Featuringgripping Independent authors from around the world, FUSION is the first collection of short works published by Breakwater Harbor Books. Contributing heart-pumping tales of Science Fiction, Fantasy, Horror and Crime are seven stories that will thrill you, rivet you and some will even make you sleep with the light on.  Authors from across a wide variety of genres, Dee Harrison, Ivan Amberlake, Claire C. Riley, Scott J. Toney, Mindy Haig, Cara
Goldthorpe and C.M.T. Stibbe.


 
 





The Sliver of Abilon – A Mirrorsmith Tale – 'and you thought it was safe to look in the mirror?'

Diary of the Gone - Without a girlfriend, bullied by the Principal’s son, and haunted by the dead, Callum Blackwell thinks his life can’t get any worse. But he’s wrong.

Life Ever After. Nina's Story: Part one. – When the dead begin to rise, it's time to put your differences aside and run!

NovaFall - When the Meteor falls, the essences will come, forging flesh and planetary souls as one.
 
Cybilla. – To claim his Muse, one man must find the gate between the mortal and the immortal worlds.

Capturing Perfection – An artist's tale of love, loss and beauty in Renaissance Milan
 
Until The Ninth Hour – Until a man loses his daughter to a serial killer, until he loses his best friend, until he is down on his luck, Darryl Williams must put all thoughts of retaliation out of his mind.



An excerpt from Dee Harrison’s The Sliver of Abilon – A Mirrorsmith Tale
   
Junah Venmark, Master Mirrorsmith, exited the wayportal directly into the seaweed stench of Abilon. The foul odour tickled the back of his throat and he gagged on a rise of bile. Mirrorsmith Guild protocol demanded that he preview his destination before he arrived but it could not prepare him for an assault on his other senses. He vomited onto the trackway, just thankful that there was no-one to witness his most pitiful entrance ever. He loathed the smell of mouldy greens – it stirred up too many reminders of his wretched childhood in the back alleys of Varna, largest city on his homeworld of Vargo – but this was kabbige soup intensified tenfold.

When his heaving subsided, Junah sank down onto his rump, trying to ignore the early evening dew which was soaking into his leggings. He pulled a kerchief from his belt-purse, to wipe the spittle from his lips, and cursed this ill-favoured world. Sissik, his wail, chittered and scurried around him like a silver-furred cyclone, mewing her distress. Junah winced when she skipped onto his tender stomach, the better to peer into his face with her large, prosimian eyes. He ran a finger down her spine and she slowly relaxed beneath his touch.
    
Junah ill? She sent.

No, I’m fine, Little One he reassured her. He grimaced. The smell caught me out, that’s all.
   
Sissik wrinkled her own nose. Nasty, nasty stink, she concurred.
   
Junah delved into his purse a further time and extracted a couple of lozenges from a packet. A few chews later and he could smell nothing.
   
“Next time I’ll take ‘em before I get here,” he promised out loud. “Not that there’ll be a next time!” 
    
Junah clambered to his feet and peeled the sodden fabric from his buttocks. Sissik took her accustomed place on his shoulders, hiding beneath his long, dark hair and curled around his neck like a fur collar. Wails were native to all the worlds of the Regium, even the undeveloped ones like Abilon. Some wails, the silver-furred ones like Sissik, were prized for their ability to generate the acoustic frequencies that Mirrorsmiths depended upon. Others, the plumper, browner ones, made good eating. Whenever Sissik irritated him, which was often, Junah threatened to dye her coat russet. Now, however, she was quiescent, understanding that it was time for work. 
   
The wayportal, part of the network of gates that connected all the worlds of the Regium, had opened between a pair of standing stones that dominated the headland to the north of Abilon. Junah looked down at the coastal town, which nestled within the arms of a sheltering bay. A slash of fire on the horizon marked where the sun was setting and silhouetted the ugly, squat fortress guarding the harbour mouth. Somewhere among the sleazy alleyways of this provincial rats’ nest below was the inn where his contact waited. It was supposed to be a routine mission according to Teren Lemmick, Guild Master but also his oldest friend. All Junah had to do was locate the sliver of Desecrated Mirror, secure it then return it to the Mirrorsmiths’ Guild on Vargo, where it could be destroyed in relative safety. He had carried out scores of such ‘grabbits’ but this time unease pricked his spine. Mirrorsmiths tended towards the superstitious and worlds like Ysreal, with its triple moons, were considered inauspicious but this went deeper than that. Junah’s senses were trained to detect distorted vibrations and this place was riddled with them – probably due to the presence of the sliver.  Sissik’s tail tightened around his neck so he dampened down his disquiet. Wails were sensitive to heightened emotion. He checked his accoutrements once more then headed for Abilon, thinking it best to get this trip over with as quickly as possible.
   
Despite the lateness of the hour, the streets of Abilon were crowded. Every third house seemed to be selling ale and shabby, ill-visaged townsfolk bumped and barged their way through the densely-packed lanes.  Junah knew roughly where the inn lay but he had previewed it during daylight and it took him a while to reach the waterfront. He spent a few minutes reconnoitering then pulled his hood up and entered the tavern.
   
Not surprisingly most of the patrons were fishermen and the uneven floorboards must have made them feel right at home. Junah jostled his way through the raucous hubbub, towards the booth where he had arranged to meet his accomplice, but an overripe, blousy serving girl intercepted him.

Visit the link to Amazon.com below for your 99 cents Kindle copy or the Smashwords.com link for a FREE copy in all eReader format types! This is a gift from BHB to you to show our appreciation to our fans, especially those who have enjoyed one author and then gone on to check out our other authors' works.

Amazon.com

Smashwords.com

Have a wonderful day and enjoy this phenomenal read!

 

Would you do everything within your power to save your people? Even consort with sorcerers or  risk damning your soul? That's Falath's choice.

After a devastating  misuse of magic the world of Riom shifts on its axis, initiating another Ice  Age. Two thousand years pass before Tamilin,  Master Healer and Seer, uncovers  this truth. He learns that the only chance of  saving his world from unrelenting  winter is to reforge the Firelord’s Crown, the  powerful artefact that was instrumental in the original magical battle. 

But the circlet was  divided up amongst six companions who took ship  and headed for safety when  their homeland was destroyed. During the voyage one  of the ships vanished but the segment her captain guarded will be needed to  complete the Crown. Tamilin believes that it may lie far in the uncharted north  and dispatches an  expedition in search of it.

Airen, lone survivor of  the venture,  reaches the land called Dinith, where he hopes to find the lost 
piece. Dinith,  however, is a land in turmoil. Magic is forbidden, the glories of  the past  forgotten. Airen and his quest are not welcome but could Falath, the  King's  heir, be the ally that he desperately craves? Perhaps, but Falath,  descendant  of the Lost Ship, has his own secrets... 

The heart of this  fast-paced,  enthralling fantasy story is the search for a missing piece of a  legendary  crown but it also explores the complex relationships between Prince  Falath;  Rollo, his kinsman and protector, and Airen, the outsider, bringer of  mystery  and magic. They each journey not only to find the segment of crown but  also to  discover how best to be true to their own natures.

To discover this phenomenal Fantasy author for yourself, follow the link below to The Firelord's Crown on Amazon.com!

The Firelord's Crown US
The Firelord's Crown UK

T - MINUS 10 days until BHB's first Anthology releases and you're chomping at the bit? Here's a taste of Mindy Haig's Fantasy/Romance short, Cybilla! Enjoy and look for Fusion's release August 31st for more!

I:

“Will you be here in the morning?”

“You know I won’t.  I can’t.”

I threw my arm across my eyes, partly to hide the disappointment I knew was visible upon my face, partly to avoid looking at her with the desperation I knew she could
see.  “Are you ever going to tell me or should I pretend this is all still just a dream.”

 “Oren, what you want is not possible.”

“You told me once that it had been done.”

“One time, Oren!” she said, exasperated.  “One time in all the history of man has it been done! Once!  Do you not understand that you ask the impossible?”

“One man completed the task, therefore it is not impossible,” I answered stubbornly.

“You frustrate me so!”

“Who was he?” I asked, rolling to my side to face her.  I was angry, more hurt than angry really, but enough so that I could overlook the beauty, the simple perfection beside me.  I did not gaze into her eyes.  I did not long to kiss her mouth.  I just wanted my answer, because without it, I could never keep her.

“I don’t know who he was,” she whispered as she ran her delicate fingers over the rough stubble on my cheek.  “I don’t even know if he was real or if that is just a romantic tale we tell.”

“Now you’re just saying that,” I said rolling away from her and off my bed. “If you don’t love me, then go and don’t come back, but don’t lie to me.”  I reached for my guitar where it stood beside the window.  I sat on the bed with my back to her and let my fingers play upon the strings.  I knew she could not resist the music, and yet, I didn’t play for her.  I played because it was the only thing that soothed the hurt inside me.

She slid close behind me, rested her chin on my shoulder and pressed her cheek to my face.  It was a long moment that the music filled the space around us before she spoke. “Oren, you know that I love you.  You know that it’s more than that.  You are the only man who has ever loved only me.  I do not know the place or the task, I only know that once you start this quest, once you pledge your intention, I will have to leave you.  And I fear beyond all else that I will never see you again.”

“Why do you think that?”

“Because none have ever returned to me.”

I set the guitar down and pulled her to me on my bed.  “How many have tried?”

“Three.”

“What became of them?”

“They died,” she whispered.

“Was Quentin Gallagher one of them?”

She shook her head.  “Quentin couldn’t do it.  He wanted to, he wanted it so badly he vowed his intention.  But he was only a man of words, Oren.  He would never be able to find the gateway.  His
vow meant my departure and he went mad with grief.  He wrote haunting stories about his loss, he made his fortune, but I don’t think that success brought him any joy,” she sighed. “I didn’t love him the way I love you. Leaving him was not...”  
 
“It’s a gateway.”

She sighed.  “You hear only the things you want to hear, Oren.”

“I hear everything you say.  I know the risk.  But I am willing to die for the chance to live a real life with you, and if I can’t have that, if I’m not man enough for the task, I might as well be dead anyway.”

She sighed.  “Do not say the words tonight, Oren.  Give me tonight to hold you in my arms.”

“If you aren’t here when the sun comes through my window, I will shout my intention to all the world.”

“Kiss me goodbye then, My Love.”

“No.  My kiss is a promise that I will bring you back.”

------------------------------------------

Craving the rest of this fantastic short work? Fusion: a collection of short stories by Breakwater Harbor Books' authors releases Aug 31st in  Kindle, Nook and paperback formats!

So you just can't wait until Breakwater Harbor Books' first Anthology is released? You're salivating in anticipation? Here's a taste of C.M.T. Stibbe's Crime short, Until the Ninth Hour!

Chapter 1

Detective David Van Straubenzee watched the man closely. He had a weird feeling in the pit of his stomach and if he could put a name to it fear was the first thing that came to
mind. 

“On the night of Monday, June 25th at around eleven o’clock,” he said, glancing briefly at his notes, “did you take Kizzy Williams from a tent in Cimarron State Park?”

 “Yes,” the man said. His slate-grey eyes were dull as if he was already dead. 

David chewed absent-mindedly on his bottom lip. He couldn’t help wondering if the prisoner was the right man. There was something in his demeanor that didn’t quite sit right. He was too pensive in David’s opinion, dazed as if he had been hypnotized. 

“Morgan, I know this is difficult but when you took Kizzy from the tent was she asleep?” 

“Yes.”

David was relieved. There was no way the little girl would have gone willingly with a man like Morgan Eriksen. His hair was shaved at the sides except for a thick braid that ran from the tip of his forehead to the crown. His arms were covered in Celtic knots, more colorful than a downtown bus stop.

“Where did you take her?” David asked, looking at his watch. It was ten thirty in the morning. 

“About fifty yards downriver there’s a ranch,” Morgan said, staring at David’s bald head as if he could see his face in it. “I parked my pickup there.”

“Frank Tolby’s ranch, right?”

 “Yes.”

David listened to the Nordic accent, softer now since he had been living in the States for eighteen years. “Did you hurt her?”

Morgan looked down at his hands. His skin was sallow in the harsh light of the interrogation room and the constant clink of the cuffs reminded David that his prisoner was well-shackled.

“When she woke up I had to choke her. She was making too much noise.”

“Did she die when you choked her?” 
 
“No.”

“When did she die, Morgan?” David gritted his teeth. This was the part he dreaded the most.

 “Not until the ninth hour.”

That’s how it was with Morgan, indecisive, taking his sweet time with everything. Sometimes he would look up and sniff the air and sometimes he would just flex his hands, big hands, choking hands. 

The rest of Kizzy’s remains had never been found not even after a pack of sniffer dogs had swept the entire countryside with volunteers from the county sheriff’s department. All they found was a statue of a goat with a pentagram on its forehead and eight human faces carved in tree trunks. There were four areas where upright stones marked some kind of ritual ceremony, only they were mostly grown over with grass. The shadows gave a man that feeling, that keen instinct that something wasn’t right and the dragonflies with their membranous wings that wafted just above the surface of a small pond were no longer beautiful. There was a jaundiced blush about the place as if the sun would never set.  

A tired old barn sat on the property with two doors that creaked in the wind. David remembered creeping forward with a gun in his hand, back pressed against the doorjamb until he was sure there was no one there. A commercial fridge stood in the center, light flickering on and off. It was quite
out of place with its hideous display and David couldn’t speak, he couldn’t move. Four shelves filled with human heads, eight he counted, and all girls. A knackery with axes and knives spread out on a wooden trestle table only there were no hanging carcasses on the meat hooks.   

------------------------------------------

Craving the rest of this fantastic short work? Fusion: a collection of short stories by Breakwater Harbor Books' authors releases Aug 31st in Kindle, Nook and paperback formats!