Wednesday, August 5, 2015

An Aching in the Bone (The Strange Adventures of Carolina Brown, Book 2) by Genevieve McKay

Release date: July 21, 2015
Subgenre: Young adult paranormal

About An Aching in the Bone:

 

Carolina Brown finally has the life she’s always dreamed of. She lives in a fantastic house with a family who loves her. She is following her dream of being a chef (just like her idol Gordon Ramsay) and she even has a horse of her own.
So what if she’s still a hermit? All she wants is for things to stay exactly as they are.
But, like it or not, things are changing. Cara’s family enter her in a province-wide Junior Chef competition; one she knows she’s going to fail miserably at. That creepy boy from next door lurks behind every tree and, worst of all, her beloved friend Henry is losing his zest for living.
When forces from outside threaten Cara’s world she will stop at nothing to protect her family. 

Excerpt:

 

Phineas walked over and gave the horse a final pat before climbing stiffly through the fence rails. He limped down the narrow deer trail, pushing automatically through the damp ferns and ducking to avoid half-fallen logs. He didn’t need a flashlight. He’d walked this path so often; he could do the trek in his sleep. His steps faltered the closer he got to the over sized rental house his parents had temporarily taken over.
Warning bells went off in his head, screaming for him to get out of there as fast as possible. Go back, steal the horse, and ride off into the night. Go anywhere but inside.
He stopped, half-turning to look up the path behind him, weighing his options. He stood rigidly, fists balled at his sides, wracked with indecision.
Finally, he shook his head with a sigh and hunched his shoulders in defeat. He was only a teenager. Where would he live if he ran away? How would he feed himself and a horse? He didn’t have a job or money or any skills at all. He’d never been to school in his life, though he’d begged to go. If he ran away, they would track him down and drag him back.
Phineas scuffed the rest of the way up the path, his head bowed. He was sore and tired right to his bones—way older than his fifteen years, as if heavy weights dragged behind him in the dirt, chaining him to a life he hated.
 The house was completely dark except for a tiny stream of light escaping around the blankets tacked over the windows. It gave the place a vacant, haunted look; as if bad things happened behind those doors.
He was halfway up the steps when the front door inched open and his father’s head peered out. The dim light glinted off the crooked tinfoil cap his father almost always wore when he got nervous. It covered his blond curls like a misshapen silver melon.
Phineas groaned. His dad was clearly having a bad night. He looked like someone dressed up as a cartoon Martian for Halloween. Only for his dad it was no joke; he was deadly serious.
“Hello,” his dad whispered, blinking near-sightedly into the darkness. “Is that you, son?”
“Yes, Dad,” Phineas said reluctantly. There would be no turning back now.
“Oh. Good. Well, you’d better get inside. He’s here and he’s not happy.”
“He’s insane,” Phineas grumbled under his breath. He stepped into the dirty front entrance way and kicked off his shoes. They landed in the corner with a sodden squelching sound, splattering muddy water on the wall. The mess didn’t matter, though. Nobody cleaned or tidied anything here.
His dad shushed him loudly.
Shhh! He’ll hear you!”
He raised a finger and held his breath, listening intently. His other hand fidgeted anxiously with the worn silver edge of his battered foil hat.
“He’s in a foul mood,” he hissed. “He blames us for not catching the creature sooner, Phineas. He’s thinking of withdrawing his funding or—or worse.”

 

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About Genevieve McKay: 

Genevieve Mckay is a freelance writer, short story author, and first time novelist. She lives on the West coast with her two and four-legged family in the wilderness. When she isn't busy creating new worlds she enjoys playing outside, riding horses and preparing for the zombie apocalypse. 

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