Once again I was delighted to receive a
message from author Nola Sarina asking me to review her new novella Phantom Nights. Phantom Nights is the third in the Vesper series and I have to say after reading the first two, Gilded Destiny and Jaded Touch, I was really looking forward to this latest addition to the series. You can follow these links if you want to read more about them.
Samantha Murphy isn’t afraid of the hallucinations that plague her
nights. Phantoms aren’t real. They can’t hurt her. But then she meets a
phantom who shakes her faith in her own psychosis: the impossibly fast
and charming Sychar. He’s a Vesper... enslaved by a dark master and
forbidden to consort with humans.
My Thought on Phantom Nights.
All I can start with is WOW Nola Sarina does it again!!
This is a very well written novella that I found impossible to put down. The characters came to life in
a way that I could not believe. I really enjoyed Nola's first two novellas but this was something else. I won't go on, but I will leave you with one of my favorite lines...
'I hated the grim acceptance in his voice, the way he loathed his own existence
yet could do nothing to change it.'
A brief excerpt.
I
always knew I was crazy.
Most
people probably think they’re crazy at some point or another... when they make
assumptions about others that turn out to be false, or when a scorned lover
calls them paranoid. But that’s not the kind of crazy I mean. I’m seriously crazy. Full-blown, see-things-in-the-dark,
batshit nuts.
It
started with window phantoms when I was a child. I couldn’t look out the
windows after dark for fear of the faces I’d see staring back at me. No one
else saw them, but I knew they were there. Vacant, black eyes sunk into pallid
skin, beckoning me soundlessly through mouths open so wide it couldn’t be real.
Yet
I saw them anyway. And while it was real to no one else, it was real enough to
me. Cowered beneath blankets, shivering, unwilling to even blink for too long,
I knew what lurked in the shadows beyond the walls. When morning broke and my
mother came to wake me for school, I’d cry and throw the pillows at her,
threading both hands into my hair and trying to rip it all from my scalp,
banging my head against the headboard to quiet the phantoms. Only during the
day could I rest without fear, chanting to myself, “It’s not real, Samantha.
They can’t hurt you.”
Now,
at eighteen years old, I’m crazier than ever before. I see new things. Not
phantoms, but real dark creatures;
monsters in the flesh without the barrier of window glass.
They
are demons. Terrifying creatures. Things that prey on mankind in the night,
shaped like men but darker inside than the black sky above. The wretched beings
with mouths gaping open at me through windows as a child now slither through
the dark streets around me, though they’re rare enough I hardly ever see them.
I’m the only human who’s not oblivious. They’re so real to me. I’ve seen them,
heard their voices, and even touched them. They call themselves Vespers.
And
I’m madly, head-over-heels in love with one of them.
You've read the excerpt here's where to buy the book
A few comments that were made by readers in the early stages of editing my novel'I, Vladimir'.
The story which will travel through time and tells the tale of the
oldest living vampire, Vladimir; his struggles living along side of humans;
which was sometimes more out of convenience than one of mutual
understanding-
"Your characters are all so distinctly visible, and you have the tension knot strained perfectly."
"Well paced narrative with great detail and a wealth of imaginative creativity."
"Historically, this is minutely documented, making it more realistic than fantasy."
"I never would have read a vampire story before, but this has gripped me all along - testimony as to how great a novel it is."
"Great character in Vladmir... humane but not human. Caring and
consoling but still driven by desires that are carnal and base. It
takes skill to convey such a complicated personality well, and Kaye
accomplishes this in spades. It's as if he were born to it."
Well at last here it is the cover for my debut novel I, Vladimir.
It's taken so long and all of you have been extremely patient in waiting for this. I would like to say a huge thank you all that have shown such an interest, to my publisher Gentry Publishing, the editors, and designers. They've all worked incredibly hard.
Well here it is, I hope you love it as much as we do. Don't forget to read the blurb below. And remember to keep an eye out for the release date.
All the best,
Daniel Kaye x
Blurb
My memory is different from yours. Over time you lose sight of
people and places, dates are like the frayed edges of a painting that you will never
see again. The faces and events still haunt me as if they happened yesterday. I
remember every life I have taken for almost two thousand years.
For a long time, with our numbers growing, we had known safety.
Throughout history, there had always been stories about us. Many believed them
to be old wives’ tales. Never once did I believe our numbers could lead to our
downfall.
I have lived many lives and
in all of that time, this was to become my darkest moment. The year was 1941
and war raged across Europe. Humans now traveled great distances to wage war on
one another. The latest conflict had taken on a new face, a face of evil. One man
had taken a sign of peace and placed it on a blood-red colored flag, which his
troops followed into battle. Like locusts, they consumed everything in their
path and invaded far off lands with little resistance.
As the war spread further, our clans divided into smaller groups to evade
capture. We were forced farther east into colder, more hostile territory. Safe
hiding places to sleep had become harder to find. I knew the day would come
when we would be trapped, but never in my wildest dreams would have imagined it
happening as it did.
Showing the wrap around cover, the back and front.
I've just seen Sainsbury's moving Christmas advert that recreates a rare truce that happened Christmas day in 1914, during world war one. A fantastic advert that reminded me of the sacrifice of so many and of a story I wrote a few years ago. I hope you enjoy it.
Christmas 1914,
did it really happen?
There was always denial it
happened, but I was there and can tell you that it did. The spirit of Christmas
of 1914 took hold of us all, and brought peace.
It was Christmas Eve and we had
just had our tea. I sat on a small wooden box with my back against the
makeshift wall of the trench. My heavy boots were covered in mud, the damp
seeping through them chilling me to the bone when I first heard it.
“Stille
Nacht, Heilige Nach…”
It drifted across from the Hun
trenches not more than a hundred yards away. It was only then it dawned on me
that not a single shot had been fired for hours. The sound drifted across the
eerie stillness of no man’s land, I did not recognise the words but as I heard
more, I knew the tune. ‘Silent night,
holy night…’
I smiled to myself at the thought
of the men sitting huddled together in the freezing cold singing carols in
this, the most inhospitable of places. We were told of how the evil Hun was out
to murder us, to kill us in our sleep and of how they wanted to destroy
everything we stood for. But in reality, they were men just like us. I stood
up, peeped over the top of my muddy wall, and was surprised to see a line of
lights along their trench.
The voices from the far off trench
dropped away, I thought at first that was it, that the silence, or gunfire
would return. Singing started up again, but this time it was our own men.
“O
come all ye faithful…”
I looked around and through the
dirty muddy faces and saw something that I had not seen for such a long time,
men smiling. The song finished and a few comments were shouted back and forth
between the trenches but the guns, remained silent.
Dawn broke on Christmas day, men
whispered Happy Christmas to one another. The freedom of night had given away
to fear, and men kept their voices as well as their heads low once again. I
decided to have a peep over the trench once more at the Hun, thinking they too
must have been wary of what the daylight may bring. When I looked across the
muddy field that so many had died in, I was shocked to see a lone German
soldier walking towards our line with his hands held his in the air. I could
see him smiling, and as the gentle breeze moved the early morning mists, I
could hear him calling out.
“Ha…ppy Christ…mas,” he shouted out
in English, with the words broken up with his German accent.
I do not know what came over me, I
had done it before I even realised. I now stood on the top of our trench facing
him. I looked down at my pals starring up at me, their eyes wide and full of
shock. I turned and raising my hands, I smiled.
“Happy Christmas,” I shouted as I
walked towards him.
We met in the middle of no man’s
land, two men divided by language. He smiled at me and patted his front pocket
to indicate he was going to put his hand in to retrieve something.
I smiled and nodded.
He slowly pulled out two cigarettes
and handed one to me.
I stretched out my hand and took
it. I then patted my pocket to let him know the same. His eyes lit up as I
pulled out a box of matches.
Leaning forward, I struck the match
against the coarse side of the box and it lit first time. I cupped the match
and held it up for him to inhale on the cigarette that was now hanging from his
mouth. A few small puffs of smoke exhaled from the corner of his mouth as he
muttered something I did not recognise. I paused before moving the match
towards my own cigarette. We had all heard the stories of the third light being
unlucky. The first light was when the match stuck against the side of the box,
the second when you shared it and the third was when you lit your own. They
always said snipers would look for this, the first would catch their attention,
the second would allow them to take aim and on the third, they would shoot.
The German soldier, who stood
before me, must have realised why I hesitated. He stepped in closer, standing
directly between the Hun’s trenches and me. He was showing me there was nothing
to fear, and so I inhaled as I lit my cigarette and laughed as I threw the
spent match to the ground.
I looked around as others were now
walking out to meet us, men from both sides walking out into no man’s land.
Greeting and smiling at one another. Singing broke out again, followed by
laughter and some even exchanged gifts. One soldier to the left of me handed a
German an orange, his muddy face lit up as he was handed back French post cards
of women in lingerie.
“Paris, Oh la la,” the Hun said
laughing.
Someone, I do not know if it was us
or one of them, produced an old football. There must have been over a hundred
men from both sides running around after the old leather ball. There was no
referee, no score kept, just men having a kick about. I must have run about
playing shouting and laughing with the others for nearly an hour, but I never
once touched that ball, there was just too many enjoying themselves.
As dark drew nearer, men slowly
returned to their trenches. I found my new German friend, the one that bravely
walked out into no man’s land alone. We shook hands and parted company.
Dawn broke on Boxing day, and still
not a shot had been fired. Even with the threats from our commanding officers,
telling us we were to kill the Hun, not make friends with him. No one picked up
a gun. Men from both sides snuck out from the trenches like before but not the
amount that had done so on Christmas day.
Peace lasted for three days before
some General who was twelve miles behind the lines must have decided he wanted
to move his drinks cabinet another ten feet nearer to Paris, gave the orders.
Shelling started up again, the explosions shattering the peace that had stood
for three days. The Hun returned fire immediately, their generals must have
been eager to end the unofficial ceasefire too.
The magic of Christmas, and the
peace it brought to the men fighting in the trenches for their countries in
1914, was officially over.
Phantom Nights by Nola Sarina. 
It
started with window phantoms when I was a child. I couldn’t look out the
windows after dark for fear of the faces I’d see staring back at me. No one
else saw them, but I knew they were there. Vacant, black eyes sunk into pallid
skin, beckoning me soundlessly through mouths open so wide it couldn’t be real.
