The last thing Lex Trenton wants to do with her night is track down an escaped slave at the behest of an incubus. A dangerous, powerful, seductive incubus. But if she doesn’t drag her butt down to Sheol and find the slave, someone else will. And that someone will drag the abused woman back to her sadistic master. Lex won’t let that happen. Her brother taught her right. With no help from her overprotective partner, and her body betraying her every time her new client is near, can Lex maneuver through the dense, complicated politics of Sheol without pissing off every demon in power and losing her own head?

    Who’s behind the murder of his family? Who has been after his territories, and why?One promising lead comes from Lady Efera, the very same who had taken a liking to his lands and whom he defeated in an all-out battle. But that information won’t come free. If Richard wants that piece of the puzzle, he will need to help Efera take back the lands she lost to a fierce Baron. Easier said than done, especially when said Baron and his coalition show up at Richard’s door with an ultimatum. He has two weeks to hand over the woman’s Starmetal Signet, or he’ll be the one to suffer the consequences. But Juliet is not a stranger to Richard anymore; now that she’s married to the Frankinsons, she has become his blood too. His responsibility.Once again, it’s a race for survival. Facing imminent invasion by a force far superior to his own, Richard will need to scramble like never before. He will have to secure new alliances and find new ways to improve his defenses. There’s no other way around it, he needs to quickly move up the ranks so as to unlock new units and be able to hire the advisors who will help him master this complex game.The first step to this impossible plan is to reach out to the Kintelis, an elven clan living in isolation in the west. But Richard definitely can’t seem to catch a break; he has barely come in contact with the elves that his carriage is attacked by a group of bandits…

    Part of a secret government organization designed to protect civilians, Elvis Presley and a handful of hardcore warriors set out to save the world from an invasion of hive-minded, shape-shifting vampire-like creatures from a dark dimension who have taken up residence in a New Orleans junkyard. Besides Elvis, among these righteous warriors is a hammer-wielding descendent of John Henry of railroad fame, a Blind Man who sees more than those with sight, Jack, a strategic wizard, and Elvis's right hand man and journal writer, Johnny, all thrown in with Raven (real name Jenny) a female recruit who is also a budding pop star, and like Elvis, high on the charisma chart. Their leader is none other than Colonel Parker, Elvis's cutthroat manager, and a warrior himself, directly in contact with President Nixon, or possibly one of his doubles.It's an unnerving peek into a secret world, and a possible delusion. It's what happened before Elvis, aka Sebastian Haff, found himself in an East Texas rest home, mounted on a walker, fighting an Egyptian mummy and worrying about a growth on his pecker. Strange monsters, wild fights, sex with a beautiful ghost, a drug-induced trip into another dimension, and all manner of mayhem ensue, along with a Mississippi riverboat ride on a giant paddle wheel, and of course, there will be 3D glasses, fried peanut butter and 'nanna sandwiches, and a few hard working zombies.Bring the kids, but plug their ears and blindfold them. This is one wild and nasty ride to the dark side, but with laughter.

    They settled back in their old neighborhood in West Maradaine and bought themselves a shop, eager for a simple, honest life. Then the Holver Alley Fire incinerated their plans. With no home, no shop, and no honest income—and saddled with a looming debt—they fall back on their old skills and old friends.With a crew of other fire victims, Asti and Verci plan a simple carriage heist, but the job spirals out of control as they learn that the fire was no accident. Lives in Holver Alley were destroyed out of a sadistic scheme to buy the land. Smoldering for revenge, burdened with Asti's crumbling sanity, the brothers lead their crew of amateurs and washouts to take down those responsible for the fire, no matter the cost.

    In Spring 2011, Tor put the next two Vlad books, Dragon and Issola, into print as a trade paperback entitled The Book of Dragon. Now we continue with the next two, collecting the New York Times-bestselling Dzur and Jhegaala into The Book of Dzur.In Dzur, Vlad is back in the great city of Adrilankha, with a price on his head. The rackets he used to run are now under the control of the mysterious Left Hand of the Jhereg--a cabal of women who report to no man. His ex-wife needs his help. His old enemies aren't sure whether they want to kill him, or talk to him and then kill him. A goddess appears to be playing tricks with his memory. And the Great Weapon he's carrying appears to have plans of its own....In Jhegaala, Vlad decides to hide out among his relatives in faraway Fenario, in a papermaking town called Burz. At first it's not such a bad place, though the mill reeks to high heaven. But the longer he stays there, the stranger it becomes. Then a grisly murder takes place. And in its wake, far from Dragaera, without his usual organization working for him, Vlad has to do his sleuthing amidst an alien people...his own.

    A lonely tree stands in an empty field on Christmas Eve. Will the Christmas star grant his only wish? Written for children, but enjoyed by all.  New for 2012: A fully illustrated version is now available.  Just search "The Lonely Christmas Tree (Illustrated)".

    The Burning Wheel is an award winning fantasy roleplaying game in which player take on the roles of vibrant, dynamic characters whose very beliefs propel the story forward.

    I scrambled up the Spires of Dasny, even though I knew it once was a haven for dragons and the old Dragon Riders School. The ground thundered. I trembled in the small niche tucked into the mountain. Had the knights returned? I caught my breath as an enormous green eye peered in. A dragon!I awoke in a deep, dark cavern. Staring at me through one opened eye lay a huge black dragon. I had been taught the stories of the dragons, of the days long ago when they ruled the sky and searched for their riders, but this wasn’t at all what I had been taught. Why was I there? Suddenly, pressure built up in my head. My eyes sprung wide in fear and... I heard him.What happens when three dragon riders come together as told in the prophecy? The Blind, the Healer and the Magician…There are secrets to be uncovered, but only if Seyra is brave enough. Discover the intriguing lives of the brash young Seyra and Dreyth, the one who rescues her--or is it she who rescues him?*I loved this story. It had shades of Anne McCaffery to it - and I loved her books.**This was amazing. I loved this line because it says so much. “One dragon eye slowly opened. It is possible. Sleep now. Sleep heals all things. We will talk later.” This has the beginnings of something grand. So good.**I thought of Anne McCaffrey while reading, so you must be doing something right. I liked the way you gave us all the information we needed without it feeling like an information dump. The section on the dragon riders felt natural.*

    New friends introduce him to legends and rumors that have swirled around the inn since time-immemorial, and he finds plenty of proof to believe them as strange noises and twisted shadows stalk the halls.Worst of all, his estranged grandfather has invited himself to join them at the inn. Creepy doesn't begin to describe that black-cloaked gentleman with the pale skin and weird, ever-constant glasses. Old secrets, mysterious sealed-up rooms and creeping shadows abound as Jack tries to manage his new life at Hawthorn Inn.

    Twelve is a poetic retelling of the Brothers Grimm fairytale "The Twelve Dancing Princesses." Bewitching and beguiling, this short series of linked poems takes the reader to the underground realm and back, following the stories of twelve princesses and their life after the magic shoes.

    Lovecraftian-inspired nightmares are reversed as O'Brien asks readers to see Blackness as radically significant. Can You Sign My Tentacle? explores the monsters we know and the ones that hide behind racism, sexism, and violence, resulting in poems that are both comic and cosmic.

    Follow Mira's story as she faces life as a single mother, wrestles with the constant call of the ocean to her mermaid nature, and joins an all-male salvage team who is less than thrilled to have her. When my mother died, I ran to the ocean like a coward. Its cradle of salt puckered my memories and withered my sorrow like a grape drying in the sun. I had cheated grief and was foolish enough to think I had gotten away with it.When Nathan died, I couldn’t run away. No matter how much I flinched, bending toward the Atlantic the way ivy strains for rays of light, I could not leave. Grief was back to take what belonged to it for the time it was allotted. I had everything I wanted a few short years ago. My mate. My daughter. A home, a family. It made my head spin to think how much could change so suddenly. I mused, wondering later if I was the only mermaid to ever walk fully through the five stages of grief. But I had my daughter.Targa had yet to turn, the color and shape of her fins were yet to be revealed, but she would. I had been so sure of it then. Siren genes are passed from mother to daughter, without fail. Young legs melded into a shimmering virgin tail in response to a salty sea. But Targa didn’t turn in response to ocean water, not the first time, not any time after that. Something was wrong. I shoved my fear down deep into some dark corner where Targa would not see it and said with a smile that we’d just have to keep trying. I had turned at the age of three, but if there could be late-bloomers in the human race, why not ours too?Her fifth birthday came and went, still she hadn’t turned. Concern sent its barbs into me like a thistle, then it rooted and grew.Targa and I had weekly late night secret swims in the Atlantic, which had once been fun but were now polluted with expectation and suspense. Coaching sessions (my idea), where I attempted human psychology exercises I’d found in outdated textbooks at the library; guided visualization, breathing techniques, and even a failed go at hypnosis. The memory of her skinny little frame sitting in a bathtub containing more salt than water (Targa’s idea) is still enough to fill my eyes with moisture.I don’t know exactly when she lost hope, but she hid it expertly, patiently participating however I asked.I ignored the creeping thoughts that whispered in my mind; she didn’t even like water, didn’t really want to go for swim, couldn’t hear the ocean calling her. I would shove the thoughts away violently, excusing them as nothing but my own anxiety. It was ridiculous. A daughter of a mermaid who disliked the ocean. Impossible. When I muzzled those fears, I became aware of others of a different kind. Not my own, but hers, for me.She could see the want in my eyes. Whatever mechanism bees and dogs used to smell fear, Targa had it for despair. She could sense it on me, reeking like cheap perfume. Her eyes dipped in desperation, her obvious desire not to disappoint me sliced through me like a white-hot blade from heart to gut. She thought she was my tormentor. The realization struck like a hammer and gave me the strength to do what was needed: Let it go.The ocean could call. I’d let the smell of it crucify me, the sound of its waves crash against me, echo through me, call me, beg me.Targa’s need and my love for her was greater. If she never turned and I was locked in a land-cycle for the rest of our lives, so be it.So be it.