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Read-a-Chapter: Rowena and the Dark Lord, by Melodie Campbell

read a chapter

Read a Chapter is *NEW* added feature at As the Pages Turn! Here you’ll be able to read the first chapters of books of all genres to see if you like them before you buy them. Today we are featuring the comic, time-travel romance, Rowena and the Dark Lord, by Melodie Campbell. Enjoy!

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Dark magic…dark passions….

When Rowena is abducted from Arizona and taken back to medieval Land’s End, one thing is clear: she must learn to control her powers of magic. It isn’t easy being a modern girl in an archaic land, and when Rowena accidently conjures up a Roman Legion in mid-battle, Land’s End is on the brink of a war that could jeopardize everything and everyone she loves.

The stakes are raised when the Dark Lord reappears and traps Rowena in a cyclone of lust and passion. Once again, she is torn between the man she loves and the mage who fires her desire.

Purchase the book on Amazon.

Currently #2 Time-travel in Canada!  Top 100 in US!




Chapter 1

The trouble with walking through walls into alternate worlds is you’re an illegal alien when you get to the other side.

“I have to work at something, Rowena.” Thane was pacing my townhouse kitchen with the intensity of a caged tiger. “I can’t be a kept man.”

I sighed and look down at my hands.

Trouble in paradise. This is what I didn’t consider when I pulled Thane through the wall with me from medieval Land’s End into the 21st century.

We’d only been in America for a few weeks. And they had been glorious so far. To know you are loved by another such that they would give up their world—actually their Kingdom—for you is a powerful aphrodisiac.

Now we had enjoyed the luxury of many days together. Enough time to teach Thane how to drive a car, which he adored to the point of obsession. But not enough time to figure out what he could do with his life in modern USA.

Thane didn’t have a social security card. He didn’t have a birth certificate, or any proof of education. And he couldn’t read English. How the heck was he going to get a job in Phoenix, Arizona?

“You could volunteer,” I said hopefully. “People don’t usually ask for identity cards when you volunteer.”

“At what?” Thane stopped pacing and stared at me. His ocean blue eyes were wild. “I’m a classical Greek and Latin scholar and an expert swordsman. How many volunteer positions do you see for these talents in your modern world?”

I was feeling miserable now. It would take me some time to teach Thane how to write English, and that was only the beginning.

Truly, we had escaped Land’s End without thinking of the consequences. How much easier it had been for me to fit into Thane’s world of the middle ages! Was it just that women adapted better to new environments?

“Please don’t worry so,” I pleaded. “You know I’ll think of something. Give me a little time.”

He had his broad back to me now. His heavily muscled arms crossed his chest. I could see he was gazing out the living room window, to the expanse of desert beyond. A lone Saguaro cactus loomed tall amongst the sprawl of lower teddy-bear cacti and Sonoran shrubs. I could almost feel what he was thinking. The lone Saguaro…

“I must work at something, my love.” Thane’s hypnotic baritone voice was sad now, weary. “I can’t bear to see you go to work to support us both. ‘Tis worse, that I know a babe is coming.”

Now I felt really sick.

The sad thing was, this baby wasn’t his. He knew that, of course. I had been married to his older brother Sargon, who was now dead. Thane assumed he was the natural uncle of my child to be.

I knew otherwise.

We had left Land’s End to escape Cedric. Cunning, irresistible Cedric…my distant cousin was a powerful wizard, just as I had been born a sort-of witch (to my great surprise—I didn’t know it until recently.) Cedric had bound me to him with magic more powerful than I could resist. And yes, God help me, there was to be a child from our union, in six months’ time.

It was Cedric’s child. I knew that now for sure.

But Thane did not.

“Do you miss Land’s End, Thane?” It had been haunting me for several days, that need to ask, even if I didn’t want to hear the answer.

He swung back to me and sighed.

“Yes,” he said. “If truth be told, yes. I miss the familiar. The deep greens of our earth, the orange blaze of sun in the sky. Our two moons shining at night. Your world is more muted. It’s restful, but I don’t want restful.”

With a start, his energy surged. He returned to pacing. “Oh, I can train here. I can stay physically fit. But I am a man of my times, Rowena. I like to wear armor. You have no idea how it makes a man feel. To strap on chainmail and feel the weight of a sword in your hand! I was born to it. And while I value books and book-learning, I also love physical challenges. The rush of adrenaline that courses through your body in one to one combat—by the Gods, how I miss that! The clang of metal on metal…” One fist struck the other hand over and over.

I was dismayed. This was the answer I had dreaded. He must have caught sight of my face. His voice softened slightly.

“But most of all, I miss the supreme contentment of knowing my place in the world. I was King there, Rowena—King! But that’s not the worst of it.” He paused.

I waited for it.

“I am plagued with guilt. I left my people…”

There was a catch in his voice. This was the emotion I had anticipated. Oh, I knew it had to be there, lurking in the dark, but he had hid it well until now.

“I left my brother Rhys to face that villain Cedric without me. Logan, too. I left my troops, my people. ” His voice broke with bitterness. “This is the worst of my sins. That I might do it again, to be with you. That’s the hell of it, my love.”

Sorrow cut through me like the sword he still cherished.

“We could go back,” I whispered.

I don’t know if he heard me. The front door swung open and hit the wall.

“Hey guess what?” Kendra’s sunny voice filled the hall. “They have a medieval festival in town! It’s in the paper—see?”

She bounced up to greet us with Richard on her heel. What a contrast they presented—I had to smile.

Kendra with her black bobbed hair and goth wardrobe was a full foot shorter than Richard. She bounced around him like a cyber-punk Tigger. Richard looked for all the world like Richard the Lion heart—blond, two meters tall, broad-shouldered and built to wear chainmail.

His natural state was to gaze at her with adoration. He didn’t appear as yet to be experiencing the angst that tortured the man I loved. Of course, Richard loved cars and all things that the modern world had to offer. He had taken to it like a lion to the chase.

Kendra waved the paper in front of my face. “They’ve just set up in a field past Apache Junction. Can we go, Row? We have to go!”

I took the paper dutifully and scanned it. These medieval times festivals were a yearly thing in Arizona. I had never been before. Maybe it would distract us?

“Thane, what do you think?”

He turned around and shrugged. His face was impassive.

“Oh Thane, don’t be a wienie,” said Kendra. “It’ll be just like being in Land’s End. Of course we have to go. And we need to dress up in our clothes from Land’s End. Oh, we’ll be the most well-dressed people there! Or at least the most accurate. It’s going to be fun!” She did a little dance in the centre of the kitchen.

That’s when I had my first feeling of dread.

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Was there a conspiracy behind JFK’s death? Interview with Jack Duffy, author of ‘The Man From 2063’

Jack DuffyJack Duffy is an attorney from Fort Worth, Texas.  The Man from 2063 is his first book.  On November 22, 1963 he was in school at Bruce Shulkey Elementary when he heard the news about President Kennedy’s assassination.  His parents were at the breakfast in Fort Worth, Texas, that morning when President Kennedy gave his last speech.  In 1970 he saw the Zapruder film for the first time.  He has been researching the JFK assassination since then.  He has interviewed many eyewitnesses including Marina Oswald and several Parkland physicians who treated JFK.  He has met many researchers who have written books on the assassination.  He came up with the idea for a time travel novel in 1998.  He has one of the largest private collections of materials on the JFK assassination.  He graduated from Texas Tech University with a B.A. in Political Science.  He then earned an M.B.A from Baylor University.  He then graduated from South Texas School of Law with a J.D.  He is an Eagle Scout.


The Man From 2063Who are some of the key people connected with the JFK assassination who died suspiciously?

William Pitzer is one of the most important strange deaths. Pitzer was a naval commander who took the photos and X-rays of JFK’s autopsy.  Pitzer told his family he was going to go public with the photos after he retired from the Navy.  He was threatened with court martial if he talked about the autopsy. He was visited by CIA agents and warned not to reveal what he had observed at the autopsy. Pitzer made a 16 mm film of the autopsy.  In the mid 1960’s a Green Beret was asked to kill Pitzer for the CIA. He refused to kill him.  Later Pitzer was found dead in his lab at Bethesda naval hospital. His death was ruled a suicide. His 16mm film disappeared.   Dorothy Kilgallen was a reporter for the NY times. She was the only person to ever have a private interview with Jack Ruby.  She later told people she was going to blow the JFK assassination story wide open.  She was found dead in her NY apartment. Her death was ruled a suicide from a drug overdose.  Albert Bogard was a used car salesman who met a man who claimed he was Oswald at his car lot.  He later said the man was not the real Oswald. Bogard passed a lie detector and recieved death threats. He was found dead in his garage. A hose had been connected to his cars exhaust pipe and put in the window. His death was ruled a suicide. George DeMohrenschildt was a close friend of Oswald’s. DeMorenschildt worked for the CIA.  In March 1977, he committed suicide with a shotgun at his home in Florida hours before he was to be interviewed by an investigator from the HSCA.  Several high ranking mobsters were murdered before they could be brought to Washington D.C. to testify before the HSCA.   

What is the single bullet theory?

The single bullet theory was developed by Arlen Specter who was a junior lawyer on the Warren Commission.  The theory is that one of the bullets fired by Oswald from the School Book Depository hit JFK in the back of the neck, exited his throat, hit Gov. Connally in the back, struck one of his ribs, exited his chest, entered his wrist shattering it and then ended up in his thigh.  The bullet was later recovered from a stretcher in Parkland hospital.  The bullet was Commission exhibit 399 and had very little damage to it. It has been called ‘The Magic Bullet” by critiics of the Warren Commission. 

What are some of the problems with the single bullet theory?

First, Gov. Connally never agreed with it. Connally was an experienced hunter and testified that one bullet did not hit him and JFK.  Connally said he was hit by a separate bullet.  The surgeons who operated on Connally disagreed with the theory.  They said the trajectory of the bullet that wounded Connally proved it could not have hit JFK first. JFK’s shirt and coat prove the bullet entered his back several inches below his neck and could not possibly have exited from his throat.  Autopsy photos show the location of the back wound on JFK.  One of the pathologists at the autopsy stuck his finger in JFK’s back wound and could not feel any point of exit.  An Admiral present at the autopsy ordered the pathologists not to track the back wound. Tests done at firearms labs with the same ammunition that Oswald allegedly used show bullets that are flattened out completely after being fired into cadavers wrists.  More bullet fragments are present in Connally’s wrist X-rays than are missing from CE 399.

Is there evidence that JFK’s head wound was caused by a different type of ammunition than Oswald allegedly used?

Yes. X-rays of JFK’s skull reveal a snowflake pattern of small bullet fragments scattered throughout JFK’s brain. This is indicative of a hollow point or dum dum bullet that explodes on impact and fragments into dozens of pieces. This is the type of bullet often used by the Mafia and CIA because it is almost impossible to trace and causes massive damage to the victim. Oswald was allegedly using military jacketed ammunition which does does not explode into dozens of fragments like a hollow point bullet.

Were gunmen observed on the Grassy Knoll several days before JFK was killed?

Yes. On Wednesday, November 20, 1963 two Dallas police officers were driving down Elm Street through Dealey Plaza when they saw two men dressed in suits and ties standing behind the picket fence with high powered rifles. The policemen ran up the knoll however the men drove away in a car before the officers could catch them.  The police officers made a report about the incident. The report was buried by the FBI until the HSCA discovered it during their investigation of the assassination in the 1970’s.

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Why I Love (and Write) Historical Fiction

We have a special guest today!  Laura Vosika, author of the historical fiction novel, Blue Bells of Scotland, is here to talk about why she loves to write historical fiction!


by Laura Vosika

“There was no better way to understand life than to live it—if not through your own life, then through another’s.”

I recently read this quote in a Ted Dekker book.  This, to me, says it well. I have long been fascinated by people, personalities, and human nature, how and why people interact, and how they live the lives they are given. History and fiction are two great ways to watch these things in action, and combining them makes it even better.

I find history fascinating now. It’s a bit like fiction coming to life, hearing wonderful stories of dramatic events and powerful characters, and knowing it’s all real. Unfortunately, many people—including me—found history a dull collection of facts and dates in school. Even in college, I remember only one professor who really pushed beyond the facts to see the humanity and personalities of the historical actors.  And this, to me, is the beauty of historical fiction: it brings history to life.  Few people are interested in facts and dates. Most people are interested in stories, fascinating people, and great adventures, and these elements are common to both history and fiction.

A typical history class says: Robert Bruce led the Scottish troops against the English at Bannockburn on the 23rd and 24th of June, 1314. Do you care? Will you remember the name, battle, or date in two hours, let alone two years?

Instead, add sights, sounds, emotions, smells—these bring the man to life, as he should be, as he was, not as a dry fact.  Put yourself in Bruce’s place on the hot, summer day of June 23, 1314: in the last 10 years, you have gone from your own noble castles, high status, and royal positions under Edward Longshanks, king of England, to hunted fugitive-king living in the wilderness; from fugitive to guerrilla fighter casting off the traditions of ‘chivalrous’ warfare which certainly would have cost your life and those of your friends and countrymen. You have lived hard and fought hard, and spent years trying to calm the brash hand of your own brother, who has now forced you into the one thing you rigorously avoided—pitched battle against a much greater army. Your wife, daughter, and sister are all imprisoned in England. You have not seen them in years, and they may die as a result of your actions today.  How do you feel so far?

Now, feel the weight of your chain mail, and the heat of the sun blistering through it. Feel the sweat dripping down your back. Look at your men, few in number and ill-equipped compared to the coming behemoth; your close friends who may die: Clansmen from the Highlands and lowlands; Angus Og, Lord of the Isles, with his Islemen in their saffron tunics, who have fought so loyally on their galleys in the western Isles; James Douglas, soft spoken and gentle with his friends, but known to the English these last 8 years as a bogeyman with whom to frighten their children.

Look out across the land you have chosen for battle. Its narrow entrance and spit of dry land will limit Edward II’s ability to throw the whole weight of his great army against you. The marshy ground will slow the fearsome charge of England’s mighty warhorses—against which you have only ponies. You arrived early; you prepared the ground well with murder pits and four-pointed caltrops. You have spent weeks drilling your men to fight in schiltrons—circles of hundreds of spears all pointing outward—that will allow your foot soldiers to take on mounted cavalry. You have carried the relics of Scotland’s greatest saints and implored their prayers to God on your behalf.  You have done everything you can to even the odds against an army three, even four times the size of your own.

But will it be enough?

What is Robert Bruce feeling as the midsummer sun beats down on his chain mail? Is he thinking of the men behind him, the army before him, his wife and daughter far away, whether he’ll be alive or dead tomorrow? This is a real man. He hurt and bled like any of us; he felt love and fear like any of us. What would you do in his place? What would you say to the men waiting behind you, willing to die at your side, on your word? What does Bruce say?

The sights, sounds, smells, and emotions of real stories: they help us to experience it as it was, and to learn from it, in a way we don’t learn from a list of facts.

It was through historical fiction that I first began to understand and appreciate history, to discover the exciting stories in it, and learn something about the way the world and people work, from those who have gone before. It is through the human faces and emotions that I best continue to understand history. This is why I also love to write historical fiction. As a writer, I go even deeper, digging into the layers of causes, reasons, personalities, and how the smallest actions lead to defining moments, to change the course of nations and lives.

When we learn these things, we become wiser, and live our lives better, and that, to me, is the fascination of historical fiction.

Laura Vosika grew up in the military, visiting castles in England, pig fests in Germany, and the historic sites of America’s east coast.

She earned a degree in music, and worked for many years as a freelance musician, music teacher, band director, and instructor in private music lessons on harp, piano, winds, and brass.

Laura is the mother of 7 boys and 2 girls, and lives in Minnesota.

Her latest book is Blue Bells of Scotland: The Trilogy.

You can visit her website at www.bluebellstrilogy.com.

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Guest Blogger: Castle in the Forest by Historical Fiction Author Laura Vosika

We have a special guest today. Laura Voskia, author of the historical fiction novel, Blue Bells of Scotland: The Trilogy (Gabriel’s Horn Publishing) , is here to tell us about one of the many castles she has visited. Enjoy!

Castle in the Forest

by Laura Vosika

With over 3,000 castles in Scotland—that’s one for about every hundred square miles—it is unlikely I’ll ever be able to visit them all. But during my two week trip to Scotland in 2008, I visited 13, a castle almost every day. Several of those stand out as favorites, ones I hope to go back to, but one in particular captured my heart and imagination.

It is isn’t the oldest or largest. It has nothing as fascinating as Dunvegan’s Fairy Flag. It lacks the history of Stirling. In fact, very little is written about its history. Even with detailed descriptions of its structure, articles on it are a scant few paragraphs, at best. Still, if I could fly back to Scotland today, I would go straight to Finlarig Castle in Killin.

Maybe the attraction, for me was in the way I found it. While my husband and I were staying at the hostel in Killin, the manager there—full of great stories and advice about places to see—told us to look for it on our walk around Loch Tay. He warned us to watch for a small path. I watched all too well, and discovered a dirt track six inches wide pushing through the foliage of a small copse. We followed it and burst into a clearing in the forest, in which rose the gray stone ruins of a castle and mausoleum, overgrown by ivy and woodland. We hadn’t seen anyone else on our walk. The clearing was empty and silent. It felt as mysterious and wonderful as the children discovering the ruins of Cair Paravel in The Chronicles of Narnia.

My husband and I spent a good long time exploring the castle ruins. The structure stands three stories high in places, while the walls are completely gone in others. We walked through the arched entrance, into a tower—and out the other side into what might have been the courtyard, now overgrown and with a tree springing up in the middle of it. We climbed the faint remains of stairs, to fragments of the second floor, and descended into dim recesses that, I later learned, had been cellars and kitchens. We never did find the beheading pit the manager told us to look for. (And I later read that the ‘beheading pit’ was really only a cistern to gather rain water!)

The grounds also feature a mausoleum, very complete on the outside, and with the entrance so overrun with years of dirt and debris that you must climb up and squeeze through what’s left of the opening, near the top of the arch. As a result, exploring the inside of the mausoleum means walking close to where the ceiling would have been. Nearby are a pair of lichen-covered Celtic crosses, the graves of Lord and Lady Campbell, that, though dating only to the 1920’s, give the place even more of an ancient and mysterious feel.

As we left Finlarig, the opposite way from which we entered, we discovered the ‘small’ road we were supposed to have found: a five foot wide tar-topped road, complete with large signs giving dire warnings about the danger of getting too near Castle Finlarig: Do not climb on the structure! Do not go near the structure! The structure may collapse!

I most likely would have heeded those signs. I’m comfortable in my un-extreme world of piano, harp and teaching music lessons to 8-year-olds. Which is why I’m really glad I didn’t see those signs! There was something wonderful about exploring these isolated and abandoned ruins.

Perhaps my attraction to Finlarig was that very isolation and abandonment. We were alone. I think had we stayed longer, we would have continued to be alone, a unique experience among the many castles we visited. It allowed us to feel the atmosphere in a way that’s not possible with hundreds of tourists crowding the place. There were no placards to explain or reveal. I think that left the imagination free to roam, to look at the place as it is now, and all the ways it might have once been, to create possible histories and lives.

Whatever the reason, as much as I loved the elegant beauty of Linlithgow, the wax statues of Eileen Donan, the twisting passages of Doune, as much as I would try to return to each of them and more, Finlarig holds a special place in my heart.

Laura Vosika grew up in the military, visiting castles in England, pig fests in Germany, and the historic sites of America’s east coast.

She earned a degree in music, and worked for many years as a freelance musician, music teacher, band director, and instructor in private music lessons on harp, piano, winds, and brass.

Laura is the mother of 7 boys and 2 girls, and lives in Minnesota.

Her latest book is Blue Bells of Scotland: The Trilogy.

You can visit her website at www.bluebellstrilogy.com.


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Interview with Laura Vosika, author of ‘Blue Bells of Scotland’

Laura Vosika grew up in the military, visiting castles in England, pig fests in Germany, and the historic sites of America’s east coast.

She earned a degree in music, and worked for many years as a freelance musician, music teacher, band director, and instructor in private music lessons on harp, piano, winds, and brass.

Laura is the mother of 7 boys and 2 girls, and lives in Minnesota.

Her latest book is Blue Bells of Scotland: The Trilogy.

You can visit her website at www.bluebellstrilogy.com.

Q: Thank you for this interview, Laura. Can you tell us what your latest book, Blue Bells of Scotland, is about?

Blue Bells of Scotland is a time travel and historic adventure, about two men, polar opposites but for their looks and love of music. When they both spend the night at the top of the same castle tower, they wake up in the wrong centuries, caught in one another’s lives.

Q: Can you tell us a little about your main and supporting characters?

Shawn is a modern-day musical phenomenon, who wears accusations of self-centeredness like a badge of honor. He drinks, gambles, lies, and cheats on his girlfriend. Niall is a sharp contrast, a devout medieval Highland warrior, the epitome of responsibility. The fate of Scotland rests on his shoulders.

Q: Do you tend to base your characters on real people or are they totally from your imagination?

I came across a character in a Diana Gabaldon book saying that writers are like cannibals: they take bits and pieces of all their friends and make a stew out of them. I pull characters out of my imagination, but often realize later that I have used parts of several people to make up one character. At other times, I ‘borrow’ traits from people: a certain way of laughing, a depth in the eyes, a turn of phrase, a combination of clothes.

Q: Are you consciously aware of the plot before you begin a novel, or do you discover it as you write?

I’m usually aware of the plot before I start, but I’m more aware of the themes. With Blue Bells of Scotland, I had a basic plot, which involved only Shawn. But Niall had other plans, and the book changed quite a bit from the original concept.

Q: Your book is set in Inverness and Bannockburn in Scotland. Can you tell us why you chose these cities in particular?

I chose Bannockburn because that’s the location of the battle which is the backdrop for the medieval half of the story. However, Niall needed to make a long journey prior to the battle, so I researched castles some ways away, from which he might travel. In addition, his castle had to be close enough to a city where an American orchestra might play, that its members might visit that castle on their days off. Inverness, with Castle Urquhart nearby, fit those requirements, so Inverness and Eden Court Theatre entered the story.

Q: Does the setting play a major part in the development of your story?

Yes and no. Niall’s life, into which Shawn steps, is governed by the war with England. Shawn’s physical discomfort as he hikes Scotland’s mountains, the dangers he faces from English soldiers, and the outrage of others at his behavior—all the things that lead to him changing—are things that could not have happened in his twenty-first century American life. But there are many times and places that have physical challenges, dangers, war, and different outlooks. I could have written a similar story in many settings. What really led me to Scotland was the title of the folk song, whose themes of noble banners and streaming deeds I wanted to include in the story.

Q: Open the book to page 69. What is happening?

Page 69 happens to be the last of a chapter, so there are only a couple of paragraphs! But Niall, the medieval warrior, has recently woken up in the 21st Century. He is suffering from severe infection, the result of an arrow wound, and thinks maybe he’s suffering delirium. From his chambers three stories up, he’s seen Shawn’s girlfriend and a man walking on the shore below. With his dagger drawn, he heads down to the shore to find out from them why his castle is deserted and half-broken down.

Q: Can you give us one of your best excerpts?

Crashing into a boulder at the foot of the hill, he leaned in, scooped the other man over his shoulder with strength he’d never had, and ran, jarring the monk with each step. The town appeared ahead. A more beautiful sight he’d never seen! Already, his chest heaved for air. His legs screamed for mercy. He couldn’t look back. A stitch ripped through his side. Shapes formed ahead as he closed in: crowds! His salvation!
The merry sounds of a festival reached out to him. He pushed himself, Brother David’s abused body slamming into his back, his moans filling his ears, and reached the edge of the throng.

Jugglers in harlequin clothing danced around him, spinning balls in the air. He gripped Brother David’s legs, batting at the jugglers with his free hand, fought his way through to a booth laden with vegetables.

“Turnips, tasty turnips!” bawled an old woman, grabbing his sleeve. He spun his head, searching for Allene. Now there were more stalls, musicians strolling the street, a man with a monkey. He reached the outlying buildings of the town, his head twisting side to side, hunting for a hiding place.

“Your fortune for a penny,” cried a scarved woman in front of a painted gypsy caravan.

“Breads, buns, rolls!” bellowed a fat man draped in white.

Shawn pushed through a gaggle of giggling children. Brother David grew heavier. Shawn’s legs trembled under the weight. Stone houses and merchants’ stalls rose around him.

“Fruits!” a young girl shrilled in his ear, snatching at his sleeve. “Five a penny!”

He took another step, twisted to peer down a dank alley for a hiding place.

An acrobatic team strolled by on their hands, pointy shoes waving in his face. A boy led a string of ponies, brushing against him, making him stumble. The smell of cheeses and fruits and meat and animals filled the air. Shawn spun, the weight of the monk on his shoulder growing; seeking sanctuary. People called and laughed. Colors spun in and out. His legs weakened under Brother David’s weight.

“Alms!” cried a toothless beggar, stretching a bony hand from among rags.

His knee buckled. He grabbed a stone wall to steady himself.

Something gripped his elbow. He spun, yanking his arm back….

Q: Thank you so much for this interview, Laura. We wish you much success!

Thank you for having me! It’s been a pleasure!

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