Hop Through St. Patrick's Day For A Kindle Or Nook!
This is the second of three blog hops I'll be doing to celebrate the wearing of the green. This one is hosted by Carrie Ann Ryan and is ONE DAY ONLY.
Carrie will be choosing two random commenters from among all those commenting at the 120 blogs listed below--including mine! Every comment you leave is counted as an additional entry to win one of two grand prizes:
Grand Prize 1: Winner's Choice of a Kindle Fire or Nook Tablet
Grand Prize 2: Winner's Choice of a $90 Amazon or Barnes&Noble Gift Card
So chop chop!
Three commenters here will also be randomly chosen for a chance to win one of three copies of my sweet, paranormal romance Kiss Me, I'm Irish (natch). Winners will have the option of an e-copy or print version. Open to international commentors, too! An excerpt is at the very end for a peekaloo.
So leave a comment with your email and then hop to the next blog for more chances to win!
Kiss Me, I'm Irish excerpt
© 2011 Bella Street
What time is it? It was too dark to see a clock, if that was still something people used these days. Emily wondered how such a thought could be possible. These days. Yesterdays. The future. Goodness! Deciding to put off the theory of time travel and instead seek the hour of the day, she eased her legs over the side of the bed. A slight gap in the curtains at the window beckoned and she shed her blanket, keeping Liam's shirt about her. With careful steps she negotiated her way across the room, and peeked through the curtain gap.
Bright sunlight washed over ramshackle structures and small brick buildings reflected in puddles of water on the black oily surface of the roadway. It must've rained sometime in the night. Across the street, a small child rode on some kind of self-propelled three-wheeled contraption. A woman with burnished brown skin walked past holding large bags in her arms. A moment later, a smooth machine sped past—but enclosed instead of open-air like Liam and Tinker's machines. She shook her head, stupefied. Could the world have altered so very much? In such a relatively short time? It felt as if she had windmills in her head, spinning with conflicting information and absurd occurrences.
I just need to think this through, to get my bearings. A sudden desire for a breath of fresh air assailed her after hours in the stuffy room. Emily reached for the doorknob.
“I wouldn't go out there alone if I were you.”
She spun around and saw Liam sitting up in bed, shirtless. Averting her gaze, she dropped her hand. “I...I just wanted some fresh air.”
A sound of rustling reached her ears and Liam appeared at her side. She noticed he'd put on a white clinging shirt with short sleeves. The stubble was longer on his face now and his dark hair nearly resembled Tinker's style.
He regarded her from under heavy brows. “I'll come out with you, but just for a minute.” Liam unlocked the door with careful movements, possibly to avoid waking his sister. Opening the door, he ushered her out first. Once they were outside, he closed it quietly behind them. The air was heavy and warm and smelled of a mixture of hothouse blooms and decaying rubbish.
The light made Emily squint at first, but when she got used to it, she looked up and down the street, struggling to reconcile how she could be in another time. But how could a dream or hallucination be so fantastic and detailed? She turned to her host. “What are all those poles with strings on them?”
His brows arched as if it were the last question he expected. “Those are power poles. You know, they carry electricity from house to house. It's how we turn on the lights without...a flame.”
“Electricity,” she said slowly, looking back up at the wires. “I once attended a house party in Surrey where they had a Galvani machine. We all held hands in a circle and one of the members turned a crank on the machine. Then we each received an unpleasant electric shock. Is it anything like that?”
He stared at her without answering. Emily returned his gaze, realizing this was the first time she'd seen him in full light. His hair was coal black and mussed from sleep. His skin, tan and ruddy, as if he were a field laborer. And his eyes were the intense blue of a milkwort blossom, with a telltale darker ring around the outer edge of the irises. Of course! With a name like Liam she should've realized it sooner. He wasn't a gypsy at all.
He was an Irishman.
That meant this was some form of purgatory. Jem, Donnelly, and Our Lady of the Portal had had their revenge after all.