Showing posts with label Spotlight. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Spotlight. Show all posts

10.16.2017

Spotlight: How to Catch a Monster by Adam Wallace & Andy Elkerton


How to Catch a Monster by Adam Wallace & Andy Elkerton
Sourcebooks Jabberwocky
Publication Date: September 5, 2017
A USA Today Bestseller!
From the creators of the New York Times bestselling How to Catch a Leprechaun and How to Catch an Elf! 
There's a monster in my closet,
with claws, and teeth, and hair,
and tonight, I'm going to scare him!
He lives just right through there...

Get ready to laugh as a young ninja heads into the closet to meet the monster that’s been so scary night after night! But what if things aren’t what they seem and our monster isn’t scary at all? What if our ninja hero is about to make a friend of strangest sort?
Buy Links
Barnes and Noble: http://bit.ly/2xJziV5
Book Depository: http://bit.ly/2xw4rv8
Indiebound: http://bit.ly/2hwpQ14

Story Time Activity Kit
Adam Wallace is a children’s writer and cartoonist living in Australia. He is the author of the New York Times bestselling How to Catch series and Only You Can Save Christmas.

Andy Elkerton is a children’s book illustrator based in the United Kingdom.

8.21.2017

Guest Post: Wings Unseen by Rebecca Gomez Garrell


Wings Unseen
Rebecca Gomez Farrell
Published by: Meerkat Press
Publication date: August 22nd 2017
Genres: Fantasy, Young Adult
To end a civil war, Lansera’s King Turyn relinquished a quarter of his kingdom to create Medua, exiling all who would honor greed over valor to this new realm on the other side of the mountains. The Meduans and Lanserim have maintained an uneasy truce for two generations, but their ways of life are as compatible as oil and water.
When Vesperi, a Meduan noblewoman, kills a Lanserim spy with a lick of her silver flame, she hopes the powerful display of magic will convince her father to name her as his heir. She doesn’t know the act will draw the eye of the tyrannical Guj, Medua’s leader, or that the spy was the brother of Serrafina Gavenstone, the fiancèe of Turyn’s grandson, Prince Janto. As Janto sets out for an annual competition on the mysterious island of Braven, Serra accepts an invitation to study with the religious Brotherhood, hoping for somewhere to grieve her brother’s murder in peace. What she finds instead is a horror that threatens both countries, devouring all living things and leaving husks of skin in its wake.
To defeat it, Janto and Serra must learn to work together with the only person who possesses the magic that can: the beautiful Vesperi, whom no one knows murdered Serra’s brother. An ultimate rejection plunges Vesperi forward toward their shared destiny, with the powerful Guj on her heels and the menacing beating of unseen wings all about.
Readers of all ages will enjoy Wings Unseen, Rebecca Gomez Farrell’s first full-length novel. It is a fully-imagined epic fantasy with an unforgettable cast of characters.


Author Bio:
In all but one career aptitude test Rebecca Gomez Farrell has taken, writer has been the #1 result. But when she tastes the salty air and hears the sea lions bark, she wonders if maybe sea captain was the right choice after all. Currently marooned in Oakland, CA, Becca is an associate member of the Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers of America. Her short stories, which run the gamut of speculative fiction genres, have been published by Beneath Ceaseless Skies, Pulp Literature, the Future Fire, Typehouse Literary Magazine, and an upcoming story in theDark, Luminous Wings anthology from Pole to Pole Publishing among others. Maya’s Vacation, her contemporary romance novella, is available from Clean Reads. She is thrilled to have Meerkat Press publish her debut novel.
Becca’s food, drink, and travel writing, which has appeared in local media in CA and NC, can primarily be found at her blog, The Gourmez. For a list of all her published work, fiction and nonfiction, check out her author website at RebeccaGomezFarrell.com.
The Dark Call of Wings

At one of my local sci-fi conventions last year, I attended a panel discussion on “An Aviary of Beasties,” meant to celebrate our fascination with creatures that fly. The theme of the convention was monsters, and something about that panel intrigued me beyond it simply being a cool topic—dragons! angels! vampire bats! I didn’t know what else the subject held for me; I just thought I’d learn about some winged monsters I hadn’t known of before.

Well, I did learn about a few of those. But I also learned something about me. It dawned on me over the course of that discussion: I write about creatures with wings A LOT. They’d taken up residence in my psyche, unbeknownst to me. And they usually aren’t the sweetest of creatures. Oh, the gentle coo of pigeons or beautiful pairing of doves might make me smile and occasionally grace my imagery on the page, but it’s the flying things that raise my hackles and most enthrall me.

In my horror short story “Thlush-a-Lum,” a young woman has heard a strange beating of wings her whole life, but she’s never been able to place it…until the night the monster to whom those wings belong enters her bedroom. Other short stories I’ve written revolve around a tiny sprite, a dragon, a butterfly, and I’ve just inserted gargoyle-like birds into my current work in progress. Those aren’t all scary critters, but they all fly onto the page from somewhere in my mind’s deep recesses.
Another short story, “Treasure,” is a fantasy fable that begins and ends with a gigantic flying sea creature named the Laklor. Its feathers are six feet long—the mental recesses that held it must be deep indeed. The Laklor will soon make its home in an anthology called…wait for it…Dark Luminous Wings.  

Did I mention that my first novel had just been accepted by Meerkat Press for publication when I walked into that panel discussion? My book’s main threat is a terrifying horde of flying, invisible insects and much of the culture revolves around feathers and bird imagery stemming from the three-headed bird of creation, which is part of their origin myth. My book’s title, of course? Wings Unseen.
You guys, I think I may have a thing for wings. And can you blame me? They’re fascinating! Who hasn’t dreamed about flying at some point? The way birds make aerodynamics feel like a miracle when watching them fly is amazing. Insect wings come in a multitude of shapes and sizes, from the thin oblongs of a damselfly to the glimpse of a butterfly’s beauty to the neon green flutter of a praying mantis about to dive bomb its next meal. Wings, and the creatures who bear them, induce awe and wonder. And when they’re just out of frame, unable to be seen but maybe heard or felt instead, they produce chills and suspense as well.

I’m suddenly not quite so sure that buzzing from the hallway is just a dying light bulb. I may need to check it out, flyswatter in hand…and perhaps birth a few new nightmares for my next story. It won’t be about things that creep and crawl in the night but ones that careen and soar from our darkest crevices instead. Fly with me? Or fly away?

Thanks to the Indigo Quill for hosting me today!

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4.01.2017

Spotlight & GIVEAWAY: The White Raven by Carrie D. Miller




The White Raven
Carrie D. Miller
Publication date: April 1st 2017
Genres: Adult, Fantasy
Finally, after nearly a thousand years, Aven Dovenelle is truly happy. In her thirteenth life, she’s settled into the now witchcraft-friendly Salem, Massachusetts, where she has opened her own shop and made great friends—there’s even a possibility of love blooming.
Despite her contentment in this new life, the truth of Aven’s existence haunts her. She is cursed to live life after life, with all the memories of her horrific past. For all her powers, she’s never discovered why she was cursed nor how to break it. Hope may come in the form of a mysterious white raven, who has followed Aven through each of her lives. Although they have a connection that neither understands, it may prove to be her salvation.
An evil force from Aven’s past isn’t finished with her. Driven by vengeance and hate, he emerges to torment her anew and threatens all she’s built. He strikes without warning—her loved ones are caught in the wake of his attack and may not survive the encounter.
The cost of her happiness and freedom could be too high as Aven uncovers the truth about her curse and that dark magick lingers.

PROLOGUE
 
Calico, California 1886
They are close. I sense their hatred. Though I am prepared, I must force myself to be calm. I do not fear what comes although I know I will be dead soon. Running from this place now is not something I wish to do, nor do I care to fight anymore. I’m ready to seek out a new land, a new time, and to continue on to the next life I am cursed to begin.
My Pyrenees is at attention by my side, ears pricked and hackles raised. “It is time to go, my girl.” She whines and lowers her head, her big brown eyes pools of concern. “You go ahead,” I say with a smile. “I’ll be along soon.”
I hear the gallop of fast-moving horses and the shouts of agitated men as they approach my home. The sound of heavy boots bounding onto the porch makes my skin prickle. Torchlight fills the windows and I steel myself. The front door splinters when one of those heavy boots comes through it.
“I knew there was somethin’ not right about you.” The man in the lead is Morris Stiles, the town’s bully. I’m sure he took quick ownership of the lynching party so he could exercise his insatiable need to inflict pain and suffering without the threat of retribution. Not to mention the chance to snare himself a witch.
His face seethes with hostility. The men who crowd into the room behind him wear the same expression. The grin forming on his face as he looks me over is filled with decaying stubs that once passed for teeth. Many months ago, I offered to ease his pain, but was met with the back of his hand followed by a brown, revolting gob of spit aimed at my face.
Life in Calico has been filled with hardships. Each time I felt a modicum of acceptance, someone like Morris Stiles would speak against me. My goats and chickens were taken one by one, and the sheriff was not the least bit sympathetic or helpful in retrieving them. I am not one to back down so I held on, hoping for the relief of simply being ignored.
Now, yet another angry mob is at my doorstep. I know my lover has not had a direct hand in this. I am certain that due to the effects of much drink, his lips recounted events he should have kept hidden. I confessed to him this very morning that I am, in fact, a witch, and his reaction was what I had expected. I am unable to hide my true self for very long, and I am either revealed by my actions or by my simple confession. I will not deceive my lover with lies and trickery. I have told myself time and time again to stay away from love but the pangs and yearnings cannot be ignored, not even by one such as myself.
There is no fear on my face as I glare at the five men who have invaded my little home. Each one averts his eyes. As I inhale, my lungs fill with the thick, heavy air the men brought with them—full of sweat, dirt, whiskey, and anger.
I glower at the still grinning man. “Morris Stiles, you are a fool.” My voice resonates throughout the room. The sound makes the men jump and look around, wide-eyed.
Morris grunts and spits a brown mass onto the floor. “Them’s funny words coming from a whore a’ Satan!”
I scoff. “Tell me one thing, just one thing—any of you—that I have done to remotely reflect the work of the devil?” No one meets my eyes and nothing intelligible passes from their lips. Feeling the mood of his men shift, Morris lurches forward.
“Don’t matter! You do things no livin’ person should be doin’. Ain’t but God himself that can mend a broke back, or make Jenny’s fever break even after Doc said nuthin’ could be done. You got wrong in you, woman, and we gon’ fix that!” He lunges for me. Emboldened by Morris, three other men follow. I do not cry out as they grip my arms and shoulders with rough, dirty hands. Morris binds my hands in front of me. The smell of their breath and body odor stings my nose. I am ushered from my home with shouts and laughter. The night is fresh and crisp after the all-day rain. I welcome the clean air into my lungs.
“Why don’t she fight?” someone mutters behind me. “Why don’t she scream? Ain’t never known a woman not to go screamin’.”
“’Nother thing that ain’t natural ’bout her. Like them purple eyes!”
I am shoved up onto an old, work-worn mare. A timid voice comes from behind the rest.
“But she made Pa’s leg stop hurtin’. He’s able to get out in the fields again. Ma said it was a miracle and that God was workin’ through her.”
“Shut yer mouth, boy!” Morris slaps the young man hard on the back of the head. He grips the boy by his collar. “Yer Pa’s lucky she didn’t turn that leg into a cloven hoof!” He pushes the boy backward and turns to face me.
“We gonna show you what we do to witches!” He throws his head back and hoots manically. Several men follow suit; some punctuate their exuberance with gunshots into the air.
The horse underneath me snorts and pulls back from the man holding the reins, jerking her head from side to side. He yells obscenities at her and yanks her bridle. I run my hands along her taut neck and make her listen to my words in her mind. She calms to the song I sing to her.
I am paraded down the main street through town towards the cemetery where the gallows stands. Many outlaws have met their end in this manner, and it appears so will I.
The cemetery is unusually bright this evening with torches on every fence post. They cast a harsh yellow glow onto the weathered wood of the gallows. I am aware of the shouts, calls, and other verbal assaults around me, but I hear nothing except the steady beating of my heart. I focus on controlling my movements and breathing. I will not give them the satisfaction of seeing my fear. While I am not afraid of death itself as I have done it eleven times before, it is the act of dying I fear. But I am pleased by the method they have chosen, for it is a fast end if done properly.
I am shoved up the steps and I will my legs to keep up. I am jerked around into position in front of the freshly tied noose of new rope. Morris presents it and me to the crowd—the ringmaster to this circus.
“Lookie what we got here!” He shoves me forward as if they couldn’t already see me. “By her own confession to Roy Shackleford, she’s a gawd damn witch!” The crowd becomes deafening.
I catch the eye of the town preacher at the far end of the massive throng. His face is smug and his eyes dance with spiteful glee. Under my glare, his grin falters and he moves behind a large elderly woman who’s covered herself in a quilt and grasps a wooden cross tightly in her meaty fists.
Morris continues to speak random sentences describing my unnatural and ungodly ways, inciting the crowd further. I look upon their hateful faces, devoid of any resemblance to the humans they were earlier in the day. I pity them all for their small, feeble minds. I become aware that Morris is attempting to put the noose around my neck.
“I wish to speak!” I yank myself away from Morris’s grip. Much to his dismay, I am stronger than I have led him to believe.
I am booed and hissed at, and the crowd calls for my immediate death. I clench my teeth and hiss back at them. “Silence!” The force in my voice, the unearthly sound I make, strikes them dumb. “You will listen.
“Almost half of you have benefited from my healing skill.” My gaze seeks those I readily find who have been under my care. Their eyes do not meet mine.
“I have caused no harm to any of you, nor your land, nor your property. I have done only good deeds. Refute that, anyone!” People shift their feet and hide their faces behind those in front of them. The people in the front look at the ground. In the silence, I hear the flapping of large wings and see the heavy flames of the torches dance in the air currents. I cannot see the creature but I know it. I have always known it. A sharp, angry cry from the bird peals out above the crowd. There are gasps and cries of fear; some crouch down as they stare into the black sky. I feel strangely calmed by the bird’s presence.
Morris steps forward to speak, and my thoughts close his windpipe. He grips his throat, his eyes widening. My eyes warn him not to proceed. I will be allowed to speak, Morris, but you no longer will.
“As I look at each of your faces, I know none of my words will make the slightest difference. Your minds are small and petty. The only danger here is you. You believe you are ridding the world of some great evil tonight. But all you are doing is worsening your own lives. Ponder that as you lay your heads on your pillows. The evil here is you, for there is none in me.”
I release Morris from where he stands still gasping for air. As he tries to recover himself, he waves several men forward to put me back into place. Coughing is all he can manage as he puts the noose over my head and jerks it tight. When he is close to my face, he spits at me. The smell of it would be nauseating if I could feel anything other than rage.
He shoves each man out of the way so he is the one to pull the lever that controls the trap door upon which I stand. He stumbles and is still sputtering to get words out, but he can only cough and spit. As my last act of defiance, I make those the only sounds that will ever come out of his mouth. My petty revenge makes me smile.
The movement of the well-worn mechanism opening the trap door is loud in my ears. It is all I hear though I’m certain the crowd has reached a frenzied state. For the length of a breath, I am suspended in midair. I look above the crowd as I plummet downward, seeing a flash of white wings in my periphery.
I relax my neck and let the noose perform its job without resistance. I want this over quickly, to have my neck snap immediately. The noose tightens as my weight pulls my body down. The pain is but a quick jolt and then the world is black and silent to me.

Author Bio:
Carrie D. Miller was born in Hutchinson, Kansas, on October 31, 1970. She credits her vivid imagination, as well as her sugar addiction, to being a Halloween baby. In a former life, she was an executive in the software industry for many years. Her career in the technology world included software product management, website design, training, and technical writing just to name a few. Although Carrie’s written a great deal over the decades which has been read by thousands of people, software documentation allows for about as much creativity as pouring cement. At the age of 45, she decided to chuck it all to become an author which had been a life-long dream.
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3.30.2017

Spotlight: Oh, The Things We Believed! (Annabelle & Aiden) by J.R. Becker

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Book Description:
In this delightful illustrated book written in rhyme, the children gaze at a face-shaped cloud. Aiden asks if it is real: "I sense it really sees me. Who knows what it can do! Maybe it has magic powers that make the sky so blue!" To answer, we introduce our favorite feathered-dinosaur, the Skeptisaurus, who guides the children to use their critical thinking skills when determining myth from fact. He takes the kids on an amazing journey through legends of old times, from witches to oracles, explaining how we evolved to see things that aren't always there. But when those myths vanish, they see that real scientific discovery is just as exciting, if not more. With his help, the kids learn that "real answers may not be magic, but they are always magical." This book raised over $11,000 in pre-orders on Kickstarter.


Annabelle and Aiden
stared up at a cloud.
When something it did  
made them gasp out loud.

It swirled into
the strangest shape.
A nose! A face!
They had to gape.

“I sense it really sees me.
Who knows what it can do?
Maybe it has magic powers
that make the sky so blue.”   

“Maybe yes, maybe no,” said
a rainbow-feathered snout.
“I’m Skeptisaurus the dinosaur.
It seems like you’re in doubt.”

“Before accepting your guess
just based on how you feel,
Let’s admit we just don’t know,
and discover if it’s real.”

“But discovery takes work and time!
Why search, when we just could
accept the answers we made up
like feelings say we should?”

“Feelings are important;
they add beauty to our life.
But for telling us what’s real outside,
they can cause lots of strife.”

“Why would they trick us?”
I thought you might ask.
Cuz we got them from people
from our long ago past.

People that survived
by running from a bear.
Or any sort of sound or threat
that often wasn’t there.

That’s why we think monsters
are the sounds under our beds.
And make up our own authors
for the voices in our heads.

We’re wired to see patterns
like pictures in grilled cheese.
On Mars, in stars, in cliffsides -- Oh,
the things we once believed!

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J. R. holds a B.A. in Philosophy and a Juris Doctorate from Emory University School of Law.  When he's not practicing entertainment law, playing drums, or enjoying the great outdoors, Joseph enjoys all the science and philosophy books and podcasts he can, pondering the bigger questions and dreaming up ideas for future children stories.

After publishing his first (philosophical, dystopian) novel The Spider & the Ant, and later becoming a father, Joseph was inspired to found the Annabelle & Aiden series to foster curiosity and scientific awareness in the next generation.

Joseph lives in New Jersey with his wife Leah, and two children, Annabelle & Aiden.
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1.27.2017

Spotlight & GIVEAWAY: Cursed by the Fountain of Youth by Holly Kelly

We're so thrilled to announce that Cursed by the Fountain of Youth is now available!!! This has been a year in the making. With a blend of true history and legends, you'll be shocked and thrilled to see the history behind places we call home.




What if the Fountain of Youth were a woman and that woman’s blood held the key to eternal youth? For Fae Miller, that is her reality and it will likely kill her.

For centuries, countless adventurers have searched for the Fountain of Youth. Those who found it thought they would gain eternal life. Instead, they find themselves murdered by its guardians. There was, however, one, lone survivor—Fae Miller. As an infant, she not only survived the Fountain, she took its power.

Twenty-two years later, Fae is hiding in plain sight at a local college. She’s is determined to leave the past behind her and live a normal life. But for one dying man, the search for the Fountain of Youth continues, and he is leaving a trail of blood and mutilated bodies in his wake. Unfortunately, that trail leads directly to Fae. Her only hope is a young, new college professor, also known as Special Agent Nick Chase of the FBI. Nick is determined to do two things: keep Fae alive, and keep his relationship with his student professional. Both of these jobs prove difficult—especially when love and magic get involved.

You Can Get Your Copy for Only $2.99!!


https://www.amazon.com/Cursed-Fountain-Unnatural-States-America-ebook/dp/B01MU3XQKK/
https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/cursed-by-fountain-youth/id1191498033?mt=11
http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/cursed-by-the-fountain-of-youth-holly-kelly/1125431357?ean=2940153940410 
https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/693160

 Excerpt:



Bathed in moonlight stood the most beautiful scene Fae had ever laid eyes on. A fountain sat on top of a hill. Stone steps at her feet led up to the structure. Water flowed over the side of it, as if someone had been filling it and left the water running too long. The water continued its flow down the steps and seeped into the mossy ground at her feet.
Sloshing through the water, Fae made her way up the steps. Even though the air around her felt cold, the water warmed her feet. When she got to the top, she gasped at the breadth of the fountain. It was the size of a swimming pool, brimming with water that spilled over the side.
The singing stopped, and then a voice spoke, filling her with inexplicable joy. Fontaine. You’ve returned to me.
She’d heard this voice before, but couldn’t quite place where.
Come join me in the water.
“I’ll drown,” she said.
There was a warm chuckle. You won’t drown, my child. You are born of my waters.
“Who are you?” Fae asked, uncertain whether she should be terrified or not.
I am the Lady of the Fountain.
“Is that kind of like the Lady of the Lake? The one in King Arthur’s legend?”
You speak of Freya, my sister. My name is Ester.
Fae looked around at the forest of the Between and wondered if this was the place she was born, and not the bayou in Florida. Could her mother be buried around here?
This is not my original home, Ester said, as if she could read Fae’s thoughts. I have been moved twice in my lifetime. My first home is in a place you call Ethiopia. I lived happily there for many centuries. But then I was stolen from my home and brought to the Americas. For many years, I was kept safe by my guardians, but then one betrayed me and wished to exploit my powers. I did not allow him to use me to further his evil designs. But then I was left alone—until a man named Conall found me and brought me here.
“Why didn’t he return you to your home in Africa?”
He told me my home has been corrupted. I would not be safe there.
“I’m really sorry.”
Don’t worry over me, child. This place is wholly adequate.
“That’s good to hear.” Fae paused, the question she’d been dying to ask on the tip of her tongue. Finally, she asked, “Do you remember my mother and father? Do you know where I can find them?”
I’m sorry. Where they are, you cannot go. I am truly sorry.  
"So they truly are dead?"
"Yes."
Fae’s heart sank. She hoped that Brigitte had been lying and her parents were alive somewhere. Fae could feel the remorse emanating from the fountain and felt the need to comfort Ester.
“But, you saved me.”
Yes, I did.”
“Thank you,” Fae said.
You are welcome, my child.
Fae reached out her hand and touched the water. Her spirits immediately lightened. The water took on a green glow as a breathtaking face appeared just below the surface, haloed in long, black hair. The Lady smiled at her but remained beneath the water.
“So, you can grant youthfulness?” Fae asked.
Or take it, from anyone that touches my waters.
 “What happens when they drink?”
They are not meant to drink. That is a theft. Youth stolen without permission. For most, the punishment is immediate—madness.
An errant leaf drifted and landed on the surface of the water. Fae expected it would float, but it didn’t. It dropped like a stone. This water wasn’t like any other she’d seen. Fae wondered what those waters had done to her.
The waters did nothing to you. I gave you my power. I saw what was planned from the beginning. I could not stop him from destroying my guardians, but I could keep him from succeeding in his quest for eternal life. So, I gave you my power—leaving me weak and powerless. That act accomplished two things—it kept the power from falling into evil hands, and it saved your life.
“Are you still powerless?”
No, my dear.  I am now fully restored.
“That’s good to know, but I’m sorry to tell you that he found me. He came after me. He got his youth back.”
That is unfortunate. I only meant to protect. Instead, I cursed you.
“I wouldn’t call eternal youth a curse.”
It can be. There is no fear as universal as the fear of death. Men will kill to stop it. They will do the most heinous and terrible things to avoid it. And giving you the power to grant eternal life will make you forever a target. Now, will you please join me in my waters?

 

 

About the Author:

Holly Kelly is a mom who writes books in her spare time: translation--she hides in the bathroom with her laptop and locks the door while the kids destroy the house and smear peanut butter on the walls. She was born in Utah but moved around a bit, living in Kansas, Texas, and Hawaii where she studied marine biology. She's now back in Utah--"happy valley". She's married to a wonderful husband, James, and they are currently raising 6 rambunctious children. Her interests are reading, writing (or course), martial arts, visual arts, creating Halloween props, and spending time with family.

Visit Holly at AuthorHollyKelly.com

 

The History behind the Mystery:

St. Augustine, Florida is rich in history, murder, intrigue, and ghost stories—making it the perfect setting for this book. You might be interested to know that some of the most outrageous tales in this novel are actually based on true history—including the tale of Captain Abela and Dolores. The tragic end to their love story occurred over two hundred years ago in a secret room located in St. Augustine's Castillo de San Marcos—a castle-like fort built by the Spanish over three hundred years ago. Tourists are able to sign up for the St. Augustine Ghost Tour to learn more about the ill-fated lovers. The image at the right is the actual room in which they died. You'll learn more about their story by reading Cursed by the Fountain of Youth.

Another interesting note: The legend of the Fountain of Youth has long been tied with St. Augustine and there is talk of a society that exists to protect the Fountain of Youth from discovery. No one knows if the society truly exists. If it does, it is cloaked in secrecy.


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