Sunday, October 01, 2017

News for October 2017

Happy October!
Frankie says hello!

This month is all about the books. At the very end of September, Entangled Publishing released all of the Even Gods Fall In Love series!
I am, of course, thrilled to bits to see this series back in print, and if you love it too, there's a prospect of more books to come! It has spiffy new artwork and I've updated my website to show it off.
In case you've forgotten, this is the series about the gods being reborn in eighteenth century Britain. The Titans, mortal enemies of the Olympian gods, want to restore the old ways, when the gods ruled the world with rods of iron, reducing the human race to slaves. The Olympians believe in free will. They want the human race to be self-governing, and they will fight to the death to achieve that.
Unfortunately, thirty years before the stories start, the Titans delivered what was nearly a mortal blow to the Olympians. When they gathered in an estate in England for a reunion, the Titans blew up the venue, and even gods die if enough explosive is put under them!
Reborn in new bodies, the gods must reassemble in order to save the human race from perpetual enslavement. Oh yes, and fall in love in the process. They're a passionate lot, the Olympians!
I loved writing this series. There are so many parallels between the myths of the Greek and Roman gods and the eighteenth century that they slotted together like a jigsaw puzzle. Sometimes they surprised me with the ease with which they did it. Sometimes I made amazing discoveries, such as when I created the Pantheon Club as a place for the gods to meet.

 

New Release and Excerpt

Even Gods Fall In Love

Where It All Began

1724, England
Thunder rolled dully over the plain. Jupiter glanced up, mildly surprised because he hadn’t commanded thunder tonight. He shrugged. What else could he expect of such a godforsaken country as England?
The great stones on one side of the road called to him, speaking of mysteries not his, a time not his. He ignored them. He would head back to Italy and the sun as soon as this meeting finished. What maggot had got into Bacchus’s head, to call a meeting here? And why did the man decide to become an Englishman? They didn’t even make their own wine, and since that was the one thing that kept Bacchus sane, his decision didn’t seem rational. He kicked his horse into a canter. You could never tell with Bacchus. Unpredictable to the last.
The house at the end of his destination glowed with golden candlelight, every window gleaming in welcome. Hoping for a warm fire, Jupiter left his mount in the care of a groom, tossing him a coin in thanks. He strode up the shallow stone staircase to the open door.
Better, much better. A fire blazed in the hearth, and Jupiter walked towards it, not checking his pace, a smile of satisfaction curling his mouth. The doors clanged shut behind him. He must be the last to arrive.
People cleared a path for him, but he hardly noticed, because he was accustomed to the deference. One of the oldest of the gods left alive he was the original Roman incarnation of Jupiter. He’d seen much, lived through times strange to him, suffered the falling away of his support, but he continued. He felt good.
Jupiter turned as a tray bearing a steaming mug of something fragrant appeared at his elbow. Bacchus bore the tray. Jupiter smiled in greeting and accepted the offering. “It’s good to see you again. It must be ten years.”
Bacchus looked the same, but then, Jupiter expected him to. The gods never aged, unless they wanted to. The man wore his dark hair longer, tied back from his face in the current mode in a glossy queue, and was dressed a coat of deep red satin, embroidered elaborately in green and gold with a cream waistcoat underneath and breeches the same color as his coat.
Bacchus grinned. “Ten years and more, sir.” Currently known as the Marquess of Stretton, Bacchus was one of the leaders of London society, which meant he was of the particularly debauched and half-crazed variety. It suited him well.
This Bacchus was a lithe, clever man who managed his special gifts with skill and humour. A necessary and unfortunate result of being the god of wine and madness was to occasionally suffer madness oneself, but at least it was subject to his own will. Bacchus was far from mad today. Intelligence lit his light grey eyes and he amusement that was part of this man. Every vessel the god took added something of its own to the essential character of the god. Jupiter liked this one.
People thronged around Jupiter, eager to greet the only one of the original Roman Pantheon left alive. Although immune to disease and aging, other factors could and did kill them, but they always reincarnated, their essence migrating to the nearest unborn child.
The remaining gods searched for the babies, discovered and carefully reared them, showed them their attributes and taught them to conceal them. Men no longer wanted gods, and the Olympians had survived by realizing this and living among them unrecognized. Times had changed. Some would never accept that, but they weren’t here tonight, and wouldn’t be welcome.
It had been a good life so far. Jupiter hoped it would continue in the same way for many years to come.
He’d enjoy this reunion. So many of his kind had survived, despite opposition by The Ancients and fanatical humans. Time to savour their survival and celebrate it.


A short distance away in Hill House, the Duke of Boscobel stared out the window of the Gold Salon at the fast darkening sky overhead. The festivities in the old castle must have begun by now. The building had been long derelict, but the central hall remained intact, and the cellars underneath. He’d had the house constructed in the ruins, a picturesque folly for parties.
A perfect place for the private gathering of old friends. And a perfect place for murder.
Boscobel had discovered the real identity of Jupiter quite by accident. Ironic that the very people he’d spent years hunting had eventually found him. The Italian nobleman had not recognized him as their old enemy Kronos, and after his first wariness, Boscobel had known himself safe from discovery. Jupiter showed all his old arrogance and superiority. This time it would be his downfall. Everything was in place and tonight would see the culmination of his carefully laid plans. Nothing could go wrong now. He wouldn’t allow it to.
When he heard a female groan from the room above Boscobel grinned broadly. He glanced across the room at his friend Manningtree, who sat uncomfortably in one of the fashionable salon chairs. “Not long now.”
“It had better not be,” Manningtree replied grimly, shifting in his seat. “One of mine has podded already.”
Boscobel shrugged. Another cry came from above. “If they can hold on for half an hour longer the thing will be done and we’ll have at least half of them.”
Cosgrove strode the room, like any eager, expectant father, except he’d personally impregnated three of the women in the bedrooms above. “God, you’re a cool one! Anyone would think your own wife wasn’t involved.”
“She is there to serve the same purpose as the others,” Boscobel stared at the plasterwork ceiling above him as though he could see right through it. “If she doesn’t succeed, I’ll kill her. She knows that.”
“Are you sure this will work?” Sulgrave asked, voice strained with anxiety.
Boscobel turned on him, a sneer curling his thin mouth. “Yes of course. I’ve been planning this event for years. While you enjoyed your endeavours of nine months ago, there was far more to this than putting a few women in the family way. There’s no mistake. We will have them, gentlemen. For the glory of England.”
 His fellow Titans had been only too willing to help him. “After all,” Manningtree had said, “If we’re wrong, we just have a few more brats to cope with.”
Not long now. With the gods safely locked in their prison, and the pregnant women upstairs as receptacles for the new gods, at last Kronos would regain control. He should never have lost it in the first place.
A practically clad middle-aged woman burst into the room, and without preamble addressed Boscobel. “Another one, your grace.”
Ire rose in his breast. “Damn! Can’t you stop these women? Hold the babies in somehow?”
The woman gave Boscobel a narrow eyed stare. “Your wife is in the third stage of labour, your grace. With any luck your heir will be born within the hour.”
He turned away. “Good.” He hoped it would be, and his child would be in time to inherit. More power under his roof, more control. Sons were the very devil. In a previous incarnation, his son had taken everything from him. He’d never trusted them, but this time he’d control the child from the start. Make him his, instead of hiding him away and trying to destroy him.
When he turned his back, he heard the woman leave in a soft shush of skirts.
Kronos wondered how Jupiter would feel just before he died when he realized he’d betrayed his fellow gods.
Not long now. The gunpowder he’d seeded under the castle would be primed by the grooms. They’d die with the explosion, since the slow matches he’d installed weren’t as efficient as he’d led them to believe.
His watch still in his hand Boscobel consulted it once more, but as he did, a new light flashed across the sky, followed by a dull booming sound.
Just like thunder and lightning. Very appropriate. Everyone in the room rushed to the windows to see a great sheet of golden flame arch up to the heavens, a cry for help, a cry of despair that no one would ever answer.
He had done it.

 
You can find the details about Even Gods Fall In Love here;
Lynne Connolly site
LM Connolly site
Amazon US
Entangled Publishing