh?Well, you keep an eye on them for me.If they come too close, we’ll build a fort around the house.”Uncle Henry adjusted the pink afghan wrapped around the toddler.

The doors were locked, but the enemy might break through the windows.Jonathan’s father kept the guns sealed in a case, but he did have an emergency pistol in a box under his bed.They’d be proud if he protected his family.

As Jonathan reached the top of the stairs, someone knocked on the front door.He froze, one sock-clad foot on the landing and the other on the top step.Pirates and natives didn’t knock.They invaded; they were evil.

The maid swept past him, lifting her ankle-length brown skirt.“I hope that’s my dear papa come with the pony cart.He won’t let his little girl walk home in the frost.”She winked at Jonathan, but he gulped.She wouldn’t know to be afraid.Even though she played games with him, she was sixteen, old enough to think the world was perfect.Only he knew enough to find danger in shadows.

“If that’s your father, invite him in for some coffee,” Uncle Henry called.

“Will do, sir.”

Jonathan crouched beside the railing and clutched the rungs.If he bent his head enough, he could see the front door.The maid wiped her hands on her apron before she opened it.

“Oh, hello.Can I help you?”Her final word fell away in a scream as a man shoved her inside.His black coat buttoned to his chin and a black knit cap covered his head.

Jonathan’s own scream strangled in his throat.

“This the Montgomery residence?” the man barked.Three more men shoved into the foyer, all of them dressed in full black.The tallest of the bunch seized the maid by the shoulders and slammed her into the wall.

“Y-yes, sir,” she stammered.

“What’s going on here?”Uncle Henry burst in from the living room while two more assailants stepped inside.Jonathan’s sister started to wail.

One of the men drew a handgun from his belt and aimed it at Uncle Henry’s chest.“Where’s the laboratory?”

“Get out of this house,” Uncle Henry said.Jonathan had never heard him speak with such calm finesse, the laughter gone from his voice.

Jonathan’s hands trembled where he gripped the polished wood.His uncle would handle everything.Take that, bad guys.

“Well now,” the attacker drawled, “that wasn’t the answer I was looking for.”

“How about you, girl?,” the man yelled at the maid. “Take us to the lab.”

As soon as the man released her, she sank to the floor, her shoulders shaking with sobs.

The man crouched in front of her to grip her chin.“What’s your name, girl?”

“R-Rose.”

“You the scientist’s daughter?”

Jonathan stiffened.Uncle Henry would protect them, and if Jonathan needed to, he could leap over the railing onto the man’s back.

“N-no, sir.I’m just the maid.It’s a common name here.Rose.We have that rose festival and all.We have the famous rainbow-colored rose.”

He slapped her across the face and jerked her to her feet.“Shut up, bitch.Get us to the lab or you won’t be making no more noise.”

“You’ll release her now.”Uncle Henry lunged forward, and a crack split the air.He staggered, rasping, and dropped to his knees. Blood appeared on his chest, the circle growing, morphing into something that dripped and twisted without pattern.

“Mack, what was that?You shot him.”One of the men chuckled.

“No,” the maid shrieked.

Jonathan squeezed his eyes shut.Perhaps he had fallen asleep waiting for Rose to find him.It had to be a dream.Uncle Henry is fine. We’re all fine.

When he opened them, his uncle lay on the hardwood floor in a pool of red paint. Red paint. No, not paint. Blood.

The men stomped through the house toward his father’s laboratory off the kitchen, and the maid’s sobs mingled with his sister’s cries.He had to protect his sister.He’d get the pistol, grab her, and he’d run for the neighbor’s farm.

Jonathan ran for their bedroom, the door still open from when the maid folded away the tablecloths.With only the light from downstairs, he crawled to the bed and lay on his stomach to reach the box.Nothing should have invaded his perfect house, with its two chimneys and dark blue shutters, with the flower garden and those ghost sheets flapping on the line.

He pulled out the box and flipped the hook on the lid to remove the pistol.He’d seen his father polish it, but he’d never known it could be so heavy.How do I hold it?

A door slammed below him.He would have to point the gun and pull the trigger, like what the villain had done to his uncle.The bullet would save him and his sister.It would save the maid.If he found her, she could use it better.

He crept back downstairs, but the commotion came from the laboratory.Glasssmashed and heavier things crashed.Another gunshot seared through the house.

Jonathan ran for the armchair where his uncle had left the toddler.“Rosamund, be quiet.”Her pale hair stood out against the seat’s green velveteen.“Please, Rosamund.”

“Well now, who’re you?”

Jonathan twisted around and did his best to aim the silver weapon at the man lounging in the doorway.He couldn’t be much older than the maid; how could someone so young do such evil?Jonathan couldn’t picture the boys at his school shooting anyone with anything more than a slingshot.

“Get out.”Jonathan’s voice squeaked.

The young man chuckled.“I reckon you’re the man of the house now.Good luck with that.”

“Get out!”Jonathan pulled the trigger.

The pistol clicked, but no bullet ripped through the villain.Jonathan cocked it again, his heartbeat echoing in his ears.

The man laughed harder.“That thing’s out of bullets, kid, but don’t worry, we’re leaving.Runners don’t mess with kids.”

Jonathan pulled the trigger again, but only that click answered him.Tears burned his eyes as he threw it down.

Runners.Next time he met one of them, he’d have a pistol full of bullets.

#

Jonathan rested his elbows on his knees and sighed.The sun shouldn’t be so bright and the few leaves that had begun to change to gold shouldn’t glow so much.At least the crimson leaves fit his mood.

He gazed at Rosamundas she sat beside the few marigolds that hadn’t given up on summer, petting her kitten’s gray head. She looked so happy, with her hair in two short braids.They’d let him dress her in white – black made him shudder now.

The Runners wore black.

“What do you suppose will happen to the house?”Mrs. Rogers’s voice danced through the open kitchen window.Airing out the rooms wouldn’t help banish that lingering stench of blood.

“I don’t know,” Miss Lea answered.He’d always loved his teacher, but she hadn’t said much more than a few sentences, as if she didn’t know how to console.

“I don’t suppose anyone will want a house where two murders took place.Shame, since this place is so pretty.Biggest home in all of Rosedale.”

Jonathan scrunched his eyes shut.How could they stand next to the laboratory where the maid had been shot?How could they even bear to be inside?

“All for that invention,” Mrs. Rogers continued.“You really think a motor for a ship is worth all the trouble they went to?”

Trouble.As if murdering his parents in their steamcoach on the way back from the opera house counted as trouble.Trouble meant forgetting to study for a spelling test.

 “Who knows what those Runners think.”

“Blasted Runners. Don’t they care about the suffering families?Couldn’t they have spared all those folks?”

Jonathan clenched his hands into fists.He’d hunt them down.They couldn’t take his family away and laugh about it.

Miss Lea mumbled something he couldn’t hear.

“Are you going to keep the two mites?”Dishes rattled.Jonathan’s mother had never trusted Mrs. Rogers; he had a feeling he would never see those porcelain plates again.

Who cared what happened to the belongings?

“The neighbors will take him now that their daughter’s so far away.The Ashers are good folk.”

Jonathan jerked his head up.The neighbors, that old man and woman who never smiled much?Why would they want the Montgomery orphans, as Mrs. Rogers had dubbed them?He expected they’d live with Miss Lea since they didn’t have anyone else.

Miss Lea is nice enough; she’ll take care of Rosamund.

“It might do that old Rider a favor having some sprites around,” Mrs. Rogers said.“Come help me wrap up these teacups.Wouldn’t they look darling in my china cabinet?”

Jonathan plodded to the water pump to see if he could spot the neighbors’ barn through the trees.Riders hunted down the Runner gangs that plagued the east coast.If he got to live with a Rider, he might learn some tricks.

Jonathan sneered.

Runner beware, for the mark of the Rider will shine.

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Jordan Elizabethbecame obsessed with steampunk while working at a Victorian Fair.  Since then, she’s read plenty of books and even organized a few steampunk outfits that she wears on a regular basis (unless that’s weird, in which case she only wears them within the sanctuary of her own home – not!). Jordan’s young adult novels include ESCAPE FROM WITCHWOOD HOLLOW, COGLING, TREASURE DARKLY, BORN OF TREASURE, GOAT CHILDREN, and VICTORIAN. RUNNERS & RIDERS is her fifth novel with Curiosity Quills Press.  Check out her website for bonus scenes and contests. 

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