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FEATURED: The Eye of Nefertiti: A Pharaoh’s Cat Novel by Maria Luisa Lang

FEATURED: The Eye of Nefertiti: A Pharaoh’s Cat Novel by Maria Luisa Lang

It’s summer, and I’m stretched out on a windowsill in my bedroom with the sunlight warming the fur on my back. It’s quiet except for the drone of traffic on the Henry Hudson Parkway and the occasional whir of a helicopter flying along the river.
I once shared this bedroom with my friend Gato-Hamen, the High Priest of Amun-Ra. He and I had fled ancient Egypt on his magic boat. It was only supposed to carry us to a foreign land, but it took us through time as well as space here to Elena’s house in twenty-first century New York City.
Elena’s late father had been a renowned Egyptologist, and she immediately recognized us as ancient Egyptians. She was surprised we were speaking English. We explained that the prayer which had launched the magic boat also gave us the power to speak the language wherever we arrived.
She was also surprised that I, a cat, could talk and walk like a man. That would be explained later. Overjoyed at the prospect of excitement in her life, she invited us to stay with her.
Now the High Priest shares her bedroom, and I share this one with their child, who’s the reincarnation of the Pharaoh I loved thousands of years ago. He’s on the floor, playing contentedly with his building blocks. It’s hard to believe he’s already a year old.
Elena is reading and keeping an eye on him. “Wrappa-Hamen, are you recharging?” she asks, as she always does when she sees me basking in the sun. “You lazy old cat!”
“Lazy, yes. Old, not yet,” I reply, too drowsy to say more.

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FEATURED: The Pharaoh’s Cat by Maria Luisa Lang

FEATURED: The Pharaoh’s Cat by Maria Luisa Lang

Water is filling my ears.
“Useless beast. I should cut . . . tail. Drowning’s too good . . . you . . .”
Egyptians revere cats, but there are exceptions.
A week ago the brute snatched me from the streets, put me in a sack, and brought me on board to protect the load of grain he’s taking down the Nile to Waset.
Cats hunt rats, but there are exceptions.
Which the brute realized this morning. He picked me up by the scruff of my neck and threw me over the side.
If I never see a boat again it will be too soon . . .
I swim toward the river bank. Exhausted, I lie on the shore and let my fur dry in the warmth of the sun. Now that I’m free, I intend to resume roaming from village to village, seeing new things, meeting new cats, tasting new foods. But first I’ll eat the perch I caught during my swim.
I’m licking the smell of fish off my paws and face when I spot a pyramid in the far distance. I’ve heard a lot about them, but I’ve never seen one before.
I can’t take my eyes off it. It seems to be beckoning me.
It’s my destiny to go there!
Tail on high and a heart full of expectation, I begin walking.

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FEATURED: Dark Device of the Great Chasm by C. B. Ash

FEATURED: Dark Device of the Great Chasm by C. B. Ash

Summer, 1277, deep in the rain forest of the Chivit Continent

It wasn’t my best day.

I tore through the curtain of cobwebs like they weren’t even there, then bolted for the doorway. The doors were still open, but the wood I had jammed between them and their doorframe wasn’t going to last long. A pathetic groan echoed through the ante-chamber around me, followed by the staccato sound of wood splintering.

Correction, those wooden braces weren’t going to last another few seconds. I ran faster.

Stone dust was like a fogbank. My clothes and hair were stiff with it and seeing past it felt like a bad joke. Specifically, on me. Gulping down air, I lengthened my stride, sprinting like a madwoman for the only way I knew out.

Then I was through. Past the stone dust, thick cobwebs, and pale-skinned, giggling, scrambling nightmares with too many arms. Little things that were all too eager for me to sit and stay awhile. I threw myself forward into the wall of heat and humidity that was part and parcel of Anestri’for, the ‘Great Jungle’ on Chivit.

Landing on my hands and knees, I drank in the smell of wet grass and foliage. The feel of damp earth was a delight. Best of all? The sound of the stone doors slamming shut on the writhing mass of bodies with too many arms trying to follow me. They weren’t giggling as the doors shut in their face, but snarling.

I hauled my aching body into a sitting position, then placed a dust-covered satchel in front of me. Thunder rolled around in the clouds overhead. I glanced up.

“Hourly thunderstorm. Right on time. At least it’s not a magic storm.”

“Good job, Tela.” I congratulated myself. “Alive, limbs in one piece, and you found it.”

Shaking my head, I reached for the flap on the bag to check the condition of my find. The last thing I needed was to get it back to Ishnanor in a thousand pieces. I didn’t manage to open the bag. A yell to my right gave me better things to think about.

A man dressed in mercenary leathers, and a belted tunic had shoved his way out of the underbrush. Dirty, mud-stained, he leered at me like a prize or fresh caught prey. I shot daggers back at him with a glare. Sad to say, he didn’t seem impressed.

“Here!” he bellowed. “She’s here! Tell Vargas! I’ve found the Windtracer! She’s got the relic!”

“Hells!”

I was on my feet and past a stand of briza-taeda ferns to my right before the mercenary took another step. Shouts filled the Anestri’for jungle air behind me. I ran faster.

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Michael Dane Hager writing credits include a novel, poetry, short stories, theatrical plays, and film scripts. He was formerly Managing Editor for the largest English newspaper in Mexico. His first novel Just Beyond the Edge, was published in 2011. In August, 2008, his play The Last Ride premiered at an international regional theater. In 2020, he completed his second novel In the Times of Clouds & Sun. He has won awards and grants for his poetry and published an anthology of his poetry titled, Reckoning of the Heart. His film scripts have received numerous laurels from major film festivals. He is currently working on a short story collection titled, Wayward Messages. In addition to his writing credits, he is an accomplished songwriter with over 40 songs recorded by a variety of artists. He lives with his wife of 52 years, Christina, in Fort Collins, Colorado.

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Featured Post: Now is the Time of Monstes by A.G. Mock

Featured Post: Now is the Time of Monstes by A.G. Mock

INTERNATIONALLY BESTSELLING THRILLER AUTHOR

In his own words, A.G. Mock’s calling is to introduce you to his imaginary friends…and then subject them to the unfathomable horrors in his head. After all, what’s more intimate than a little shared terror between friends?

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He currently resides in rural South Carolina with his wife, two rescue dogs and at least one ghost.
His wife and dogs he treasures wildly.

The ghost he can take or leave.
Click FOLLOW to be the first to hear from Amazon about his new books, and of course you are welcome to visit him at AGMock.com.

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