...some people will do anything for revenge.

A tough PI struggles to track down a vengeful serial killer only to discover that the murderer holds the key to her secret magical heritage.

Book One in the YA13 paranormal/ mystery series Dangerous Magic by Judy Teel. "Expect action, on-the-edge-of-your-seat suspense, and the perfect touch of romance."

I inched forward, far enough to see past the end of the alley and into the loading area of the abandoned Walmart. Only one stubborn streetlight on the other side of the broken security fence cast its inadequate glow across the cracked asphalt. Shadows pushed around the edges of the open space, deepening where they cluttered up against rusty dumpsters and smashed crates.

My heart thudded against my ribs at the sight of the woman standing just inside the slash of light, huddling in on herself, shaking. She was average height and on the plump side, around twenty like me, with light brown hair. Unlike me, her boobs looked ready to spill out of the low-cut halter top she wore, and her tight micro skirt was so close to showing her goods that if she twitched, I'd be scarred for life.

Three male vamps cruised around her like sharks. Their fangs were displayed like sharp, curved knives, their features sunken parodies of a human face, more like fleshy skulls as their insatiable hunger gained control. I wondered how much money they'd offered to lure her out of her zone and into such a dangerously secluded area. Maybe all they'd needed was to promise her the erotic trip that their venom gave. Either way, she'd made a fatal error.

People were incredibly stupid about vampires. They had no idea what they were dealing with.

Judy Teel lives in North Carolina with her boisterous family (husband, three kids, a dog and a geriatric bunny). When she’s not writing, she’s doing the family thing, horseback riding when she can, hiking occasionally, camping as much as possible, reading, playing video games, and generally pursuing her ambition to someday be a impressively lazy.

Judy knew she wanted to be a novelist since she was fifteen. She’d always written stories, but it was in 10th grade literature class during a boring lecture on Billy Budd (sorry Mr. Melville) that it hit her—the world needed more magic in it. What would be sweeter than writing fun, exciting stories for a living?

There have been a lot of ups and downs since then and a lot of delays, but she’ll be the first to tell you that you can make your dreams come true. It takes determination and hard work, but it’s never impossible.

Zian opened his eyes and felt the coarseness of the tree beneath his back.  He had spent many hours, hell days trying to master that technique.  It did not come naturally to him.  No real fighting and stars; they looked somehow darker than they should be.  There was also that sticky sweet smell, almost metallic.

Zian raised his head carefully and sniffed again.  He knew that smell –  he had smelled it on enough battlefields.  It was blood.   He looked down once more and followed the arms wrapped around his waist to the trembling shoulders, small and frail, up the neck to the face buried and sobbing in his side.   He jerked the young girl away from him, the scent of blood still fresh in his nostrils.  She squealed as he ripped her arms from around him.  Zian looked down in shock to find the panicked face of Hua staring up at him.

“Be quiet!” he hissed, taking her by the shoulders and shaking her roughly. She cried out once more, and Zian pulled her fiercely into him to muffle the sound.  At first she struggled, clawing instinctively at his back, but then Zian felt her shudder, and finally relax her shoulders, her fear and exhaustion over-riding her will to fight.  He felt her pulse slow.

“There, now sit down,” he ordered, pushing her gently down to the ground.  His eyes searched her body and face for any injuries, and marveled at the amount of blood that was on her clothes.  The blood covered her arms, her chest and splattered onto her face.  Zian tore her robe and looked closely for the knife wounds that he was certain that existed.  He found the skin pale and trembling, but unmarked.  Her eyes flashed a fearful, vacant look in the passing moonlight.  Zian swallowed quickly and with unsteady fingers tried to return her robe to the original condition.  Once Hua was properly covered, Zian leaned back and moved away.  He shook his head, angry with himself for being such a fool.  Tearing off the clothes of a woman, one who was engaged to Lord Nianzu’s son.  Even Hai would have an issue with this.

Zian opened his eyes and felt the coarseness of the tree beneath his back.  He had spent many hours, hell days trying to master that technique.  It did not come naturally to him.  No real fighting and stars; they looked somehow darker than they should be.  There was also that sticky sweet smell, almost metallic.

Zian raised his head carefully and sniffed again.  He knew that smell –  he had smelled it on enough battlefields.  It was blood.   He looked down once more and followed the arms wrapped around his waist to the trembling shoulders, small and frail, up the neck to the face buried and sobbing in his side.   He jerked the young girl away from him, the scent of blood still fresh in his nostrils.  She squealed as he ripped her arms from around him.  Zian looked down in shock to find the panicked face of Hua staring up at him.

“Be quiet!” he hissed, taking her by the shoulders and shaking her roughly. She cried out once more, and Zian pulled her fiercely into him to muffle the sound.  At first she struggled, clawing instinctively at his back, but then Zian felt her shudder, and finally relax her shoulders, her fear and exhaustion over-riding her will to fight.  He felt her pulse slow.

“There, now sit down,” he ordered, pushing her gently down to the ground.  His eyes searched her body and face for any injuries, and marveled at the amount of blood that was on her clothes.  The blood covered her arms, her chest and splattered onto her face.  Zian tore her robe and looked closely for the knife wounds that he was certain that existed.  He found the skin pale and trembling, but unmarked.  Her eyes flashed a fearful, vacant look in the passing moonlight.  Zian swallowed quickly and with unsteady fingers tried to return her robe to the original condition.  Once Hua was properly covered, Zian leaned back and moved away.  He shook his head, angry with himself for being such a fool.  Tearing off the clothes of a woman, one who was engaged to Lord Nianzu’s son.  Even Hai would have an issue with this.

The Spring and Autumn Murders is set in ancient China. Three friends, Hai, Lei and Zian are military pals who are sent from their home kingdom of Zhou to a village in the northern area of Jin. Their mission is to help patrol the border against barbarians from the surrounding mountains under the direction of Lord Nianzu. The mystery begins when Hua, the fiance of Lord Nianzu's son, stumbles into camp, alone, terrified, and covered in blood. The mystery is carried through from there, the plot pulling the reader forward with a sincere desire to find out whodunit.


The bond unique to individuals who face shared danger and challenges is evident in the believable friendship of the main characters.  Their friendship is not perfect, as few are, which makes it even more realistic, and sustains the plot beautifully.


Seeber's story failed to receive four stars not due to the many errors, most of which were probably due to technological problems (Ex: every word with double l's has a blank space in place of the second "l," and there are random numbers that appear in the text, in the mobi version), but because it lacked mood and an "ancient" atmosphere, due almost entirely to a lack of description.  With a very low word count, the story would have benefited with a few more descriptions to help with setting, mood, and pace.


Book Bling gives this novel three (3) stars!

Laura Seeber has worked as a geologist, an environmental consultant, and a freelance writer.  She currently divides her time between her own environmental consulting business, handling various ghostwriting and freelance writing projects, and her own fiction writing.  Her interests include history, outdoor activities, martial arts, mysteries, and non-fiction material.  The Spring and Autumn Murders is her first novel.   She currently lives in Illinois with her husband, Michael.

Cover art by Marcy Rachel Designs

Model Photographer: WinterWolf Studios

This is an exciting collaboration between a Steampunk writer and a Paranormal Romance author. Together we are blending the two cultures as seamlessly as possible so that fans of both genre will love what we’ve come up with.

When a crippled young lord rescues a girl falling from a tree, it reveals a secret about himself and his mother's side of the family that could put him at the center of a war with beings he thought only existed in fairy tales.

Tristan Gareth Smyth lived his entire life stuck at home at Waverly Park and left behind while his Grandfather makes trips to London, all because of his blasted wheelchair.

Then an American heiress falls in his lap, literally, and he must find a way to keep her at a distance to protect not only his secret, but everyone around him from an assassin sent to kill him.

Twelve-year-old Tristan Gareth Smyth gripped the armrests of his wheelchair and said, “This will do. I can make it the rest of the way on my own from here.”

His eyes trained up the landmark tree and he had that feeling again. The vapor of a memory, maybe a dream. He always had that feeling when he looked up at the broad branches of this particular oak. Then he remembered who he was talking to and his face hardened.

The new maid, Sarah, with her strong Scottish burr, patted him on the shoulder. Gareth refused to look at her. He stared down at his knee pants instead. “Are ye sure ye will be alright? I do na mind walking with ye the rest of the way to Mr. Strong’s house.”

Gareth clenched his hands into fists. “I’ll be fine.”

“Too bad he didn’t like coming out to the manor. Remember how green Mr. Strong got when he choked on my spice cake that day and ran off.” She laughed but tried to cover it with a cough. “I thought that would be the end of ’im but he worked it out with yer grandfather to instruct ye in town. Funny, my spice didn’t bother the rest of ye.”

She bent down in front of Gareth, attempting to make eye contact. “There are lots of children in this section of town. Ye might try making friends with ’em.”

Gareth turned away and clenched his jaw. Children never wanted to make friends with him. The chair made them uncomfortable. And what did he care anyway? He attempted to give her as stern a look as his grandfather would. “I know the way from here, and I won’t be late. You can go on to market, now.”

The breeze picked up and blew wisps of red hair into the woman’s round face. She smiled. Was she making fun of him? “Oh, it’s such a pretty day. This fresh air will do ye good, for certain.”

Gareth scowled.

She patted her hands on her knees and stood straight again. “Well then, I’ll leave ye to it. I’ve got to run off to the baker’s. Be sure to get to Mr. Strong’s in a timely manner. Though I think yer old governess was doing a fine job. Not sure why ye need Mr. Strong. But I guess it’s none of my concern.”

She was a servant, in uniform, and he was a future lord. Following his instruction was her duty. She and her husband, Thompton had been employed by his grandfather only six months. They might find themselves out of work and heading back to Scotland, if she kept voicing that sort of opinion.

No, Gareth could never really get them fired. But he’d make her think he would. He shook his head in the same disapproving manner he’d seen his grandfather use.

The sunlight played in the golden highlights of the woman’s ruby hair. Although her green eyes twinkled, she continued to voice her cutting opinion. She placed one hand on his shoulder. “It’s not being stuck in this chair that keeps ye lonely. It’s yer surly attitude.”

Gareth couldn’t help but let his face scrunch a little. He crossed his arms and turned his face from her.

Her accent was thick and melodic, familiar in a way. His mother had been Scottish though he hardly remembered her. Still, Gareth kept his pout in place. The truth was, he didn’t know how to relate to others. Even people who could feel at ease talking to perfect strangers stammered or spoke quickly to him and walked away. The wheelchair did more than keep him from playing.

She straightened the collar of his waistcoat. “Look, there’s a little girl coming now. She looks to be about Tabitha’s age. Maybe a wee bit older.”

He did glance then, but just under his lashes, not to give the impression that he cared. Easier to act like he didn’t care than to show he truly did. He refused to give anyone more reason to feel sorry for him. No one pities an angry person.

He missed Tabitha…Tabitha Fitzgerald, Lord Gerald Smyth’s bastard daughter. But ward was her polite title. At five years old, she was the only person he allowed to get close. Maybe it was the way she climbed up in his lap, never caring about the wheelchair. She didn’t see it when she looked at him, she only saw Gareth.

He never spoke to Tabitha about who her parents really were, but she knew. For some reason, servants believed children to be both deaf and dumb, and gossiped openly around them. That’s how Gareth knew the truth about his own mother. He was told she died, but he’d overheard the maids say she had run back home to Scotland and how they didn’t blame her. It’s also how he’d learned the truth of his own father’s death—shot by his mistress’s jealous husband.

“I’m heading off. I’ll be sure to get ye a sweet roll for later.”

Gareth only grunted in response.

When the maid turned away, Gareth allowed himself to watch the little girl play. Her hair was a darker blonde than Tabitha’s and had streaks of amber. She looked to be a bit taller, too, as she ran around in a green day dress and stockings. She pushed a hoop along until she reached the tree. Once there she looked both ways. Her eyes met Gareth’s and, for a moment, he was tempted to turn away to keep her from doing it first. Instead, she smiled broadly and beckoned him closer.

Gareth wheeled his chair to the tree trunk, his curiosity getting the better of him. The girl dropped the hoop on the ground and took hold of the lowest branch. She whispered in an accent he didn’t recognize, “Keep watch for me, and call out if you see anyone coming.”

His chin tucked in and his eyes grew wide. She took it as assent, and nodded, starting her climb. She was spirited like Tabitha. The thought of being able to climb a tree at all pricked at Gareth’s heart. He would never get to climb a tree.

Again he took on the expression of being bored. No one needed to know he was jealous of the girl. Gareth made a habit of never owning his true feelings. It was his protective covering. With his lids half closed, he tried not to watch the girl or keep an eye out for anyone else’s approach. Without his permission, his gaze returned to the girl’s powder white limbs as she climbed higher than most children did.

Soon she was too high up.

Gareth adjusted himself in his seat, his eyes darting around. Instead of keeping lookout, he hoped for some adult to show up and tell the girl to come down.

The girl called down in a harsh whisper.“Look! Watch this.”

She scooted out on a limb, making her way to a bird’s nest. The limb wobbled as she got closer to the end.

He was about to call out a warning to her when it was too late. The branch snapped. The little girl was falling with barely a squeal.

All Gareth could think was that he needed to do something. It was then he noticed he was rushing towards her. He wasn’t sure how he was moving his wheelchair and catching her but he did. Her giant brown eyes grew as he held her. Then she looked about and her eyes became wider. He swallowed hard and stared at the ground several feet away.

In a rush, he placed the girl on the grass and flew back to his chair. His heart still pounded in his ears as he sat. He tried to mask his confusion as he masked all other uncomfortable emotions, but it wasn’t working. The girl stared at him, but said nothing as a dark haired woman rushed toward her.

“Sweeting, are you ok?” The woman swept the girl up into her arms. “I got here as fast as I could. I can’t believe you did that. I thought I told you not to climb that tree.”

She put the girl back down and looked her over, grabbing her head and looking for a sign of injury. “Aren’t you hurt at all? I saw you falling from the window upstairs.”

The girl shook her head too quickly, like she was still in shock.

“Come on back to the house,” the pinch-faced woman snapped, ushering the little girl away.

The girl yanked her hand free of the woman’s grasp and rushed back to Gareth. She placed an object in his hand and kissed his cheek.

“You were amazing,” she whispered and turned back to the woman who called out her name.

Gareth’s cheeks burned. What did the woman say the girl’s name was? He didn’t hear with the blood rushing to his ear drums. Jessie? Jenny?

The woman scolded the girl as she returned to her. “What did you do? Where are your manners? You don’t talk to cripples. Best to act like you don’t see them at all.”

The words struck Gareth like a bucket of cold water. But he let it slide off him as he thought about the fact that he had flown. He watched after the girl as her dark eyes stared back. His mind was muddled at what had happened. The muscles in his face hardened and he glared at the woman’s back as they retreated.

Shaking his head, he remembered he was supposed to be heading to Mr. Strong’s house. He pushed on the wheels of his chair down the road again. He’d forgotten he was holding something, and nearly dropped it. The small, pale blue-green stone had a few dark wrinkles, but almost looked like a robin’s egg. He put it to his nose. Flowers. It smelled just like the girl.

Gareth was so caught up in staring at how tiny the stone was in his palm, he’d forgotten all about Mr. Strong until the man called, “Master Tristan, what are you doing out here? You were to report to my house a quarter of an hour ago.”

“I prefer Gareth.” He narrowed his eyes at the pale, feeble man.

Mr. Strong ran a hand through his thin blond hair and smiled, his lips forming a thin line. “Yes, of course.”

Mr. Strong placed himself behind Gareth’s chair and pushed down the lane. “I have an excellent plan for your studies today. I see you’ve brought no supplies from your home, but no matter, I have plenty of paper and pens to practice your lettering…”

Gareth rolled his eyes, knowing Mr. Strong couldn’t see. The man’s cheerful babble continued as he pushed them towards the house past the inn. The stone rolled between Gareth’s fingers, and he remembered the feeling of the girl’s lips on his cheek.

Love the mood of Steampunk and the what-if enticement of fairies? This book's for you!  It's a great YA leisure read--an inspirational love story lightly flavored with Steampunk elements and a secretly- fey hero plot line. 

It's a great personal growth story, examining the angst and trials of the young wheelchair bound Lord. Jess's genuine strength and kindness, her unfailing sticktoitiveness, are inspirational. The Ying/Yang of the main characters will draw you into their lives and make you root for Jess to chip away at Lord Gareth's armor until she captures his heart. 

If this story has any draw-back, it would be that there are too many loose ends, even for a series opener. It would benefit from a couple extra chapters.

Book Bling gives this novel 3 1/2 Stars!