The Magic Warble (click on cover to purchase)
Bernovem
Afraid to make a move, Kristina lay curled up in the place where she had been dumped out. The laundry sack was gone. The pile of laundry had been replaced by a pile of leaves, and instead of the basement floor, it seemed to be grass. She cautiously poked her head out the pile of leaves and saw a lovely manicured garden. In the middle of it sat a small cottage made of stones and with a thatched roof. The garden itself was circular and along its perimeter was a dense forest. The weather was slightly cold, and the sky was overcast. A cold breeze blew by her and made her shiver. She felt very strange, being in the garden, and wondered if she was simply dreaming. If this is a dream, I sure hope it’s more exciting than yesterday, she thought.She suddenly heard the sound of whistling again, and when she poked her head out of the pile of leaves, she saw a man—or at least she thought it might be a man—coming around the corner of the cottage. He looked old, and he seemed to be even shorter than herself. He had a stout stature, distinctly sharp facial features, icy blue eyes, pointy ears, a long white beard, and silver hair. Upon his left shoulder he carried a large sack, and in his right hand he held a rake. He walked toward the pile of leaves, and Kristina ducked back down so he wouldn’t see her. He dumped out the large sack onto the pile of leaves, which brought another pile of leaves upon her head. Kristina tried not to move or make a sound.
Then the little man struck a match and was about to throw it on the pile of leaves, right where she was hiding, but she jumped out just before he did so yelling, “Wait! Please don’t throw that
match!”
The little man almost fell backwards. “What in our lady’s name is this?” he said, steadying himself.
“I didn’t mean to end up in your leaf pile,” Kristina said nervously, while backing away. “As a matter of fact, I have no idea how I got here.”
The little man walked closer to her, leaning forward slightly and holding the rake in front of him, as if to protect himself. He stared at Kristina as though he’d never seen anyone like her before.
“You may find this hard to believe,” Kristina said, “but I was only trying to retrieve a little silver ball.”
The little man’s eyes grew wide. “A little silver ball, you say.”
“Yes, Sir I…”
The little man seemed impatient. “Well, go on. Go on, spit it out.”
“My teacher, Miss Hensley, gave it to me on the last day of school. It was a Christmas gift,” Kristina continued.
The little man twirled his beard around one finger as he thought for a moment. Then he looked up at her and, seeming relieved, said, “Why, yes, of course! How soon I lose my memory.” He dropped his rake on the ground.
“I’m very sorry if I upset you,” Kristina said.
“No, no. No worries! Come with me to my cottage, and we’ll have a nice cup of tea. I could use a little break anyway. My back’s about killin’ me,” he said, stretching backwards.
He picked up his rake, and then put it down on top of a wheelbarrow that was nearby. Then he motioned for Kristina to follow him. Kristina wasn’t sure if she should trust him, but he seemed friendly enough, so she walked after him. When they arrived at the cottage, he pushed open the small wooden door, and they went inside. He took a lantern down from a hook on the wall and led the way into the front room. There was a fire burning in a fireplace, and it made the room—probably the living room—feel cozy and warm. Kristina noticed that everything in the room was smaller than normal.
“Come, child, sit down,” the little man said, pointing to a small couch. “Now, how about that cup of tea?”
“Oh, yes, please. I’m a little chilly and that would warm me up,” Kristina said.
The little man picked up a basket filled with tiny red flowers.
Then he took a big handful of them and dropped them into a black kettle that was sitting on top of the fire. As the flowers fell in, the water in the kettle spat out the top.
“Now, then, let’s discuss matters while we wait on our tea,” he said, sitting down in an armchair across from Kristina. “This little silver ball… do you have it with you?” he asked, while lighting a pipe.
“Yes, I have it in my pocket. Would you like to see it?” Kristina asked.
“Yes, but let me get the tea for us first.” He got up and poured tea into two cups and handed one to her. The tea was fluorescent red, and Kristina had to squint because of its brightness.
“I’ve never seen tea like this before. Its color is such a brilliant red,” Kristina said. She took a sip of it. “Yum, this is very good.
I would say it tastes like…” She paused for a moment and then continued. “Well, actually, I can’t describe it at all, but it is very delicious.”
“It’s fairy blossom, very hard to come by nowadays,” the little man said as he sat back down. He took a big puff off his pipe, then stuck out his knuckle-swollen hand and said, “The name’s
Rumalock.”
Kristina took hold of his hand and shook it. “I don’t mean to ask a silly question or seem rude, but are you a human?”
Rumalock chuckled and said, “No, I am what you would call a dwarf.”
“I’ve heard of dwarfs in fairy tales.” She looked a little embarrassed.
“I never thought they… or, I mean, you were real. I mean, no one I know of has ever met one,” she said, getting a little tongue-tied and turning red. “I hope that I’m not saying the wrong things.”
Rumalock chuckled again. “No need to feel bashful, my dear. I’m sure you don’t run into many dwarfs where you come from, and for that matter, I guess, I could say that I don’t get the chance
to meet many of your type either.”
Kristina took another sip of her tea and then said, “My name is Kristina.”
“Pleased to meet you, Kristina,” Rumalock said. “Now, should we take a look at this little ball?”
“Oh, yes, of course.” She took it out of her pocket and dropped it onto the palm of his hand. He held his eyeglasses with his other hand and peered down at it. He rolled it around and then clasped his hand tightly shut around it.
“Yup! It is the one,” he said. “This, my dear, is a very special day, to say the least.”
“Oh, why’s that?” Kristina asked, looking a little confused.
“This little ball is called the Magic Warble. It is what everyone in our land has been waiting for, for many years,” Rumalock said excitedly. Then, looking very serious, he narrowed his eyes.
“After it was given to you, did anyone else come into contact with it or even with anything that it was stored in?”
Kristina had to think for a moment and then answered, “Yes, three people, to be exact. Wait a minute, four, actually, if you include my pet rat, Raymond.” She started to count on her fingers.
“So it would be Graham Kepler, Hester Crumeful, Davina Pavey, Raymond, and, of course, me.”
“My, my, that many, and a rat also. I haven’t seen one of those little fellows in years. This could make matters very complicated,” Rumalock said.
“How so?” Kristina asked.
Rumalock placed the Magic Warble back in Kristina’s hand and said, “After the Magic Warble was given to you, whoever touched it or even anything it touched, like a container it may have been resting in, will be brought here.”
“Where is here?” Kristina asked.
“The place you are in, child, is called Bernovem,” Rumalock answered. He took another long drag of his pipe and blew out a large number of perfectly round smoke rings. Then he got out of his
chair, walked to the fireplace, and took a dusty book off the mantel.
“What is that?” Kristina asked.
“This, my dear, is the Book of Prophecy, and it is the only one in the whole land of Bernovem.” He opened it and ran his finger along the page. “Ah ha! Here it is, just as predicted: Kristina
Kingsly,” he said.
“Do you mean I’m in that book?” Kristina asked, getting up off the couch to take a look inside it.
Rumalock pointed his finger on the page. “Is your name Kristina Kingsly?” he asked, while glancing up at her through his round glasses.
“Yes,” she answered, looking puzzled. “But how come I’ve never heard of Bernovem?”
“Bernovem is a land very far from your land, or any other, as a matter of fact. It’s in a totally different galaxy than where you are from. You see, child, you have been brought here by the Magic Warble to deliver it to its resting place.”
Kristina’s face went pale.
“Is something the matter?” Rumalock asked her.
“I’m just worried that I won’t know where to bring it,” Kristina said.
“I thought you might feel that way. I must tell you that I can’t promise you that your journey will be a smooth one, but if you trust that the Magic Warble will lead you to where it needs to go,
you should be fine. And besides, you might even get some help along the way.”
Kristina looked back into the book. “Why are so many of the pages blank?” she asked.
“Oh that’s because the prophecies in this book will only appear on the pages a few minutes before they actually come to pass. Look here—it says, ‘Kristina’s scrape on her arm was healed.’”
“How could that be? The scrape is right here on my arm. It couldn’t possibly heal within a few minutes,” she said, showing him the scrape she had gotten from falling on the icy sidewalk the morning before.
“Ah! But are you sure? Give me your arm.” Rumalock said.
Kristina stretched her arm out, and Rumalock poured a few drops of his tea onto her scrape.
“Ouch! What are you doing? That’s very hot!” she said, shaking her arm to relieve the pain.
“Take a look at your scrape now,” Rumalock said excitedly.
“It’s gone!”
“That’s right! The tea is also magic.”
“This is all so cool,” Kristina said excitedly.
“Yes, yes, I suppose you could say that,” Rumalock said as he placed the Book of Prophecy back on the mantel. “Now, child, you look hungry. How about a nice warm meal?”
“I’d like that very much,” Kristina said.
Kristina ate a delicious meal of cheese, brown bread, boiled potatoes, and the best chocolate cake she had ever tasted. Afterward, while sitting by the crackling fire, she still could hardly believe
where she was or how she had gotten there, but she was much too sleepy to figure it out. She took the Magic Warble out of her pocket to take another look at it, and when she stared down at it; her sleepy eyes suddenly grew two sizes bigger.
“The Magic Warble! Its color has changed. It used to be tarnished silver, but now it is light purple,” she said.
“Yes, of course, Kristina, it is all part of its journey,” Rumalock said. He sat across from her in his armchair, smoking his pipe.
“All part of the journey?” Kristina repeated, yawning. Her eyes grew so heavy that she couldn’t keep them open any longer. Once she fell asleep, Rumalock got up, and placed a warm woolen blanket over her. Then he blew out his lantern and left the room.
–Book excerpt from The Magic Warble by Victoria Simcox. You can visit the author’s website at www.themagicwarble.com
Typically, when Johnny wasn’t feeling well, I tried to lift his spirits by telling him stories about mom and dad. The commander, vigilant in his hope to preserve mother’s memory, told many of the tales to me. In our old home, I sat on his lap on many nights while he showed old photographs of their courtship days or read me letters mother had written when the two were briefly apart.
Joining us today is USA Today bestselling author Dianne Castell. Diane writes for Kensington Brava and also a monthly interview column for Romance Writers Report. Her books have won the Romantic Times Reviewers Choice Award and have been on the cover of Romantic Times Magazine, as well as being included in the Rhapsody Book Club, Doubleday Book Club and has made the Waldenbooks Bestseller list. The second book in her Savannah Sizzles series for the Brava line, Hot and Irresistible, hits the shelves Nov. ‘09 and her next book, Hot Summer Nights, is out May ‘10. Dianne is here to talk about her newest book, Hot and Irresistible.
I more or less stumbled into my writing career. I had never written anything more creative than a class essay or thesis for my master’s degree until I hit the age of 50. I call it my “menopausal epiphany.” Along with hot flashes, weight gain, hair loss, and insomnia, I discovered a deep need to write fiction.
Shobhan Bantwal calls her writing “Bollywood in a Book,” romantic, colorful, action-packed tales, rich with elements of her own Indian culture — stories that entertain and educate. She is an award-winning women’s fiction author of three published novels and contributed to an anthology of short stories.
Title: Football is For Lovers
Balthazar Rodrigue Nzomono-Balenda is not only an author and a poet, but also a student, multimedia designer and translator. His previous books include The Depth of My Soul and The Struggle for Power and the Fight for Survival. Balthazar became interested in poetry by accident in 2003 when he wasn’t satisfied with the way things were going in his early studies and in the Danish society. His latest book is Freedom of Press: The Sitting Duck. You can visit Balthazar on the web at 
JD Seamus was born and spent his early childhood in one of the worst ghettos of Belfast before immigrating to the US at the tender age of eight. One of nine brothers, he is the only survivor today.
Q: Thank you for this interview, JD. Can you tell us what your latest book, Last Call, is all about?
