Witch of the Cards by Catherine Stine
Give a Spooktacular welcome to Catherine Stine author of Witch of the Cards. Pull up a chair, grab a drink of your choice from the cauldron. Take your choice of a bat wing Chocolate Chip or Pumpkin, or Peanut Butter cookie from the plate, and let’s find out a little about Catherine Stine and her Witch of the Cards. Plus her Spooktacular Guest post for Halloween. Psst… don’t forget to enter the rafflecopter giveaway at the bottom of the post!
When I first moved to New York City after college and a stint out west, you couldn’t tear me away from the dilapidated boardwalks of Coney Island. This was back before the arcade was renovated, back when the sideshow by the sea with its sword swallower and human pincushion were on full display. It was when a hungry, dirty capybara was caged in a box that read: Only $5 To See the Biggest Rat in the World! This poor critter was a plot point in Dorianna, my paranormal twist on Dorian Grey. And no surprise, I set Dorianna in Coney Island, and installed a sexy villain in Wilson Warren. He was an agent of the devil disguised as a videographer who prowled the beaches, making girls into viral Internet sensations for a very high price.
About twenty-seven years ago, when I first ventured into the Asbury convention center, there was a huge hole in its roof that seagulls flew in and out of. And there was only one lonely saltwater taffy store on the boardwalk run by an ancient lady who seemed to have stepped out of a Stephen King novel. In Witch of the Cards the taffy sold in the shop has very odd effects, and I installed an illegal speakeasy in the taffy store basement. I turned the (actual) Paranormal Museum on CookwellAvenue into a place to hold séances that often went horribly wrong.
In Witch of the Cards, even the ocean hides terrible secrets.
“Perhaps I was far too gone, but I didn’t care. Peter and I danced and danced. The room filled with the overflow from the convention hall dance—young lovers, bootlegger types with wide ties and cigars, older women with twinkling earrings and heavy bosoms, even a prostitute or two. I thought so anyway, because they wore way too much rouge and came alone to sit brazenly up at the bar with the gin rummies.
This time I couldn’t say whether or not I stepped on Mr. Dune’s polished wingtips. This time, he probably couldn’t be sure if he knocked his bony legs into mine. We had many more nips of absinthe, and I wolfed down another green-swirl taffy and before I knew it, I was leaning provocatively against Peter and laughing like a wild banshee.
A little about Witch of the Cards – Fiera was born a sea witch with no inkling of her power. And now it might be too late.
Amazon Amazon
UK Amazon
CA Amazon
AU
A sneak peek between the pages of Witch of the Cards:
If I only had a
week in this glorious beach town, I wanted to catch up with sleep and plunge
into as many escapades as possible—even bewildering, outlandish ones.We walked in, to
the jangle of Mr. Dune’s door chimes. I skated around, ogling the
floor-to-ceiling shelves brimming with leather-bound books on cosmic mysteries,
spiritualism, and witchcraft. Two immediate standouts were Ten Ways to Practice Mentalism and Dona Bella, Memoirs of a Southern Witch. These were my fare,
similar to a favorite book at the public library—a tome on dark magic. The most
stirring part was about each witch dynasty having its own grimoire, a sort of
magical recipe book. I had no clue as to why dark tales tickled me so, and
often wondered about my taste.Still, I read
everything I could get my hands on, even boring books that drifted me right off
to the Land of Nod. At my nanny job, I was so desperate for stories I even read
the tedious articles about cooking and how to throw a proper cocktail party in
Mrs. Cuthbert’s Reader’s Digest and Home Arts magazines.Mr. Dune strode toward us. His handsome aura
and towering presence intimidated yet thrilled me. He was dressed in crisp,
charcoal gray pants and a vest with a double-breasted pinstriped jacket. “Are
you lovely ladies here for the séance?” He held out a long, elegant hand, studded
with a silver ring. I barely collected my wits enough to shake it and nod.
Dulcie’s hand whooshed out and hardly touched his before she clamped it
protectively back to her side.No doubt about
it, he was the most striking man I’d ever seen. His thick mop of dark hair
tapered into long sideburns, rendering his jawline a tad dangerous. I guessed
he was in his mid-twenties. When his coffee-brown eyes gleamed at me, my breath
caught, and a heat greater than any moonshine fired through me.We paid the dime
admission. He escorted us to a round, wooden table with lion-footed legs where
we joined a heavyset older couple and a reedy gentleman with thin, blond hair.
His lime-fizz eyes darted over to Dulcie, and then away. Two empty chairs still
beckoned.Dulcie looked
terrified, so I smiled at her. She calmed enough to take a seat.Mr. Dune strode
to the window, loosened the crimson curtains, and lowered their heavy velvet
over the windows, lending the already-pensive storefront a mystical aura.
About the Author:
Catherine Stine is a USA Today bestselling
author of paranormal, urban and historical fantasy. Witch of the Wild Beasts won a second prize in the Romance Writers
of America’s Sheila Contest. Other novels have earned Indie Notable awards and
New York Public Library Best Books. She lives in New York State and grew up in
Philadelphia. Before writing novels, she was a painter and fabric designer.
She’s a visual author and sees writing as painting with words. Catherine loves
spending time with her beagle Benny, writing about supernatural creatures,
gardening and meeting readers at book fests.
Learn more at catherinestine.com
Twitter: https://twitter.com/crossoverwriter
Pinterest: https://www.pinterest.com/kitsy84557/
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/kitsy84557
TikTok: https://www.tiktok.com/@catherinestine7
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/authorcatherinestine
Bookbub: https://www.bookbub.com/profile/catherine-stine
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/1018139.Catherine_Stine
Amazon author page: https://www.amazon.com/Catherine-Stine/e/B001H9TXJC
YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCiYPFXTOO0EQ2XRW72PJiyw
Newsletter: https://catherinestine.com/wp/get-the-newsletter-contact-me/
It’s been Spooktacular having you with us today. Good luck with Witch of the Cards!
Views: 0
Posted in Authors' Secrets Blog and tagged Catherine Stine, Halloween, Haunted Halloween Spooktacular, paranormal historical suspense, Witch of the Cards by Tena Stetler with 1 comment.
Alpha’s Revenge by Catherine Stine Spooktacular
Give a spooktacular welcome to Catherine Stine, author of Alpha’s Revenge. Pull up a chair, grab a drink of your choice from the cauldron. Take your choice of a bat wing Chocolate Chip or Pumpkin, or Peanut Butter cookie from the plate, and let’s find out a little about Catherine and her Alpha’s Revenge.
The Peculiar Delights of Research in a
Halloween Spook House
Catherine Stine
I’ve been fascinated by the Eastern State Penitentiary in Philadelphia ever since I visited for their Halloween fright tour, and saw the actual, untouched surgical room from when they opened in 1829. It still had a rickety metal operating table, sharp and crusty medical tools, and frighteningly tiny holding pens. The idea for one of my witch novels, Witch of the Wild Beasts rushed in right then and there. It would be a thriller involving doctors devising medical mischief and unlucky prisoners, including Evalina Stowe, a woman accused of witchcraft.
It turns out that in the 1850s, when my novel takes place, Philadelphia experienced an explosion of new medical “breakthroughs”, from the wacky to the notable. At the offbeat end, there were herbal remedies inspired by the German Pow Wow or Braucherei practitioner, a combination of ritual prayer, herbal applications and the chanting of charms to not only heal the patient, but protect the farmers’ cattle and sheep. On the remarkable side, were the “plastic operations” of Dr. Thomas Mütter, who pioneered plastic surgery at Jefferson Medical School, and who invented applications we use to this day, such as the Mütter flap. This uses a flap of living skin, still partially attached, to cover open, damaged areas until they can heal, at which point the connected flap is cut and stitched. Dr. Mütter, who appears in the book, was quite the flamboyant dresser, who liked to match his suit to the color of his carriage. To this day, the Mütter Museum is a go-to attraction for all sorts of medical oddities, including dozens of wax molds of eye diseases and ‘The Soap Lady’, a woman whose body was exhumed in Philadelphia in 1875. She is nicknamed this because a fatty substance called adipocere coats her remains.
I grew up in Philadelphia and thought I knew a lot about its history, but in the process of research for the novel, I learned many new, startling facts. I love writing historical fantasy for this very reason.
Before Eastern State Penitentiary was built with its single cells and solitary confinement, people of all ages, including children were thrown in one holding pen at another location. Thus, Eastern State revolutionized the system and was considered state of the art when it was built. It was equipped with skylights, central heating and some of the very first flush toilets, and inspired by the Quakers’ belief that solitary penitence could quell an inmate’s urge to commit crimes.
Yet it wasn’t long before people realized that “paying penitence” 24/7 alone in a cell did not cure people of criminal behavior. Rather, the isolation drove them stark raving mad. Charles Dickens, who visited the prison, wrote a scathing treatise, saying, “Solitary confinement is rigid, strict and hopeless… I believe its effects to be cruel and wrong.” Oddly enough, during that era the phrase What the Dickens was a euphemism for What the Devil! Go figure.
Even in this cultured, modern city of Brotherly Love, superstition and chaos were alive and well. According the an article on the Historical Society of Pennsylvania blog, a sensational case occurred in 1852, with newspaper headings entitled, “Superstition in Philadelphia,” and “Witchcraft – Evidence of an Enlightened Age”.
“Mary Ann Clinton & Susan Spearing, residents of Southwark Ward, were formally charged at the ‘Court of Quarter Sessions,’ with “conspiring to cheat and defraud George F. Elliott, by means of fortune telling and conjuration,” in order to extort money. The ‘Commonwealth of Pennsylvania’ alleged that the two women were giving Mrs. Elliott, “a bottle containing some portions of Mr. Elliott’s clothing, and telling her that as the clothing decayed, so Mr. Elliott would moulder away, until he would finally die by virtue of the spell…”
It appeared that Mrs. Elliott suspected her husband was guilty of infidelity, a belief that “had so strong an effect upon her as to make her wish for his death.” Thus, she had enlisted the services of Clinton & Spearing, who also encouraged the jealous wife, as an “ordeal of witchcraft,” to “take her husband’s clothes, tear them to pieces, fill the bottle with them, then boil the contents nine times, and this would give him such extreme pain as to cause his death.”
Enter my heroine, Evalina, accused of witchcraft when her pet bird, flies down the throat of her violent boss and chokes him to death. Add to this mix, Dolly Rouge, her prison neighbor and ex-bawdy house madam, Lightning, a homeless urchin who knew Evalina’s brother and was jailed for stealing horses, and Birdy, a handsome, kind Irishman jailed for a tragic accident while blasting granite for the railroad who Evalina falls for. Oh, and add a handful of sinister doctors, and Evalina’s perilous plot to gain justice for her brother’s murder.
Research is the grounding for the fire that ignites the writer’s mind. And research in a Halloween destination was a pure spine-tingling delight.
Peek between the pages of Alpha’s Revenge:
“Who are you?” It was dawning on him. Could it be his old Tundra playmate, Stormy? They hadn’t seen each other for years. It was rumored that Thorn had kept her so protected it was like she was locked in his ivory tower prison. Holy damn, if it was Stormy, he should have nothing to do with her. She was Thorn’s little sister. Could he still be confused? He’d just been hit so hard that maybe his brain had gone freaking haywire. “Where’s Ransom?”
“He’s alive but you messed him up good. Why are you coming around, so angry, gunning for a fight? You look so familiar, but… ” She ran a cooling cloth over Wayland’s swollen eye. She smelled of forest phlox and river moss—of the Canadian tundra in summer. He struggled to get up again and realized she’d tied his arms, torso and ankles down with thick vines. He didn’t believe in hurting a woman. But his rage bubbled dangerously close to the surface. If he stayed like this too much longer, and she leaned closer to him as she cleaned his wounds he might not be able to stop from snapping his head up and biting her.
“Why the hell did you tie me up?” he snarled.
“For your own safety and for mine. You seemed unhinged. Who are you anyway? You look so familiar.”
“Wayland. I used to live around here.”
“Wayland!” She stopped cleaning his swollen eye and stared down at him. “Wayland Leblanc.”
“Yeah, a damn Leblanc. The Tundras, led by your vicious brother slaughtered us a year ago in case you need reminding. Bunch of fucking savages,” he growled.
“I know who you are. Your father killed my father.”
“So, you are Stormy, Thorn’s sister,” he muttered. The very man I’m hunting down.
It’s been great having you with us today. Good luck with Alpha’s Revenge!
Views: 3
Posted in Authors' Secrets Blog and tagged Alpha's Revenge, Book three, Catherine Stine, Royal Alpha Wolves Club, Werewolf Shifter Romance by Tena Stetler with comments disabled.
