Thursday, March 31, 2022

AUDIOBOOK TOUR: Death's Disciples by Dustin L. Herriman

Welcome to the Official Audiobook Tour for author Dustin L. Herriman's debut fantasy novel, Death's Disciples! Narrated by Zachary Johnson. Today, on our tour stop, we have a promo post to spotlight this debut novel with an audio excerpt. So... Be sure to check it out and download your copy now! Follow the tour, HERE.

New Adult/Young Adult
Release Date:
February 12, 2022
18 hours 19 minutes
Dustin L. Herriman

Narrated by:
Zachary Johnson

A young man named Zakul from a long misunderstood tribe leaves his home to attend a festival in the town of Dasum, when the town comes under siege by an invading army. Follow along as this unlikely survivor relates his harrowing experience, and live his desperate attempts to cling to life and safety.


*Audio Excerpt*


**About the Author**
Dustin L. Herriman grew up in the ethereal beauty of the Pacific Northwest. An avid reader since childhood, he eventually felt inspired by his favorite authors to create a world all his own. When not working on other writing projects, Dustin enjoys the occasional Dungeons and Dragons campaign, playing with the world’s cutest dog, and maintaining his title of Chess Champion of the House, although his loving fiancee insists he cheats.

Stay connected with Dustin L. Herriman


**About the Narrator**
Lover of mathematics, devourer of science fiction, and connoisseur of the dad joke. When Zachary Johnson is not doing math for business or fun, he's devouring science fiction and fantasy, reading up on scientific advancements, going for a jog, or, on all too rare occasions, taking a refreshing swim at the beach. At your service, you shall have an able storyteller and gifted conveyor of information. Experienced in narrating fiction, from the romantic to the post-apocalyptic, and nonfiction, from the historical to the corporate, and armed with the tools to make it all sound great, Zachary promises that, no matter the job, you'll be read-iculously pleased!

Stay connected with Zachary Johnson

Audiobook Tour Organized by

BLOG TOUR: The Quarter Storm by Veronica G. Henry


Welcome to the Official Blog Tour for Veronica G. Henry's The Quarter Storm, the first book in the Mambo Reina series! Today, on our tour stop, we have an exclusive excerpt AND a tour-wide giveaway to share! So... Be sure to check it out and start the series now! Follow the tour, HERE.

Paranormal/Fantasy Thriller/Mystery
Mambo Reina, #1
Publish Date:
March 1, 2022
(imprint of Amazon Publishing)

A practitioner of Vodou must test the boundaries of her powers to solve a ritual murder in New Orleans and protect everything she holds sacred.

Haitian-American Vodou priestess Mambo Reina Dumond runs a healing practice from her New Orleans home. Gifted with water magic since she was a child, Reina is devoted to the benevolent traditions of her ancestors.

After a ritual slaying in the French Quarter, police arrest a fellow vodouisant. Detective Roman Frost, Reina’s ex-boyfriend—a fierce nonbeliever—is eager to tie the crime, and half a dozen others, to the Vodou practitioners of New Orleans. Reina resolves to find the real killer and defend the Vodou practice and customs, but the motives behind the murder are deeper and darker than she imagines.

As Reina delves into the city’s shadows, she untangles more than just the truth behind a devious crime. It’s a conspiracy. As a killer wields dangerous magic to thwart Reina’s investigation, she must tap into the strength of her own power and faith to solve a mystery that threatens to destroy her entire way of life.

***FREE on Kindle Unlimited***




That there as more to this girl than met the eye was a given. That it was none of my business allowed me to cast the thought out of my mind and focus on my work. I took the emerald-green fabric Sophie had selected, retreated to my workspace, and drew the blue curtain behind me.

               Poppets could run the gamut from straightforward to convoluted. The variety my new client needed fell on the relatively simple end of that spectrum. Everything began with the initial construction. Some in the priesthood used was, or clay. Unless specifically requested, however, I preferred the natural feel of a hardy quilting fabric.

               I premade poppet husks in what could only be called a vaguely human shape: a head and torso two arms and two legs. I stitched the two halves together, leaving one side open so that the doll could be customized according to need.

               Next came the stuffing. My go-to weas Spanish moss, but cotton would do in a pinch. In a small glass bowl, I tossed in ground Adam and Eve root, a teaspoon or so of crushed rose petal, and a pinch of sugar. After mixing this up with my fingers, I added the hair that Sophie had given me. I left out the dirt. Could have been from a grave for all I knew. As I sprinkled the mixture onto the moss I searched my mind for just the right psalm and whispered the words: For the director of music. With stringed instruments. A psalm. A song. May God be gracious to us and bless us and make his face shine on us.

               At this stage, most mambos and houngans would consider their work finished. Not so for those blessed to carry the lwa with them— the Beninites. Parables suggested we were more commonplace in ancient Benin, but over the centuries, our numbers had dwindled. And here in New Orleans at least, there were only two: Lucien Alexander and me.

It wasn’t something we advertised, but for those with an eye to see it, it was there. That made my, our, healing practices altogether differ- ent. Erzulie was the goddess of rivers, and that river wine, my sangswe, flowed through my veins. With my father’s help and some dicey trial and error, I’d discovered the three realms her touch had gifted.

Evolution was foremost. It made me a unique healer, because even a drop of sangswe wine enhanced my spells. If the humidity was just right, I could draw on that moisture to cure most cuts and scrapes with a touch. A delicately balanced amount of that same moisture ripened fruit; too much, though, and you ended up with a putrefied mess.

Currents ruled the sea, and they allowed me to channel and guide water. If I caught myself outside without an umbrella, I could redirect that water away from me. And it gave me the ability to do one thing you didn’t play with: conjure physical manifestations of the lwa.

Change, emotional or form, was the enchanter, and the realm, I’d had the least success in cultivating so far. With the right combination of herbs and roots, a skilled practitioner could affect the mind.

For this part of the ritual, I held my hands over the bowl, palms up, fingers cupped but relaxed. My palm creases reacted. The darkened lines swelled, rippled, throbbed. With a gentle urging, the wine-dark water from my body oozed out. The sensation akin to being sliced open with a razor blade.

My sangswe wine dripped into the bowl. The herbs undulated and hissed as the water temperature eased upward. The mixture coiled around the edge of the circumference, completing the circuit three times before crawling up my fingers and settling on my hands. The mass solidified, hardening like a swampy shell. And then, the mixture cracked and splintered, sloughed off back into the bowl.

With effort, I closed the flow and relished the warmth until it had turned hot enough to evoke a sweat. After stuffing the dried contents into the poppet, I finished up the stitching, taking care to sew a few cowrie shells on the legs and three silver buttons on the left side of the poppet’s chest. A zigzag stitch for the mouth and pinpricks for the eyes.

It was beautiful.

Sophie set her phone aside when I came back to the table and looked up at me with expectant eyes. It was time to charge the poppet. I grabbed a white candle from the mantel and lit it. As I took a seat, I set the candle on the table and slipped a tiny white gown over the figure. “What’s your boyfriend’s name?”

The look on Sophie’s face told me that she was surprised by the question and hoped to not have to reveal the name. She paused a moment before, barely above a whisper, saying, “Virgil.”

I mouthed a prayer and touched the poppet’s head with anointing oil, breathing life into my creation. The poppet trembled in my hand and then inhaled a long, deep breath, holding it in for a few seconds, exhaling, and settling back to itself. I thanked the lwa silently. Then I removed the white robe and gave the Virgil poppet to Sophie.

The girl was positively wide eyed and, at first, didn’t seem to want any part of her creation. This wasn’t unusual. Folks asked for things and didn’t realize the implications until all was done. It was time for my cautionary speech.

“Now, you don’t toss this in your purse and leave it there,” I began. “This is a love spell, so you have to nurture it. Tell it you love it and want its love back. Give it offerings of sweet things. Keep it safe and secluded. Then let it do its job.”

Sophie considered my words, her expression blank, and then asked me a question, chilling because of the flatness in her tone and gaze: “And what if I don’t want it anymore? I mean, the poppet or Virgil?”

“That’s another spell altogether. Requires some different ingredients too.” And another price.

Sophie thanked me and paid a tip in cash, which I appreciated. I’d taken loaves of bread, plates of food, and unwanted advice on my love life as payment. And for the people in Tremé, I’d continue to do so and to serve them as I served the lwa.

I wondered if the girl was really sure what she wanted. That dirt was an interesting addition that told me she’d listened in on a service or two in her time. Sometimes, depending on where the dirt came from, particularly someplace like a cemetery, they wanted something altogether different than love. But whether or not she knew it, my new client wouldn’t be able to do any of that with the spells I wove.

And despite what some people might have thought, I didn’t use my magic to harm people—unless they tried to harm me first. That made it self-defense.

Erzulie murmured her skepticism about my understanding of self-defense in the form of a watery brushstroke against the bones. I ignored her and set about cleaning up the place. I hoped Sophie Thibault would find real love, not the kind that people paid for.

As I made to remove the tablecloth for washing, I noticed the thumb ring sitting right where Sophie had left it. I doubted she would return for it, but I knew where to find her.

Voodoo Real. I had been more than a little envious when I’d heard that a new mambo from Houston had set up shop there. I’d met her once and seen her a handful of other times at the occasional vodouisant gatherings. Salimah . . . Salimah Grenade. Couldn’t help but wonder what she’d done with the place.

Envy, curiosity, or a noble sense of goodwill. Probably a mix of all of them. Either way, I’d drop off the ring tomorrow and assess the competition.


Praise for The Quarter Storm

“…this hits the sweet spot of eschewing overdone tropes while retaining the familiar elements that draw fans to the genre. Readers will hope to see more of Mambo Reina.” ―Publishers Weekly

The Quarter Storm conjures up an intriguing mystery that draws readers away from New Orleans’s famous tourist spots for a story filled with twists, turns, and unexpected discoveries that will leave them eager for more. Because there’s no better sleuth to handle a murder in New Orleans than a Vodou priestess.” ―Nicole Glover, author of The Conductors

“Henry gives us a captivating mystery full of fantasy and African traditional religion, as well as a bewitching investigator, rooted in her faith, dedicated to her community, and dogged in her pursuit of the truth.” ―Eden Royce, author of Root Magic


Mambo Reina series:
(cover link to Goodreads)



**About the Author**
Photo Content from Veronica G. Henry
Veronica G. Henry was born in Brooklyn, New York, and has been a bit of a rolling stone ever since. Her work has appeared in various online publications. She is a graduate of the Viable Paradise Workshop and a member of SFWA.

Veronica is proud to be of Sierra Leonean ancestry and counts her trip home as the most important of her life. She now writes from North Carolina, where she eschews rollerballs for fountain pens and fine paper. Other untreated addictions include chocolate and cupcakes.

Veronica's debut novel, Bacchanal, is out now and available at bookstores and libraries everywhere.

Stay connected with Veronica G. Henry


***The Giveaway***


Giveaway Open Internationally | Must be 13+ to Enter
- ends April 18, 2022
Note: Not Responsible for Lost & Damaged Prizes in Your Mail Box

Blog Tour Organized by