http://francespauli.com Spring 2012 Catalog Frances Pauli writes speculative fiction with touches of romance which means, of course, that she has trouble choosing sides. She’s always been a rabid fan of anything odd or unusual, and that trend follows through to her tales which feature aliens, fairies, and even, on occasion, the odd assortment of humans. Her short fiction has appeared in numerous anthologies and e- zines. Her longer romances are published through Devine Destinies, and her Urban Fantasy and Science Fiction series are published by Mundania Press LLC. This catalog presents all of her published works to date.
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http://francespauli.com
Spring 2012
Catalog
Frances Pauli writes speculative fiction with touches of romance which means, of course, that she has trouble choosing sides.
She’s always been a rabid fan of anything odd or unusual, and that trend follows through to her tales which feature aliens, fairies, and even, on occasion, the odd assortment of humans.
Her short fiction has appeared in numerous anthologies and e-zines. Her longer romances are published through Devine Destinies, and her Urban Fantasy and Science Fiction series are published by Mundania Press LLC.
This catalog presents all of her
published works to date.
The Changeling Race
Urban Fantasy from Mundania Press
Published: 2011
ISBN: 978-1-59426-374-3 eBook: 978-1-59426-373-6
Series:
BOOK ONE: A Moth in Darkness
A woman must fight a fairy-induced addiction
to her memories in order to save the man who
haunts them...
Blurb:
The boundaries between the worlds have
fallen. Forced to integrate the creatures of
fantasy into real life, humanity struggles against
its disillusionment, prejudice and an inevitable
feeling of inadequacy.
Once an agent for the embassy that mediates
between the worlds, Elizabeth Larson has
abandoned her past and slipped into a world of
nostalgic addiction to fairy revels, dancing, and
the dark lure of her own memories. But when
Lockland Sheen, her former partner and lover,
goes missing, she is pulled reluctantly back into
service. She must venture once more across the
borders, into the land that haunts her, facing a
string of gruesome murders, the imposing
Sidhe rulers and her own addiction in the
process.
While the Embassy’s agents attempt to soothe
tensions between the races, Liz and her new
partner search the fairy realm for Lockland.
Fighting the constant temptation of the revels,
they piece together the trail of an unknown
enemy. But the longer they follow it, the more
it appears that the man they came to rescue is
more villain than victim. And the more they rely
on Elizabeth’s ties to the fairies, the closer she
inches toward the madness that lurks behind
her fantasies.
“From the first paragraph the author had me enthralled…” five stars Long and Short of It Reviews
See the TRAILER and the SERIES TRAILER
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Publisher
Amazon
Kindle
Excerpt
The dancing would kill her eventually.
Her brow furrowed slightly at the thought—suicide was not her style. She stared out the window and
scanned the star pricked sky. The fairies were late tonight. Running a finger slowly along the painted
frame, she considered closing the blinds and ignoring the little monsters when they finally arrived.
Instead she sat, pulling Lockland's letter from the pocket of her worn Levis. It began: "Dearest Liz, It
pains me to write this." She mouthed the words silently without opening the folded paper.
Color flashed past the dark window. The gentle "tap, tap" of miniature fingers against glass immediately
followed. Elizabeth's eyes slid sideways. A tiny yellow face flashed her a wicked grin and pressed itself
into ridiculous contortions against the pane. Translucent blue wings buzzed gently behind the slim body.
"Hello, little one." Liz fought against a smile that threatened to break across her features. "You're late."
By the time she emerged from her apartment, half a dozen more had manifested. They swooped and
fluttered around her as she descended the staircase to the city street below.
"You're making this difficult." Probably on purpose. Snorting, she followed the growing cloud of multi-
colored fairies down the black asphalt that wound between silent buildings. The fairies continued to
swarm around her, taking turns in the lead and motioning her ever forward toward the night's revel. A
brilliant red male settled on her shoulder. She admired it for a moment then stood slightly taller and
strode with more intent in each clipping footstep.
"If you weren't so beautiful, you'd be demonic," she mused to the flock in general. They would lead her
to the park, or someone's garden, or a strip of plantings on no particular street. It didn't matter. She
Urban Fantasy from Mundania Press. Published: 2012
ISBN: 978-1-60659-261-8 eBook: 978-1-60659-260-1
Excerpt
Hoof beats rang like gunfire down the alley. Their sharp echoes ricocheted along the side of the dumpster, rattling the metal and waking the woman who leaned against it. She groaned and wrapped the rags more tightly across her shoulders. Shadows wove across the alley, and the woman shivered against the cold as much as the unfamiliar sound of hooves on asphalt.
She listened to the beats, pressed her thin frame closer to the brick wall and waited for the authorities to dislodge her. When the noise stopped and no cold voice shouted for her to be up and moving, curiosity got the best of her. She ventured a peek around the dumpster’s rusted corner and squinted against the darkness until she’d nearly written off the sound to her unreliable brain’s imaginings.
Then the blackness snorted. It moved, shifting its weight from one gleaming hoof to the other. It lowered its head as if it knew she watched, as if it waited for her to move. She sighed. A wave of excitement swarmed from the depths of her despair, and she responded, drawn by the flick of an ear and the twitch of a velvet muzzle. Her hand reached out. Her fingers curled toward the temptation of horse flesh.
The beast’s nose stretched closer, and she caught the gleam of an arched neck, the cascade of tangled, black mane. Her hand brushed satin. One of the hooves stamped, loud and hollow against the night. The lips tensed and pulled back from a row of jagged teeth.
The woman froze. She felt the first stutter of panic as the horse’s head tilted to regard her with fiery, red eyes. The silky nostrils vibrated, and a snort like thunder echoed against the bricks. The lips pulled back further, killing the equine resemblance completely. She saw the shoulders, the broad ebony chest, and the thick thighs that bent in the wrong direction. Her panic exploded in a scream, cut short by the first flash of pointed teeth.
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BOOK THREE: Spiders From
Memory
Blurb:
The Seelie court is gone, and the Tower has fallen
into darker hands. Now nightmare creatures
terrorize the Fey races, and the whole Fey world
turns to frost and shadow.
Liz Larson holds the last remnant of the Seelie
Sidhe's power. The elves look to her for guidance,
but all she has to offer them is the disturbing story
of their origin, the final truth that will turn many of
them against her. With her dwindling number of
allies, Liz needs to reopen the borders, to find the
missing Marcus Bramble, and to avoid the sudden,
terrifying attention of the new Fey ruler, the
Unseelie Speaker and new master of the Sidhe
Tower.
While her friends in Mundanity race to pry open the
gates, and Marcus searches for the answer to a
puzzle that could save or damn them all, the
Unseelie Speaker marches north, bringing his army
and his wrath to focus on Elizabeth.
What can one, fairy-touched human do in the face
of the Unseelie court's full fury? How can she fight
“With beautiful descriptions and a truly memorable cast, this is a book that will truly carry you away...I genuinely enjoyed this book...The secondary characters, human and otherwise, were delightfully memorable as well. I was glad that the residents of the Dimensional Shift were all fully-fledged characters, rather than stereotypical aliens, and I found myself caring as much for their well being as for Chloe's. It was a great experience to be so wrapped up in both worlds of this book, and I can't wait for the next installment of Chloe's adventures!” --The Romance Reviews
“…it is one hell of a story that took me places I have only imagined in my wildest dreams!” Four star review at The Romance Reviews. Nominated for Best PNR of 2011 in Other Worlds category.
“The author does a very good job of fleshing her world out and getting you interested in her characters. The story moves right along and each page adds another puzzle for the characters to resolve.” Five star review Long and Short Reviews.
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BOOK TWO: Aspect Ratio
Chloe Watson is just starting to get used to her
inter-dimensional career, her covert
relationship with the boss and her life as a cross
A throat cleared nearby. Maris started, opened her eyes and nearly slapped the hand away on reflex. A man stood opposite her, and his long fingers stroked the sculpture she’d spent so many hours shaping. She clenched her jaw against the urge to chastise. He might be a judge, or a potential patron, but he had a lot to learn about ice. She followed the hand with her eyes, willed it to lift away from the lines she prayed didn’t blur at his attention. The heat from a finger—Maris cringed—could ruin her efforts in mere seconds. “The epic battle.” His voice held no hint of his opinion on the piece. It stated fact only. Maris tore her gaze from his disobedient hand. She followed a tailored, indigo suit sleeve to the man’s face, and found her words frozen in her throat. He had eyes that pinned you in place, clear blue, backed by an unnamed authority. She sensed little amusement when he smiled at her. His expression simply cracked. He nodded toward the sculpture, and his finger pointed to the apex. Night black hair danced around his angular face with the gesture. “If I’m not mistaken,” he continued. “You’ve veered slightly from the traditional formula.” “A small, artistic license.” Maris’ spine stiffened. As intimidating as the stranger looked, she felt compelled to defend her work. Years of school may have prepared her for criticism, but exposure hadn’t lessoned the sting of it. “The Summer Prince would typically be ascendant.” She pointed to indicate the sculpture’s deviance. “I’ve chosen to feature his adversary, in honor of the season.” “Delightful.” “Pardon?” She had to tilt her head back to meet his gaze. This time the smile held at least a trace of humor at the corners. His eyes flashed and held hers captive, frozen in a field of ice blue. “I like it.” His smile cracked wider, one end curling as he nodded again. “Wonderful.”
“The subtle concept to this story was amazingly clever with the characters
connected to some aspect of Greek mythology but with a bit of a modern
twist.” Four tombstone review at Bitten By Books.
See the TRAILER
BUY THE BOOK: Publisher Kindle
Maris always loved winter, but she never dreamed she’d actually meet him… When her interpretation of a traditional holiday scene loses Maris the annual ice sculpting competition, her favorite season takes a turn toward dismal. The rent is due and her landlady won’t accept a fourth place ribbon. When the enigmatic Lord Brayce arrives with a last minute commission, Maris jumps at the chance. As her host’s icy exterior begins to melt away, Maris finds there is far more to him than meets the eye and his attentions leave her wishing this particular job could last forever. When Brayce’s family arrives for the holiday, Maris is plunged head-over-heels into a world of secrets and an age-old conflict between brothers. Can an ordinary girl survive at the center of a battle straight out of myth? And if her impossible suspicions are correct, what are the odds that Maris can win her prince?
“You can tell me at the party.” “Right. Sure.” What the hell had she been thinking? Clara hung up the phone and leaned her head against the wall. The stupid dream had shaken her up is all. She’d just woken feeling nostalgic and naturally reached out to family. “I’m losing my mind.” Across the room, her nutcrackers stared and smiled their stiff grins. The dream dance whispered to her, the memory still crisp enough to cling to. She could hear the music, soft, familiar. Holy shit, she was losing her mind. Clara shook her head and turned her back on the princes. Dream or not, dancing with princes didn’t pay the rent, and she had to get to work. The tree jingled overhead. Not again. Clara sat and stared at the branches. Same plums, same tree, same dress—she laughed and stood up. The ground shone with silver leaves, and the fog called with the echo of a distant oboe. She could think of worse dreams to be stuck in. She shrugged and skipped down the path. This time she knew the world around her for a dream. This time she knew exactly what to expect and couldn’t help but hurry to the edge of the dance floor. Her princes would be waiting. Clara broke through the fog and slid out onto the smooth floor just as the nutcrackers began their march down the stairs. She watched them this time, stood close enough to catch the details. The sound of boots rang out—march, march. Her nutcrackers lined up along the floor’s edge in coats of green, blue and burgundy. They wore tall hats, crowns, helmets and some sparkled with huge jewels. Each face was individual, though each wore the same, phony version of the nutcracker’s swirly mustache. Clara couldn’t help but smile at the stern expressions behind the ridiculous disguises. Clara also couldn’t help looking behind them. Her eyes just drifted up to the spot where her newest prince stood. He already peered at her, eyes glinting like sapphires. His mouth twitched at a corner, and he tilted his head ever so slightly in her direction. Clara’s breath caught in her throat. She felt the heat of a blush creep into her cheeks. The nutcracker stood at attention, almost not smiling. But her dance partner this time clacked out of line to her far left, and she had to scramble to meet him. She slid into his arms just as the music kicked up and they moved out into the dance. The floor tiles shifted under their steps, glinting in a pattern of holly berries and candy canes. Clara watched their feet slide over the tiles, leaned into the nutcrackers hold and stared out as the silver world swirled around them to the hollow notes of the oboe.
“Hello, Simon.” Her voice pulled him into step beside her, but she turned back to Mayor Lee almost immediately. The spell held just the same and Simon continued along at her right shoulder, rapt and watching the highlights shimmer in her hair while she listened to the mayor go on about something or another. “I’m thrilled that you’re here,” the mayor said. Simon nodded agreement, but the woman continued to watch Lee instead of him. “A chance to show our gratitude,” Lee continued. “For all that you’ve done for the town.” “There’s no need.” She shook her head, protesting the attention. Simon approved wholeheartedly. “Surely there is, my dear.” Mayor Lee waved an arm toward the library across the street. As he did so, he caught site of Simon alongside of them. “Oh good, Maxwell. Thought I’d lost you there for a moment. The new library.” He continued his argument. “Your generous check for the parks foundation.” “Anonymous check,” the woman corrected. “If you please, Mayor Lee.” Simon swooned inside. He managed to keep walking, resisted the temptation to run a hand through the mysterious town benefactor’s silky hair. He tuned out the mayor and focused on imagining what their children would look like. He’d almost chosen a name for their firstborn by the time they reached the platform. Spaulding’s voice, whiny and trembling with anger, broke through his trance. “It’s about damn time you got here!” Simon started up the stairs, intent on defending the mayor and the future Mrs. Maxwell, but a strong feminine hand wrapped around his forearm. The contact sent enough electricity through him to stop his feet. He turned and found a pair of brown eyes appraising him. She stepped closer and the hand on his arm tightened. Her lovely face turned to either side in a gentle reproof. Of course, Simon thought, restraint. Mayor Lee passed them, took the stairs to the podium with nothing more than a scowl of disapproval for Spaulding. Simon frowned, but resisted the urge to throttle Rutherford for his insolence. “Now,” Mayor Lee waved for them to join him. “Since we’re all here, we can get this year’s competition started.” “No.” Simon found his voice, remembered his predicament in a rush of clarity. He hadn’t had a chance to run the plan by Lee, but there’d be no help for it now. He shook his head. “I don’t intend to compete against Agnes. I suggest we postpone.” “Simon, Simon,” the woman at his elbow whispered. She stepped away from him and laughed softly. “It’s cute, really, but there’s no need.” The mayor nodded agreement from the podium. Behind him, Spaulding sneered and rubbed his hands together. Simon looked from one to the other. He looked at the woman beside him and then back to Spaulding. He squinted and looked at her again. His bride-to-be had Spaulding’s high cheekbones. She had a strong, Rutherford jaw. The satisfied smile, however, was all hers. “As for intentions,” she said. “I fully intend to leave you in the dust.”
EXCERPT: “I thought you were a prop.” Jane scanned sideways just to be sure. At least she wasn't going crazy. The decoration had been moving. “Nice outfit.” The vampire tilted his head and bent one knee, dropping into a deep bow and flourishing the cape for effect. He was good. She felt goose bumps peak on her forearms. He had style. A bit too much, maybe, but then in a haunted maze, overly dramatic probably wouldn't count as a flaw. His voice flowed, as well. He drew out the words, and made each syllable stretch. “Gooooood Eeeeevening.” “Yeah. Nice touch.” She crossed her arms over her chest and stared at him. Aside from the pallor, he had a gorgeous face, prominent cheekbones, and a long aquiline nose. His eyes looked dark from a few steps away, but the gaze pierced just the same. Charisma, that was it. No doubt, he stole the lead in all the little, po-dunk, community plays. “How do you know my name?” “I heard it on the wind, Jane Johnston.” He moved to the side, circling her and keeping his gaze lowered and fixed on her position. “You've come to wake me, Jane. After all these years of waiting, you have come.” “Uh, yeah.” Jane shrugged. He moved more like a dancer than an actor. “Here I am. Now, what are the odds you'll just drop the act and show me the exit?” “You wish to leave?” He appeared at her shoulder, just like that. His voice whispered, but she caught each word and a thread of something else behind them. “I have a conference to get to,” she said. “My boss' car.” She could smell him, he stood so close. His aftershave had a sweet tang to it, and something familiar that she couldn't pin down. He never stopped moving either. One second he was on her right, the next, her left, and trying to keep track was making her dizzy. “Listen, I really need to get out of here.” “You do not wish to leave,” he said. “I don't?” “You were looking for me.” “Was I?” She shook her head, heard the corn rattle, and remembered she still had a car to deliver. “Listen, you've got a great ego or stage presence or what have you, but you really could do better than a corn maze in the middle of nowhere. Maybe try modeling?” She took a step back, far enough away that she could breathe again, and turned to go. “Stop!” He stood directly in front of her. “How the hell do you do that?” The vampire didn't answer. Instead, he flung one arm up and threw his cape wide. The material fluttered and then fell around her, dark, smelling of sweet, familiar musk, and blocking out any thoughts of leaving.
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Jane’s waited years for her chance at
romance, but the vampire has been
waiting for her even longer…
Jane Johnston has always nursed her crush on
the boss in silence. Then a rare invitation to the
If you got a slug for a wedding present, would you keep it? The floor heaved again. Murray felt the cool tip of the weapon slide down her cheek. That time, she was almost certain the room really moved. “What’s happening?” She winced when his hand shifted the gun back into position. “You tell me,” Zander hissed. “I didn’t order any fireworks.” Murray frowned. Fireworks. The fog cleared a bit and she remembered a black duffel bag. She remembered the plan. “Zora,” she smiled and leaned her head back against the wall. Zander’s gun moved with her. “She’s blowing up your sonic emitter,” she said. “Who?” “My sister. You stole her space slug, asshole.”