Thursday, 5 March 2015

Water Elemental by Janine Donoho

Is there hope for a grieving mother’s heart?

Ecopsychologist Dr. Margo Updike loses herself in a shadow life after her daughter’s tragic death. When a century storm deposits a young girl on Maggie’s secluded beach in Puget Sound, a miraculous renewal begins. Then the apparent orphan exhibits signs of neglect and worse, prompting Maggie’s vow to protect and heal her—no matter the cost.

The arrival of a mysterious man claiming to be Sorcha’s father upends Maggie’s life. She finds Morrissey strangely irresistible even as her friend Sheriff Ajax Smith questions the man’s motives and odd behavior. As a serial killer’s victims begin surfacing in Seal Cove, Jax must curb his suspicions to enlist Maggie as a profiler.

Will Jax and Maggie find the murderer before he strikes again? With Morrissey’s secrets trapping Maggie on destructive shoals between reality and legend, can she grasp his true nature before losing her chance to rebuild a life worth living? To what depths—and heights—will she go for a daughter, a beloved man and, ultimately, her humanity?

Title: Soundings: Water Elemental
Author: Janine Donoho
Genre: adult paranormal suspense/thriller
Publisher: Booktrope Publishing

Award-winning writer Janine Donoho grew up navigating extremes—perhaps due to the ups-and-downs of her San Franciscan birthplace. That Escher landscape primed her to embrace imaginary worlds. With one foot planted in fuzzy science and the other in invented realms, she inhabits the land of WHAT IF. Published in novel-length and short fiction, along with essays, Janine pursues the thumps that echo in the night—and writes about those, too.

With her intrepid husband, Italian greyhound and tuxedo cat, Janine makes her home in the spectacular Okanogan highlands of Washington State. Mountain lions, coyotes, and bears—oh, my!


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  1. Hey Storm-
    Since the link's empty, I thought I'd offer some joy.

    Excerpt from Soundings: Water Elemental:

    With great tenderness, Jax brushed hair from her forehead. “I care for you. This case is ugly. What these girls suffered before the end...”

    “Did you ever stop to think that maybe I need to help, Jax?”

    He closed his eyes before again meeting her regard. “This is nothing like what happened to Zoe.”

    A breathless state overtook her. An inner view of her golden daughter arching over the ferry’s rail, her angel wings flapping uselessly, filled Maggie’s awareness. She shook it off. “A predator is stalking young women. How much simpler does it get?”

    Both fell into the quiet of crackling fire, sighing dogs, and Sorcha’s humming.
    “Yundah, yundah, yundah, yun-dah...”

    Somewhere in Maggie’s subconscious, she recognized the tune, but for some reason, Sorcha’s little girl voice registered a different pull than the remembered male baritone. It made her feel bereft and lonely, although on a more manageable scale. She shifted her weight as Jax stood.

    “Well, I guess I should be going. Just wanted to check on you. Fill you in with the latest about Eli and see how you’re doing.” He hesitated a beat too long and then bent to kiss her hairline.

    His lips lingered, again a beat too long. Maggie simply felt thankful for the unexpected closeness. She lifted her mouth to his and their lips clung. His chin and neck felt warm and vital beneath her fingers—so inviting.

    She shared his reluctance when he straightened. “Don’t get up, Magpie. I know the way out. I’ll swing by tomorrow.” Jax reached down to tousle Sorcha’s crown as he passed. “Take good care of Maggie.”

    The girl gave a solemn nod.

    Maggie sat straighter. “Jax? Wait. When should I come by for the latest case information?”

    He pinched the bridge of his nose and replied, “As soon as you can walk without staggering. Or better yet, I’ll bring it by.” Then he was gone.

    Sorcha insisted on sleeping in the second bedroom, much to Maggie’s disappointment. Nevertheless, when Maggie’s head hit the pillow, her eyes closed and she fell into a bottomless sleep.

    Sometime in earliest morning, when even night owls rest, plucked harp strings called to her. Each note fed her desire to an insatiable pitch. When she opened her eyes, blues and watery greens gave her a sense of deep lagoons lit by distant sun. At her bed’s end stood the harpist, nude and rampant, his dark gaze hungry.

  2. I had Dengue fever. Only now getting well again.

  3. I had Dengue fever. Only now getting well again.

    1. Yikes, Storm! Get well, my honey. We'll play again when you're feeling better.


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