Fellow blogger, Audra of Unabridged Chick, is taking in the last rays of the sun before going into Floyd's extravagant party.
A party goer, Evie, waves her cigarette holder at Audra and asks for a ciggy.
MEET Evie here...
by Libba Bray
Evie O'Neill has been exiled from her boring old hometown and shipped off to the bustling streets of New York City--and she is pos-i-toot-ly thrilled. New York is the city of speakeasies, shopping, and movie palaces!
Soon enough, Evie is running with glamorous Ziegfield girls and rakish pickpockets. The only catch is Evie has to live with her Uncle Will, curator of The Museum of American Folklore, Superstition, and the Occult--also known as "The Museum of the Creepy Crawlies."
When a rash of occult-based murders comes to light, Evie and her uncle are right in the thick of the investigation. And through it all, Evie has a secret: a mysterious power that could help catch the killer--if he doesn't catch her first.
WIN my (gently read) copy!
Open to all.
Offer ends: May 31, 2013
TO DO:
READ an excerpt of the book here.
RETURN here and in comments enter a quote from the excerpt.
AND, leave your email (if I don't already have it)
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Contest has ended - winner is here
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* image source: for Flapper guests Audra
"Ouija boards are all the rage; psychics have claimed to receive messages and warnings from the other side using Mr. Fuld’s “talking board.”
ReplyDeleteI love how it was called a 'talking board'. The story sounds great. Thanks for the giveaway opportunity.
Love the pic of Evie!
I forgot my email addy: sophiarose1816 at gmail dot com
ReplyDeleteWhat a funky cool dress.
ReplyDelete(not an entry)
I love this line. It conjures up all sorts of images.
ReplyDelete"With a zippy twirl worthy of Clara Bow, the hostess bursts into the formal living room holding the Ouija board."
marypres(AT)gmail(DOT)com
Thanks for the fun post(s):) Flapper dresses are so cool :) I liked how the excerpt was leading into a oija board... sounds very interesting! efender1(at)gmail(dot)com
ReplyDeleteSilly me... I didn't realize you had to manually scroll the excerpt down... here's my quote "The wind takes it all in with indifference. It is only the wind. It will not become a radio star or a captain of industry. It will not run for office or fall in love with Douglas Fairbanks or sing the songs of Tin Pan Alley, songs of longing and regret and good times (ain’t we got fun?). And so it travels on, past the slaughterhouses on Fourteenth Street, past the unfortunates selling themselves in darkened alleys"
DeleteThe wind idles briefly before a jazz club, listening to this new music punctuating the night. It thrills to the bleat of horns, the percussive piano strides born of blues and ragtime, the syncopated rhythms that echo the jagged excitement of the city’s skyline.
ReplyDeleteDeep in the cellar of the dilapidated house, a furnace comes to life with a death rattle like the last bitter cough of a dying man laughing contemptuously at his fate. A faint glow emanates from that dark, foul- smelling earthen tomb. Yes, something moves again in the shadows. A harbinger of much greater evil to come. Naughty John has come home. And he has work to do.
ReplyDeleteThank you for this chance, Velvet! :D
I wish I really had that dress! Also, I've been DYING to read this one. DYING. Gotta say I love how the wind is described:
ReplyDelete"The wind enters cautiously." then "and the wind, which knows evil well, shrinks from this place. It flees toward the safety of those magnificent tall buildings that promise the blue skies, nothing but blue skies, of the future, of industry and prosperity; the future, which does not believe in the evil of the past. If the wind were a sentinel, it would send up the alarm. It would cry out a warning of terrors to come. But it is only the wind, and it knows well that no one listens to its cries."
Gorgeous.
Thanks you.. this giveaway is awesome..:D
ReplyDeleteThe weekend before, she’d been forced to go antiquing upstate with her mother— an absolutely hideous chore, until they came upon an old Ouija board. Ouija boards are all the rage; psychics have claimed to receive messages and warnings from the other side using Mr. Fuld’s “talking board.” The antiques dealer fed her mother a line about how it had come to him under mysterious circumstances.
"The hostess, a pretty and spoiled young thing, notes her guests’ restlessness with a sense of alarm. It is her eighteenth birthday, and if she doesn’t do something to raise this party from the dead, it will be the talk for days to come that her gathering was as dull as a church social"
ReplyDeleteilepachequin(at)hotmail(dot)com
“Say, let’s summon a real spirit,” George challenges.
ReplyDeletelets not - meikleblog at gmail dot com
"If the wind were a sentinel, it would send up the alarm. It would cry out a warning of terrors to come. But it is only the wind, and it knows well that no one listens to its cries."
ReplyDeleteReally spooky!
Thanks for the giveaway!
Leanne
leannessf at gmail dot com
Oh it sounds amazing! My quote:
ReplyDelete"A knot of excitement and unease twists in the hostess’s gut. The antiques dealer had cautioned against doing just this. He warned that spirits called forth must also be put back to rest by breaking the connection, saying good- bye."
Thank you for the giveaway!
milkristia(at)hotmail(dot)com
"A faint glow emanates from that dark, foul- smelling earthen tomb. Yes, something moves again in the shadows. A harbinger of much greater evil to come. Naughty John has come home. And he has work to do."
ReplyDeleteThanks for the giveaway!
rdespins99(at)yahoo(dot)com
"The planchette falls still. The party guests glance at one another with wild eyes. In the other room, the band members return to their instruments and strike up a hot dance number."
ReplyDeleteThank you!
jaidahsmommy(at)comcast(dot)net
"The contestants, young girls and their fellas, hold one another up, determined to make their mark, to bite back at the dreams sold to them in newspaper advertisements and on the radio. They have sores on their feet but stars in their eyes."
ReplyDeleteThank you! :)
visabellad(at)gmail.com