Immortal III: Stealer of Souls …the audio book

“The old woman laughed out loud, unbuttoned her calico shift and let it fall to her ankles. Annabelle kicked free of it, and pulled the pins from her hair. Naked in the moonlight, she whispered his name… “

They thought it was over. The lycans, Joan, Consuela, José and Mark, fought to save Tundra. Now they sit on Topaz’s High Council where they’re feeding the hungry, tackling race riots, rebuilding their world. But a daemon walks the streets by night. He knows about the young woman with the chilling secret. He knows all about her mirror… and of the ancient evil that’s opened her eyes. A new war has just begun…
“Portrait of Annabelle” Cover art and design by Quinton Veal
available as audio chapters at: tehotep.wixsite.com/immortaliiiaudiobook
Print and ebooks avaialable at: www.vjeffersandqveal.com

Are you ready to Slay?

Mocha Memoirs Press is proud to present SLAY: Stories of the Vampire Noire — a revolutionary anthology celebrating vampires of the African Diaspora. SLAY is a groundbreaking unique collection and will be a must-have for vampire lovers all over the world. SLAY aims to be the first anthology of its kind. Featuring anchor stories by award winning authors Sheree Renee Thomas, Craig L. Gidney, Milton Davis, Jessica Cage, Michele Tracy Berger, Alicia McCalla, Jeff Carroll, and Steven Van Patten.

Additional Contributing Authors: Penelope Flynn, Lynette Hoag, Steve Van Samson, Ekpeki Oghenechovwe Donald, Balogun Ojetade, Valjeanne Jeffers, Samantha Bryant, Vonnie Winslow Crist, Miranda J. Riley, K.R.S. McEntire, Alledria Hurt, Kai Leakes, John Linwood Grant, Sumiko Saulson, Dicey Grenor, Lisa Woods, LH Moore, Delizhia D. Jenkins, Colin Cloud Dance, and V.G. Harrison.

Preorder your copy today!Slay

 

Immortality: A Review by Charles Saunders

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Immortal

This is an excerpt of a review of Immortal and Immortal II: The Time of Legend written by world renown writer Charles Saunders, creator of Sword and Soul, and author of the Imaro series, the Dossouye series and Damballa.

So without further aideu here is Charle’s amazing review: Immortality.

“Consider a world that is much like our own, but better in a ways that matter most, especially considering the ecological chaos, economic malaise and ethnic discontent.

Consider a world that is post-racial, but still acknowledges racial differences.

Consider a world in which shape-changing and sorcery co-exist with advanced technology.

Consider a utopia on the brink of disaster…

Author and poet Valjeanne Jeffers has considered all these things and more, and has synthesized them in the form of two novels: Immortal and Immortal II.

These are novels of magic and multiplicity. Their setting is New World Tundra, which may or may not be an alternate earth, or our earth in the future. The time is the year 3075 — four hundred years after a spasm of war, crime, and pollution came close to destroying the planet. In the wake of this warfare, known as the Time of Legend, Tundra’s population pulls itself back from the brink of destruction and transforms itself in a Great Society.

Here’s how Valjeanne describes it:

‘But in the year of our One 3075, war, crime and pollution didn’t exist.

Contamination of the environment was illegal. Recycling was mandated by planet law. Weapons had been outlawed and purged from New World Tundra.

Only a few remained on display in museums. Prisons had become behavioral clinics where inmates were taught the life skills they needed to be mainstreamed back into society.

It was illegal to have homeless living within one’s borders, and cities were punished with heavy fines if they didn’t house them in private living quarters.

Junkies were the exception to this rule, since so many of them lived in dormitories; and they were locked out if they missed curfew. It was forbidden for a citizen to be unemployed if he could work. Tundra law dictated that every able-bodied man and woman must be given a job, and it was forbidden to pay a citizen less than she needed to buy both necessities, and a few luxuries.

Racism and sexism were also relics that the New World had discarded during the Time of Legend, when everyone had been fighting to survive the holocaust. Then, they were luxuries the planet couldn’t afford.

Now, like the chemical waste that had once poisoned Tundra, they’d been forgotten.’

Race is still recognized on Tundra. But the labels are different. Blacks are ‘Indigos.’ Whites are ‘Fuchsias.’ Native Americans are ‘Coppers.’ Asians are ‘Ambers.’ Hispanics are ‘Bronzes.’ The words are different, but the melody lingers on.

Addictive drugs — an upper called ‘rush’ and a downer called ‘placid’– are legal in the New World. At the same time, admittance to government-sponsored rehabilitation clinics is free.

The protaganist of the Immortal novels is a young, Indigo woman named Karla. She works as a caretaker (healer) at a clinic called CLEAN (Clean Living Experiences and No Chemical Dependency). She’s a former addict who is now helping others to kick their habits.

Karla’s personal life should be as ideal as that of her society. But it isn’t. She is plauged by dreams and hallucinations involving a mysterious Indigo man, a seductive figure who seems to want to take her out of herself.

This dream-man is not a figment of Karla’s imagination. He is real, though his reality is not the material, rational, world of Tundra.

His name is Tehotep. His is Other. And he spells trouble, not only for Karla but also for the benevolent-but-rigid underpinnings of the New World.

Change is the operative word. Karla and her new friend and lover, a Copper artist named Joseph, discover that they can transform themselves into werewolf-like creatures that are immensely fast and powerful, but retain their human intelligence. In the meantime, Tehotep is collecting acolytes and remaking them into nightmarish monsters that obey him without question…

In Immortal II, the shape-shifting lovers find themselves transported to the Tundra of the past…the Tundra of the Time of Legend, ‘The most violent era Tundra had ever known.’

The wars are not only occurring on Tundra. There are another ones as well, between Tehotep and beings known as Guardians–and an incarnation of Karla from another time…

The Immortal novels are multi-racial, multi-cultural, and multi-dimensional. Valjeanne is adept at writing about relationships,everyday activities, conflicts, near-future technology technology, and mind-boggling magic. She can also snap a plot twist on par with the best of the thriller writers. These books are a wonder and a pleasure.”

To read this review in its entirety vist Charles Saunders site and click on Recommended and then Immortality. And check out the rest of Charles’s awesome reviews.

Review of my novella The Switch In the Spelman Messenger!

To purchase or preview my titles visit my site

Vampires and Space Helmets…Technology in Fantasy

From the Traveling Round Table of Fantasy Bloggers:

Technology and fantasy: put them together and you have a delicious synergy that’s not quite SF, not quite fantasy. Some of my favorite authors have skirted the divider between fantasy and science fiction. Octavia Butler, for example, while she is almost always described as a science fiction author blended the two quite brilliantly in books like Wild Seed wild seed2

and Clay’s Ark. Nalo Hopkinson also combined them with sheer genius in her novels Brown Girl in The Ring

brown girl in the ring

and Midnight Robber.

The existence of technology in fantasy often results in the co-existence of “science and sorcery,” as Charles Saunders (creator of Sword and Soul) has described my Immortal series. In my novels you have werewolves and vampirestotally in control of their preternatural abilities and using said abilities to protect their universe; but still such characters are most often found in fantasy or horror genres. Yet the Immortal series also has time travel, aliens… and technology to support its futuristic setting. Such as in the excerpt from Immortal book 1:

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Karla walked across the wooden floor of her living area into a kitchenette. A press of her fingers on the first sphere of a triangular pod started coffee brewing.

She filled a cup with chicory, walked back into the living area and pushed the second button on her remote, activating a blue panel beside the window. Jazz music filled the apartment. Like her bedroom console the unit kept time, transmitted holographic images and played tapes. Using the third button, she opened the curtains.

Thus, the Immortal novels have been described as both fantasy and science fiction novels. Use a little science and one still can be considered a Fantasy writer. Use a bit more and you’ve inched into the science fiction genre. An excerpt from Colony: A Space Opera (my novel in progress) illustrates this point:

She was born 20 years after Planet Earth’s decline. The same year IST began building the probes: lightweight spacecrafts that humans could live in for years, if need be, and that moved fast enough to break the sound barrier—traveling millions of miles within weeks.

In 2065, global warning had accelerated. The final stage in Earth’s destruction had begun. Temperatures of 150 degrees scorched the planet. Tidal waves, monsoons and cyclones tore it apart. Those who could afford it moved underground. Food became the world’s most valued resource. The rest were herded under the domes.

Scientists scurried to genetically reproduce fruits and vegetables—with horrible side effects. Money still ruled the world. But money was gradually becoming worthless. That’s when the government saw the writing on the wall and created IST and the probes: spacecrafts designed for one purpose, to seek out planets capable of sustaining human life.

When a writer uses technology in fantasy, the lines between the genres are even more gloriously buried. What may be described as science fiction by one reader/writer can just as easily be characterized as fantasy by the next. The only real rule here is to make one’s technology believable; credible; plausible. Although it doesn’t yet existin a kind kind of literary sleight of hand.

Pulling this off, just gives me one more reason to absolutely love speculative fiction…even if no will ever be able to figure out whether I’m a science fiction or fantasy writer. I think I prefer it that way.

Valjeanne is the author of the Immortal series, The Switch II: Clockwork (includes books I and II) and several short works of fiction.

Her fiction has appeared in Steamfunk!, Griots: A Sword and Soul Anthology, LuneWing, PurpleMag, Genesis Science Fiction Magazine, Pembroke Magazine, Possibilties, 31 Days of Steamy Mocha, and Griots II: Sisters of the Spear (in press). She works as an editor for Mocha Memoirs Press and is also co-owner of Q and V Affordable editing.

Preview or purchase her novels at: http://www.vjeffersandqveal.com

Immortal IV: Collision of Worlds/Valjeanne Jeffers

BookCoverPreviewimmortal4BookCoverPreviewimmortaliv
Chapters 1 and 2

1/Prologue

They were riding the steam train again, sitting behind Ripple, the edges of their seats smudged with black and velvet. The train lurched to a stop, and the doors slid open.
Beyond was utter darkness.
“This is our stop!” Ripple shouted. Even as he spoke these words he had the queer feeling of time doubling over.
The Copper man leaped up and ran to the exit, Karla and Joseph at his heels. They jumped down and the metal doors slammed shut behind them.
Outside, the station’s wood was rotted, the doors boarded up. The windows were dusty and smashed—the few remaining shards of glass, hanging like broken teeth. Ahead, the train disappeared into the fog.
“Hurry up!” Ripple shouted, “Or we’ll be trapped here!”
Another wave of déjà vu washed over him, this one so strong it made him dizzy. Nevertheless he took off running past the train into the fog. A mist shrouded forest stood in the distance, and he sprinted toward it. Karla and Joseph followed.
Time slowed to a crawl. They moved in slow motion now—struggling through a syrupy wave of moments…seconds…minutes…
“Keep running!”
Joseph reached out and took Karla’s hand.
And they began to change.
Ripple became a black wolf, his fur streaked with silver. Karla, a smaller dark lupine, Joseph, a wolf with burnt sienna fur—running through the towering redwoods, oaks and weeping willows.
Thin light pushed through the treetops and made splotchy patches at their feet. Mist floating in the air, thick and cloying.
Ripple vanished.
“What’s happening!” Karla cried out, glancing wildly around.
Joseph took a few aimless steps forward, squeezing his head between his hands. Grandfather—! Grandfather where are you!”
The sound of approaching hoofs echoed through the forest. A creature ran toward them, weaving easily between the trees. From the waist up, she was a fetching Bronze woman of twenty or so odd years with sepia skin.
But her torso curved out into a burgundy mare’s hindquarters, her hair curled about her shoulders, her small breasts cupped by a silver bustier.
The last time they’d seen a centaur, had been during the Time of Legend. Then the female centaur had been a Guardian.
But they sensed that this creature was no ally. An aura of malevolence floated about her, as cloying as the fog.
“Hello!” she said, her lashes fluttering prettily above her green eyes. “I haven’t seen you here before. Are you lost?”
They stared at her. Joseph opened his mouth. For several seconds nothing came out. “We uh—my grandfather came in with us.” he stammered.
Her eyes glittered balefully. “You mean Ripple? Yes, I know where he is. He’ll be staying with us now. And you have business elsewhere.”
“Wha-what are you saying?” Karla gasped moving closer to Joseph.
But he was melting away in her arms.
She screamed horribly—clutching at the floating flesh that was her lover.
The centaur galloped past her into the woods, her mocking laughter mixing with the Indigo woman’s cries.

* * *

The New World awoke to a roaring wind, light blazed from the mirror—swallowing the planet—a churning, savage vortex. Tundra’s inhabitants cried out, as their flesh bled from their bones like wet clay.
The world shuddered.
And was still.

2/Stranger
Joseph came to on a carpeted floor and lifted his head to gaze at her. She stood with her back pressed against the wall, her face twisted in fear.
“Karla?”
She looked down at him: a slender, dark woman with a long face, high cheekbones and full lips. She was dressed in a sheer nightgown. Wavy tresses spilled over the Indigo woman’s shoulders.
“Who are you?”
He rose from the thick carpet: a tall, muscular man with reddish-brown skin. His thick hair was gathered into a ponytail at the nape of his neck.
“I’m Joseph…”
“You called me ‘Karla.’ Why? That’s not my name. I’m Sonya. Where did you come from?”
His eyes searched her face. “I don’t know.”
Karla…The name was like a caress. It reminded him of a song—the words forgotten, but the melody etched upon his heart.
Joseph tore his eyes away from her and scanned the bedroom. To his right was a high bed with a canopy. A wardrobe sat beside it. Across from him, stood a vanity table and mirror. Filigreed lamps were arranged here and there about the room.
The furniture spoke to him of antiquity—of an older, bygone age. Yet above the vanity hung a triangular clock, full of visible cogs and dials and encased in metal. It was ticking loudly.
The Copper man looked behind him, at the tall mirror encased in a delicately carved frame.
“I think…I think I came from inside your mirror.”
Her eyes shot to the glass, and a curious mixture of fear and longing played over her face.
“From my mirror?” He nodded. “Ho-how did you do that?”
How indeed? “I’m not sure.”
BAM! BAM!
“It’s one of the servants! Hide there!” She pointed behind the bed.
Sonya cracked the door. A plumb face peered inside. “Yes, Elsie?
“Are you alright, mum?”
“I’m fine.”
“But I heard you scream!” Despite her humble demeanor, Elsie sounded annoyed not to know what was troubling Sonya, and not to be confided in. She pushed at the door—a polite but insistent way of trying to get inside.
The young woman put her weight against the door. “I had a nightmare.”
“Would you like me to stay with you?” Elsie said imploring; but the plea didn’t reach her eyes, they were cold and hard.
“No. Goodnight.”
In the next moment, Sonya’s face was above him. “You can get up, she’s gone now.” She turned away from him, pulled a robe from her dresser and slipped it on.
“You can’t stay here. Someone’s bound to find you.” She picked up a huge candle from the vanity, and lit it. “I was just about to go downstairs for some hot chocolate and biscuits. Would you like some?”
He nodded. “Alright.” Sure. Why not? Your mirror spit me out and I don’t know who I am. You don’t know either. But yeah, I’d love to share some chocolate and biscuits. An ironic smile curled about his lips, as he followed her out of the room.
Sonya watched him out of the corner of her eye. I should just scream again and have him dragged out of here. But…I’ve seen him before.
They came out into a long hallway, and made their way to staircase that split the hall in half. The carpet was a deep wine color, and oil lamps were interspersed along the walls.
Paintings of citizens wearing top hats and derbies hung from the walls; some with high buttoned coats and collars, others with walking canes. Still others wore glass monocles, and dresses with cinched waists, bustles and petticoats.
Many also sported curious short metal tubes with gears, strapped to their waists. Those are firearms!
And at this, a sense of wrongness swept over him.
Joseph glimpsed more of the portraits across the stairwell. All at once he realized that he was dressed in a likewise fashion. He wore a jacket with wide lapels, a high collar shirt and stovepipe pants. But he had no weapon. And for this, he felt strangely grateful.
Downstairs, Sonya led him past the staircase, and to the right to the kitchen. While he sat at the wooden table, she rummaged about in the cabinet, sneaking glances at him as she did so. At length, she pulled down glass canister of chocolate and sugar, and set them beside the gas stove.
“Do you know what you were doing,” she asked, “you know just before?” He shook his head.
The Indigo woman turned a knob on the stove, and held the candle to the eye until the flame caught. She blew out the candle, poured water into a tin, coffee pot and put it on the unit to heat.
Sonya fished biscuits from the glass container on the table. “Well, you must remember something.”
Joseph leaned forward, his face twisted in concentration. “Very little… I remember being with you—well, somebody that looked like you. But I don’t think we were here.”
Sonya gazed down at him for another long moment, then turned away, pouring hot water into two mugs and stirring chocolate and sugar into them.
“Come on,” she said, handing him one. “Let’s eat in the breakfast room, I can think better in there, and the servants are less likely to stumble across us.”
She led him back out into the hall, past the staircase into an adjacent alcove. They sat in the low chairs, a small table between them. To their right, an entire wall had been crafted of glass.
Beyond it, he glimpsed an alien city.
Sonya sipped her chocolate. “You’ll have to get out of here, you know. If my father finds you, he’ll turn you over to the enforcers.”
Joseph looked confused. “What’s an enforcer?”
“The peacekeepers. They make sure we citizens don’t break the law,” she smirked, “nobody can break any laws but them. If they detain you, they’ll stick you with an indentured family and keep you there—maybe for as long as ten years.”
I don’t like the sound of that.
“Or they’ll make you fight in the wars,” she went on, “After your service, municipal lets you start to pay your bond off. That could take another two years.”
“Sounds like slavery to me,” Joseph said dryly.
A hard smile curled about her lips. “Yeah, I guess it is. You got ID? Look in your jacket.”
He patted his coat. He pulled a folded parchment from his inside pocket.
“Let me see that,” Sonya unfolded it to reveal an ink drawing of him. Beneath it a calligraphy inscription read:

Joseph 22833
Race: Copper
Eyes: Brown
Hair: Black
Height: 6 feet 0”
Weight: 200
Profession: Artisan

The bottom of the page was stamped with the wax insignia of a T.
“You’re an artist! Well, that’s a start. Too bad you can’t remember anything else. But it’s still dangerous for you to go wandering around Topaz with amnesia.”
Topaz. This name too, sparked a faint memory. “That’s where I am?” he asked.
“That’s where you are. And if they pick you up—even with amnesia, even with papers―they’ll throw you in an asylum. It’s where they put crazy people. But not all the time.”
Sonya chewed at her bottom lip. “I’m betrothed to a man twice my age. When I told my father I wouldn’t marry him, he threatened to commit me.”
“Do you have any bills? If an enforcer stops you, you might be able to bribe him into letting you go.”
Joseph’s head spinning was from all the foreign information being thrown at him. He reached into his pants pocket, and pulled forth a small bundle of rectangular bills.
A man’s face was engraved in the center of each one… a cruel face crafted of angels and sharp edges, and stamped with the letter T.
Joseph tapped the image with his finger. “Who is he?”
Sonya handed the currency back to him, with a trembling hand. “Tehotep, my betrothed. He rules the empire.”
The Copper man stared down at the face a moment longer, before shoving the bills into his pocket. Once more, vague formless images tugged at his memory.
“I want you to go to my friend Joan’s house. You’ll be safe there. When you get there, offer to pay your way. She’s always strapped for bills…It’s near morning, you better get going.”
Sonya led him out of the alcove to a heavy oak door. She opened the door onto a tree lined street. Three houses down, it dipped down into a steep hill. Ten feet away, a trolley car idled on the tracks in the middle of the lane; puffs of steam poured from the corkscrew pipe at the front of the car.
She followed his eyes to the trolley. “It’s safer for you to walk, sometimes enforcers ride the train,” and pointed to the incline. “Go down that hill, and follow the street for a mile. Take a right at Culpepper. Travel another two miles and make a right at Mulberry.”
“Then just keep walking. You can’t miss it. Joan’s building is 2000 Mulberry. It sits between two others. Cobblestones lead up to her door. Her apartment is H-12; it’s upstairs.”
Sonya lifted her arm to display a bracelet with objects hanging from it. “Here help me get this off… Show her this and tell her I sent you.”
“Give me your papers too.” She carried the sheet to the end table behind them; then dipped the feathered quill into an ink well, turned the paper over and scribbled on the back.
The Indigo woman waved the paper a few times to dry the ink. “Give this to her too.”
Joseph hesitated, he was loathe to part company with this mysterious woman. He felt connected to her somehow.
“Will I see you again?”
Sonya smiled. “Count on it. Joan is my best friend.”

* * *

Outside he turned the paper over.
She’d written one line.
Look at his arm.

Copyright Valjeanne Jeffers 2012 all rights reserved

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