Tuesday, June 19, 2012

Introducing the Realm of the Paradox Series by Patti Roberts

Hello Muses and Fallen Friends,


     I am very delighted to introduce this week's spotlight and contest. We are celebrating the re-release of the Paradox Series: the Angels Are Here Book 1 by super talented author Patti Roberts. For the next four days, Ms. Roberts has agreed to take us into her fabulous world of the Fallen Angels. There will be interviews, excerpts, book trailers, a sneak preview of her newest release: Bound by Blood and a contest!



Without further hesitation, I'd like to reveal the gorgeous new cover to the newly re-edited and expanded version of Book 1: The Angels are Here.


Cover Reveal for Paradox: the Angels are Here Book 1 by Patti Roberts



My name is Juliette.   Nine hundred years ago, I died.  Today, I am alive...

The Ancient World - This is not a story about Vampires. However, we are talking about a
predatory being that existed long before the word Vampire was ever
whispered... the real monsters behind the legendary Vampire myths that
reigned in Ancient times. They were a race of Fallen Angels called
Grigorians.

The New World - Grace is a little girl struggling to understand the catastrophic events that are forcing their way into her otherwise seemingly normal, if not sometimes, strange world. Haunting visions and untimely deaths of others are a constant reminder that life and death are only a heartbeat away.

Disaster strikes, and she finds herself trapped in a nightmare, consumed by paralyzing loss and overwhelming grief as she painfully witnesses her mother slowly being torn away from her.

A journey crossing Two Worlds. One Ancient - One New.  How do the
heartbreaking visions experienced by a little girl fit into this Ancient
World of Angels, Myth & Legend?

Grace's story will indeed leave you asking... Who, When, Where? WHAT!

Book 2. Progeny Of Innocence. Grace is not a little girl anymore!

Discover more about the Paradox Series here - theangelsarehere.wordpress.com/readers-questions-answered

Would You Like to See More?


Chapter 8—Kali and Bongo

It was a cold wretched Sunday morning in June when Grace woke to yet another wet colorless day. It had been raining consistently for weeks without any hint that a change was drawing any nearer. Grace felt agitated by the smothering grey sadness that had shadowed her constantly since her father’s death.
She decided that she had had enough of her miserable existence behind the cold steel bars of grief. And that it was up to her alone to make the necessary changes to rectify this problem.
She pushed the blankets away and swung her legs enthusiastically over the edge of her bed. Her pathetic life, coupled with the gloomy weather, had become too depressing and predictable.
But something was already a little different about this morning, Grace sensed, with a hint of trepidation. She frowned when her stomach growled. She felt, something she hadn’t felt for a while. Really, really hungry, with an unyielding urge to find food and eat.
Grace felt instantaneously sick with hunger as she stood; her legs trembled uncontrollably. She crouched down onto her haunches to steady herself and grasped her stomach. She looked up toward the ceiling that started to vibrate and blur. Snowy white dots, like a television that had just gone off the air, filled her vision. 
“Oh no, not again,” she whispered in a frightened voice just before her legs gave way and she collapsed on her bedroom floor.

As Grace’s eyelids flutter close and her mind drifts into a fitful dream, my own eyes open and I realize that I am not the Juliette that I remember, but a younger girl from an earlier time and place.
My mouth and tongue are parched, devoid of saliva, and it hurts when I try to swallow. My lips are dehydrated, cracked and resemble an old worn-out brown leather belt.  A kitten meows on the ground beside my filthy bare feet.
“Bonga?” I say in a small raspy voice as I reach down to stroke the skeletal animal. I study my hand; it is bony, like it doesn't belong to me. I try to rub mud off my hand with equally dirty fingers. I gasp when I realize that it isn’t dirt that coats my body.
I search my memory for answers and realize that I have returned to Bengal, and it is 1769. I am re-experiencing the wretched suffering of myself as an eleven-year-old brown-skinned girl. An obnoxious stink assaults my nostrils, making me gag. I don’t smell good. Nothing, in fact, smells good. The soiled walls surrounding me emit a foul-smelling stench of excrement, urine and rotting flesh. I cover my nose and mouth with my grubby hand, but it doesn't help.
“Kali, stay here with your mother, I will return with food by nightfall,” a man says to me in a foreign language that somehow I understand.
I nod obediently. Maybe tonight he would bring home a rat and we would eat like kings. He is tall, softly spoken, and rakish thin, dressed in rags. Starvation has robbed him of his looks and his strength, leaving him haggard and defeated. Only the love and devotion he feels for our family keeps him alive, day after day. I know this truth about him, and it makes me love him even more. My heart is bursting at the seams with love, my stomach bloated but empty.
I remember a time, not that long ago, that he was handsome, strong, well-dressed and wealthy for a man of his station in life. A prosperous and respected merchant trader, trading in textiles, tea and exotic spices throughout India and foreign lands. We had wanted for nothing.
I watch him now as he prepares to leave; intuitively, I know that I will never see this man again and it saddens me. A dirty tear runs slowly down and over my protruding cheekbone.
“Goodbye, Father,” I say weakly to his retreating back. “I love you.” He doesn’t hear me, the bustling noise outside has already swallowed him up whole.
My kitten Bonga shrieks loudly in protest behind me. I spin around in time to see a girl snatch the kitten up from the floor by its oversized head. The girl snarls and threatens me with her wild yellow eyes, her teeth bared. In one swift movement, she twists the kitten’s scrawny neck, breaking it. It dangles silently in her hands as the girl turns and flees quickly out into the dirty alleyway. My kitten, Bonga, will be an appetizing meal for four this evening.
A woman’s voice behind me says, “Kali, come.”
This woman who summons me, I know instinctively, is my mother. My heart swells with unbounded love for her. She is lying on dirty rags on the floor and looks like a beautiful skeleton draped in satiny brown skin. By nightfall I know my mother will be dead, and I will be alone in this place.
So would ten million other men, women, and children. They will starve to death during one of the worst famines in history during the 17th century. It will happen again.
I lay down beside my mother and close my eyes. I pray for a quick walk through the valley of the shadow of death. The Gods smile down upon my mother and me this night. We do not have to wait long before the child-like Angel with her crystal clear blue eyes and long flowing red hair that shines as though it is on fire, holds our hands and walks us home to a beautiful place far from here.

Grace slowly blinked and opened her eyes; she was lying on the carpeted floor in her familiar bedroom. She wiped the tears from her cheeks and thought about the thin brown-skinned girl, Kali, with her bloated tummy and her parents. They were all dead now; their brown bodies had decayed into the parched cracked earth over three hundred years ago. She thought about Bonga, the Bengali kitten, dangling from the hands of the yellow-eyed girl, its neck limp and broken.
Grace rubbed her eyes to erase the brutal images and memories floating in her mind. The dreams and visions that Grace had experienced from an early age were occurring more frequently now. The visions and dreams that had once dissolved as quickly as they had manifested now started to linger a little longer in her memory.
I need to eat, Grace thought to herself standing slowly, her legs still trembling.
She inspected herself carefully in the mirror from head to toe. She pushed the long flannel sleeve up to her elbow, examining the color of her skin. She was clean, white, she was back — she was Grace. 



One Lucky Winner Will Win the Prize Pack Pictured Below...


To Enter the Contest Watch the Video Featured under the Giveaway Tab.



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