Shade by Cody Stewart
Genre: Ya Paranormal
Clendon Kiernan has always preferred the shadows. A place where he was free from the hate and fear, from the stares and ridicule of others. One night Clen discovers the shocking truth of why. He is a Shade. A thing of darkness. A creature with the ability to shred souls. When a vile whisper tells him to destroy everything around him Clen does the only thing he can. But he cannot run from himself. The darkness growing inside Clen will soon consume him if he does not learn to control it. In his quest to do so, Clen learns that there is an entire world that exists in the shadows of Ellis, a world that has been hidden from him – secret clans with extraordinary abilities, the ghosts of a hidden past, and a war that’s been brewing for millennia. Clen must uncover the true history of Ellis, see through the generations of lies and deceit, and suffer betrayal and heartbreak if he is to save all those who hate and fear him. But when he learns the truth, will he want to? The darkness in him could save Ellis. Or it could be what destroys it.
Read an excerpt from the book:
Chapter 1
It lives in the cramped spaces
between shadows in the rear right side of my brain, just behind my ear. It wanders relentlessly, scratching along the
pink, fleshy walls of my mind with its unkempt fingernails, shouting
obscenities at other thoughts as they travel across lobes and cortexes. It vomits poison and corrupts my mind with
whispers of death. It reminds me how his
blood felt running down the back of my hands.
How my knuckles tore as they raked across his cheekbones. How his tooth cracked loose from his gums and
the muffled gargle as he choked on it.
It laughs and calls me a coward for running away.
The
wind rustles through the pines, dances into my ears, and carries the vile voice
away. It’s quiet here. My thoughts are my own.
The fire pops and a fleet of sparks
takes flight, dancing across the night sky.
Fireflies follow suit taking the initiative to investigate the
imposters. I readjust a log when the
fire dims. It roars to life again and illuminates the decayed insides of the
cabin around me. The wooden frame has
long since rotted. The stone floor and sections of the wall are the only signs
that this was once a structure of some sort.
Muren, my Norwegian Elkhound,
refuses to step through the threshold of these ruins, insisting instead to
patrol the perimeter.
I lie back, using my sweatshirt as
a pillow, and watch for hours as the flames dance like springtime wildflowers
until their petals wilt and fall and all burns to ash. The sun peeks over the treetops and reaches
through the canopy with pale fingers of morning light just as the last ember
dwindles.
Time to go home.
Birds chime in the new day like
church bells, but I still feel heavy with the burdens of yesterday. The walk back is a habit now, following the
trail worn by my feet alone. This is a
thick part of the mountain made thicker with countless stories and a dark
reputation. Few dare walk it.
Dad sits on the front porch sipping
his coffee when I step out of the forest and into the yard. He doesn’t look up from the ground as I come
near or shift or show any signs of surprise or anger. “Get inside and get washed up. You’ve got an appointment with Dr. Hague
before school.”
My parents think I’m crazy. Everyone thinks I’m crazy. It’s hard to blame
them, though. I kind of am.
***
The chemical stink of artificial
lavender burns my sinuses. It’s meant to
foster calm and encourage me to share openly, but I can’t get the taste of it
off my tongue.
“What makes you say that,
Clen?” Dr. Hague’s voice has padded
walls. “What makes you think people fear
you?”
The quiver in their lip as they ask
me stupid questions. “I don’t know. Just
a feeling, I guess.”
“Is that why you run away?”
“I don’t run away. I just need to take breaks sometimes.”
“Breaks from what?”
I stare out the window at the
passing school buses and laughing kids with books tucked under their arms. Packs of them, like roving bands of
scavenging coyotes.
Dr. Hague, the school psychologist,
observes me like an anthropologist studying apes in the jungle. He wants to ask
me about the fight with Jefferson Hewlett, but he doesn’t bother. I’ve been seeing him long enough that he
knows I won’t talk about it so soon.
“How are things at home?” Dr. Hague attempts a change in
direction. He’s trying to throw me off
guard.
“Fine.” But I have an impeccable
defense.
“How did your parents react this
time?”
“The same.”
“How does that make you feel? That you can run into the woods, disappear
for days, and your parents welcome you back as if nothing happened?” His stare is forceful and constant. I sink
under the weight of it.
“I need to get to class.”
I wash my face as soon as the
session is over, trying to scrub away the smell of therapy before school.
***
I stand still and invisible in the
dull, gray hallways as the horde of apes and coyotes bustles past. They pick
fleas out of each other’s hair and nip at each other’s heels. I stand on the
periphery, hoping they all just pass me by.
One of them veers off course,
working his way through the packs straight toward me. He towers above the rest,
the tallest sophomore in school. He’s broad and blond and has a permanent glint
of mischief in his grayish-blue eyes.
“You’re going, right? I know you have this mysterious loner persona
that you love to project, but this party is going to be epic.”
Oliver
Niels seems to be the only one who’s never felt the need to run from me or
throw things at the back of my head.
He’s been my sole friend since second grade.
“I’m not feeling it tonight, Ollie.”
“You’re
never feeling it, Clen. I think you were
born without whatever part of your brain actually feels it. Or maybe, I saw this special on the Discovery
Channel once about a guy who got in this serious accident, banged his head real
bad, and all of sudden spoke in a British accent. You ever experience any head trauma? Seriously, if I wasn’t your friend, you’d
never come off the mountain. You’d be a
hermit, grow a huge, gross beard and eat squirrel stew. There’d be legends about you. The Hermit of Mount Bannir – died sad and
alone with squirrel on his breath.”
Ollie’s
voice fades away like a passing echo when I have to venture into the horde to
get to class. Cologne and scented body
lotions coat my nostrils, and my throat closes from the olfactory assault. The chatter grows to an indecipherable roar
of voices that crashes down around me like a relentless wave. Ollie’s voice sounds far away, like he’s
yelling at me from the beach as I’m dragged out to sea.
A
thick mane of black hair slaps me in the face as it passes. The sweet, natural smell of it lingers. I meet one set of eyes among the hundreds
swarming like bees around me. As pure
and green as the first leaves of spring.
The deafening roar dulls to gentle whisper.
Temporarily blinded by the rare
shimmer of beauty among the streaked
linoleum and concrete walls, I crash into Silas Conroy, my forehead bloodying
his lower lip.
“The hell, Kiernan?! You looking to get dead?” Silas snarls like a rabid dog, tagging the
wall with red graffiti. His black hair
is shaved on the sides, giving him a short Mohawk. His left ear is mostly missing, just bits of
jagged scar tissue. His eyes are dark
and shallow.
Something hisses in the base of my
skull. It’s a cold tickle, a drop of ice water that flows down the length of my
spine. But it’s still quiet enough that I can ignore it.
“Easy, Silas.” Ollie steps forward to shield me as I pick up
my books. “It was an accident.”
“Protecting him is an accident,
Niels. You should side with your own
people.”
“You aren’t any kind of people I
would claim as my own.”
“I still owe you big for what you
did to Jefferson,” Silas snarls at me.
“Your bodyguard won’t always be around to protect you, Kiernan.” He
cackles like a hyena as he saunters off.
Ollie lifts me off the floor like
he always does.
The beautiful green eyes disappear
among the horde.
***
Lunch is a wretched ordeal as
usual. I slide my tray along the counter,
the lunch ladies looking on like hair-netted prison guards. They heap scorn on
my plate, piled high atop a mountain a gritty mashed potatoes.
Kids stack their books in empty
seats as I pass. I know I’m not welcome at any of their tables. They all know
I’d never dare attempt to be in their company, they do it anyway, every day,
just to make it painfully clear. There’s a small table in the back corner, by
the garbage cans and emergency exit. It smells and the bitter wind howls
through the doors in the winter. That’s where I sit.
I eat fast so I can leave before
the rest. If I’m here when they scrape their plates, I’m likely to end up with
creamed corn all over the front of me. The lunch monitors herd us out the side
doors to the athletic field to mill about for a mandatory twenty five minutes
of fresh air. I shove my hands in my sweatshirt pockets and head straight for
the tree by the road. I sit in its shadow, hidden from the late spring sun and
the spiteful sneers of my peers.
The crowd immediately divides in
two. Half of the field is black hoodies,
gauged ears, and work boots – kids from the Pines. The other half is skinny jeans, nice watches,
and gelled hair – kids from the Village.
They’ve hated each other for as long as I can remember. Not just the kids either. Everyone. I don’t live in either neighborhood, which
only means I’m equally hated by both.
Dr. Hague is on monitoring duty
today. He wanders down the center of the
field, scratching his chin and nodding.
He starts for me, knowing I spend this time under my tree and not among
my peers as he prescribed, but thankfully, thinks better of it. Being seen with the school shrink would do
nothing to improve matters. Instead he makes for a tight circle of kids on the
Pines side of the field emanating the faint smell of cigarette smoke.
As I watch him scold and lecture, a
rock hits my shoe. I don’t need to look up to know who it is.
“What do you want, Silas?”
“You’ve got debts, Kiernan. First,
you lose it on Jefferson. The kid damn
near choked on his own tooth. Then you
bloody my lip because you’re too stupid to watch where you’re going. Time to
settle. And Ollie ain’t here to save
you.”
“Leave me alone.”
“No, I don’t think I’m gonna do
that.” Silas grabs me by the collar and
rips me from the pleasant shadow.
The whisper in my head becomes a
harsh cry, demanding that I retaliate. I try to take steady, even breaths, to
keep my heart beating a normal rhythm.
Dr. Hague said that will keep me calm. Then my feet leave the ground,
and I’m weightless for half a second before crashing back to earth. All my calming breath is forced from my
lungs. The harsh cry becomes a vicious growl.
A circle quickly forms around
us. Kids from the Pines and the Village
alike gather to watch my humiliation. I’m the great unifier.
Pressure builds behind my
eyes. Dr. Hague says I just need to
concentrate. I can’t let it control me.
“What? You aren’t gonna go all ape nuts on me like
you did Jefferson?”
“You’ve got anger issues,
Silas. I know a good shrink who could
help you out with that.”
Silas cocks his arm back, ready to
split my skull with a wicked punch.
“Enough,” a commanding voice
orders. Dr. Hague pushes his way through
the circle. “Everyone inside now! Silas, to the principal’s office. Clen.” He shakes his head, sad and
disappointed. “Get to class.”
***
I’m the only passenger on my
bus. The school repurposed a utility van
specifically for me. Kids point and
chuckle when I get on, but their voices die when the door closes. The drive is quiet.
I stare mindlessly out the window
as we drive through town. Ellis is a
boring, little hole in the world carved out of mountain and forest. It’s bordered in the north by the Tear of
Heaven, a massive glacial lake and surrounded on the other three sides by the
Moreau Mountains. Town is divided in
half by the River Skye, which flows from the Tear of Heaven all the way down to
Hudson City – Lakeside Village on the East, everything else on the West.
The engine groans and sputters as
we climb Mount Bannir. Sal, the bulbous
driver who smells of beef jerky, curses his misfortune at drawing the short
straw of school bus routes. He pulls to
a stop at the end of my driveway, a dirt road that seems to have no end. It twists and turns until it is swallowed by
the dark of the dense forest. Sal won’t
drive in there. He dismisses me with a guttural grunt.
I’m thankful for the walk. The
forest swallows the light and, with it, all the anxiety that’s built up in the
back of my mind over the course of the day.
“How was therapy?” Mom asks as she
slides dinner in the oven. Dad suddenly
shifts uncomfortably and hides his head in the fridge.
“Fine.”
Mom stiffens. Her hands become
tightly clenched fists inside her oven mitts.
“That’s all I’m ever going to get from you, isn’t it?”
“I need to take a shower.”
“Safe to say you’re grounded,” Mom
calls as I walk away.
“Fine.” I set my bag in my room, gather some clean
clothes and make for the bathroom. I
stop at the top of the stairs when I hear the hushed whispers.
“We can’t keep doing this,
Clark.” Mom’s frantic, on the verge of
either yelling or crying. “He was gone
for two days. Sleeping out in the woods
somewhere. We had no way of knowing whether
he was even alive or not.”
“Muren was with him. He was fine, Sarah.”
“He is not fine. He attacked somebody. And we just send him off to that doctor like
it’s going to fix something. This is not
a problem Dr. Hague can fix.”
“We don’t have any other choice.”
“Yes, we do,” Mom snaps. “If you would just talk to him, tell him…”
“No,” Dad declares curtly. “We made a decision. We need to stick to it.”
Mom’s feet pound angrily on the
floor as she storms off. Dad curses
under his breath.
***
My
parents are in bed early. The tense
night of passive aggressive scowling and openly aggressive yelling must have
tired them out.
I
cautiously open my bedroom window and scale down the pine tree next to the
house. Ollie is waiting for me at the
end of my driveway.
“Well,
look at you,” he says as I climb in the passenger seat. “You showered and even brushed your
hair. If I didn’t know any better, I’d
say you were looking forward to this.”
“You
don’t know any better. I couldn’t be
looking forward to this any less.”
“Don’t
be such a sad, old man. You might as
well slip on some loafers and a sweater vest, talking like that. Read a romance novel. Eat a sleeve of saltines. I know deep down somewhere in that dark pit
of despair you call a soul there is a tiny flickering light. And do you know what that light is?”
I
immediately regret getting in Ollie’s car. “No, nor do I care.”
“Youthful
exuberance. Passion. A desire to grab life by its delicates and
howl at the moon.”
“I’m
not grabbing anything by its delicates.”
“I’m
talking about living!” Ollie throws his
arms toward the sky in an exaggerated, theatrical gesture. “Tonight you’re going to do some living. You’re going to talk to pretty girls, maybe
tip some things over. You’re going to
act reckless and swear and yell and at no point in the night will you use the
word nor. You’re going to act
like a real sixteen year old, not the angst-ridden, chiseled jaws you see on
the CW. We’re going to the Raveyard.”
The
Raveyard is a local legend. One of the
original settlers of Ellis, Abigail Moreau, lived alone, in the mountains. One year, crops failed, livestock
disappeared, houses burned down, people dropped dead for no apparent
reason. The townspeople accused her of
witchcraft. They marched up there in
true angry mob fashion, pitchforks and torches in hand, and killed her. They named the mountain range after her. It was the least they could do, I
suppose. Now she’s said to haunt Ellis,
looking to exact her ghostly revenge.
The Raveyard is a large clearing in the woods where Abigail was said to
bury her victims. Now it’s a place to
party.
“Whatever.”
I hunch down in my seat and pull my hood over my head. Let’s just get this night over with.”
“That’s
the spirit.”
The
Raveyard is only a few minutes away from my house, in the foothills of Mount
Bannir. Ollie turns down an old logging
trail that empties into the large clearing, slowing to a crawl as his car
jostles over roots and rocks and holes in the ground. I take one long, deep breath, like it’s my
last taste of air before diving deep to the ocean floor, and get out of the
car. The infinite weight of the sea
presses down on me. I cling close to
Ollie. He’s my only lifeline, my only
source of oxygen while navigating the dark trenches so far below.
The
heat of their stares pales that of the raging bonfire. The salty sea water is like acid on the
burns. I’m so distracted by the pain
that I don’t notice the riptide until I’m already caught up in it. I reach back for Ollie, but he’s pulled in a
different direction, one with straight black hair, eyes that smile and skin
like the failing light of morning. I’m
churned and battered against craggy shore as the sharks circle round. My lungs burn and scream. My head fills with plankton and algae that
feed off the soft tissue of my brain.
I’m spit out the other side, gasping and broken.
I
collapse against a tree and cling to it, desperate for a new lifeline. The smell of the smoke, pine, and birch fill
my nose. The crackle of the kindling as
it splits and burns rings like a song in my ears. I run my hands across the rough bark, tracing
each crack with my fingers. Its sap
sticks in the hair on my knuckles. I
picture the perfect green eyes that passed too quickly. Eventually, the sound of voices fades
away. The stink of cologne and anxiety
disappears. The world disappears.
“Are
you sleeping? We’ve been here, like, ten
minutes and you’re sleeping against a tree.
Have you even tipped anything over yet?”
“Ollie,
can we just…” As I slowly open my eyes, reluctant to let the world back in, I
see that he isn’t alone. The girl that
pulled him to a different shore smiles kindly, her soft, dark eyes beaming from
behind her raven bangs.
“This
is Suzume Akamura,” Ollie declares with an oafish smile. “Su, this is Clendon Kiernan.”
“Hey,”
I choke out, recognizing her from school.
She’s a freshman.
“Hi.” Her voice is smooth and steady. “How’s it going?”
“Umm,
good?” I reply, cautious and confused.
Ollie glares at me, silently demanding I be cool.
Su
fidgets with her hands. “I’ll be right
back. I need to let my friends know where
I am.” She disappears around the other
side of the fire, her steps gaining more confidence the further away from me
she gets.
Ollie
pinches the bridge of his nose and shakes his head in exasperation. “Could you be any more awkward? It only takes you two words to send someone
scurrying away. You’ve talked to other
people beside me before, right?”
“She’s
from the Village. I thought you kids
from the Pines weren’t allowed to talk to them.”
“I
can talk to whoever I want.”
“Hey,
it’s your feud. I just don’t want to go
out like Mercutio.”
“Who?”
“Romeo’s
best friend. Got killed because of the
Capulet-Montague feud? We read it last
year in English.”
Ollie
shrugs.
“How
do you pass classes?”
“Charm.”
A
familiarly raven-haired boy marches toward us from the edge of the
Raveyard. He’s thin and wiry. He’s a junior, I think. His dark eyes are like empty holes in his
head.
“Where
is she?” he demands. “Where is Su?”
I
lean in close to Ollie’s ear so only he can hear me. “See?
This is what I’m talking about.
I’m not dueling anyone.”
“Hey,
Yori. Su is around somewhere.” Ollie
scans the crowd with his hand to his brow, like a sailor taking stock of the
sea.
“Stay
away from my sister, Niels.” Yori
doesn’t seem to mind that he barely comes up to Ollie’s shoulder. He puffs out his chest and huffs
authoritatively.
Ollie
leans back casually with his hands tucked in his pockets, impressively letting
Yori’s obnoxious commands roll off him.
Others aren’t so passive.
“Problem?”
Brian Till, a boy from the Pines, steps forward. Till rivals Ollie in size, but has none of
his restraint.
“None
of your business,” Yori spits.
“I
think it is,” Till growls and crosses his arms, threateningly flexing every
muscle he can.
Others
gather around, anticipating bloodied knuckles and broken faces. The crowd erupts, hurling curses and insults
like monkeys with their own feces.
The
capillaries in my eyes pulse with steadily building intensity. The pressure pushes outward on the fissures
in my skull. The rumbling voices bleed
together and fade away. The hateful
whisper in my head is the only sound in the world.
I
hum a song to drown it out, but it devours the music like a rabid dog. I try to push it out my ears, scrape it off
my tongue, swallow and digest it. But it
won’t quiet. I step back from the crowd
and dissolve in the darkness at the edge of the forest. It wraps around me like a snug blanket. I run and let my feet take me where they want
to go.
The
whisper soon quiets, and I hear the crickets and cicadas and the crunch of the
ground beneath me. The soft plodding of
my feet on dirt and leaves turns to the course grinding of crushed stone. I’ve stepped into another clearing. My stomach tightens and twists in knots, and
the hairs stand up on the back of my neck as a cold shiver runs down my spine. A haunting and familiar feeling creeps over me,
like a wave of spiders. The core of me
goes cold. Every breeze is a whisper
telling me to leave. Every little noise
is the ground telling me it doesn’t want me here.
The
moon creeps out from behind some clouds, illuminating the jagged tree line at
the far end of the clearing to show that it’s not trees at all. It is the charred husk of an old house. The roof has collapsed. Only small sections of the walls are still
standing. Everything inside is cinder
and ash.
“Clen?
Where’d you go?” Ollie calls from behind me.
“Sorry about this,” he says quietly to someone else. “I think he’s got a touch of Social Anxiety
Disorder or something.”
“Sorry
about my brother,” Su replies. “He’s a
jerk.”
They
stumble out of the forest. Yori follows
close after, still making demands.
There’s
something strange about this place – something both comforting and terrifying
at once. My brain is adrift in a pool of
déjà vu. It feels like I exist in two
worlds at the same time, and, with each blink of my eyes, I am transported from
one to the other. I am standing in an
eerie clearing in the middle of the woods, terrified out of my mind. Blink. I’m playing at a home I know well,
comfortable and safe. Blink.
I exchange unpleasant, untrusting looks with people I’ve just met. Blink. I’m surrounded by friends as close as
family. Blink. Darkness. Everything is covered in darkness and
fear. Blink. The fear swims in
their eyes, now just black, empty orbs. Blink.
Emptiness.
I
flash from one world to the other so fast that I lose track of which one is
real, which one is mine.
Like
there’s a rope tied around my insides, I’m pulled toward the house. The icy feeling in the center of my chest
spreads throughout the rest of my body, chilling my blood and bones to the
marrow. I stumble a few yards from the
wreckage, tripping over an unseen object.
A Nintendo DS. I pick it up and a
current of electricity shoots up my arm.
My muscles spasm, and a vivid scene of anguish flashes through my mind
like a bolt of lightning.
The
world around me changes. The house is whole
again. A young boy stands in front of
it. Veins pulse violently in his neck as
he screams from the very pit of his soul.
Tears stream down his cheeks, but evaporate before they reach his
chin. Then the world erupts in fire, and
ash blots out the sun. The boy disappears,
swallowed in flame. As the world I know
returns, I find myself screaming for the boy, reaching out for him.
Ollie rushes to my side, again
offering a hand to lift me off the ground.
“He’s freaking out. We need to
get out of here.”
The
fires burn hotter behind my eyes.
“No,”
Yori says. “We need to get out of
here. You two need to stay away from
us. He’s clearly insane, and I don’t
trust you.”
Hot
flames dance on my skin and smoke fills my lungs. The smell of blistering flesh sets acid
churning in my stomach.
I
feel death in the air. Cold. Absolute.
It’s inside me, scratching at the lining of my stomach, clawing its way
out. The beating inside my skull grows
faster and stronger, like a dozen horses racing around a track, feet and hearts
pounding. They round the last turn.
Their muscles explode like gunfire.
Pound, pound,
pound. The animal sounds mix in a
chaotic symphony of noise and agony that crescendo as they reach the finish
line. Pound, pound, pound.
It whispers
in my head. A vile hiss from a wretched
little snake.
Kill
them.
The Reboot
Everything gets rebooted, and the grace period from original release to reboot is getting shorter. I’m already thinking about the Shade reboot. It’s going to be so dark and gritty and grounded. With so many stories being rehashed, it makes me wonder why.
In the case of the Dark Knight trilogy, the reboot that started it all, a rebooted Batman universe was necessary to doing anything of value with the character. The existing franchise had really painted itself into a corner. How could they possible top Schwarzenegger’s brilliant turn as the tortured and grief stricken cryogenics expert, Dr. Freeze? Or Jim Carey in green spandex? It wasn’t possible. There were so many Batman stories left to tell that couldn’t be told with that glorious piece of cinema as a starting point. They took the most essential elements of the characters, burned the rest to the ground, and told a completely different story. And it was triumphant.
A whole mess of 1980s franchises are getting the reboot treatment now because there is an entire generation that has little to know exposure to them – a fresh audience with new standards. Those stories only need to be revisited, polished up, updated in regards to themes, language and references and suddenly they speak to a new age bracket.
Reboots have become so widely used that they have evolved in terms of creativity and art. The new Star Trek and X-Men franchises come to mind. The act of taking an established continuity and reworking and replacing it was actually made a driving force of the story. Time travel. Love it.
I adapt the idea of the reboot to my writing and it’s been surprisingly freeing. It has allowed me to acknowledge that I’m not writing in stone. Even if I were, I could smash that stone and write on a different stone. I can finish a story, come back to it years later, and rework it. Obviously, there’s implications for this kind of thing if you’ve sold the rights to your story. But if you’re self-published, you can revisit a story a decade later, polish it up, tweak some elements that maybe you weren’t happy with and re-release it. You could even go the Star Trek route – work with the established continuity to create a clean slate from which to tell more or different stories. Time travel!
About the Author
Cody was born in Upstate New York. Eventually
setting off to seek his fortune, he worked in a paper mill, a whipped
cream factory, cleaned apartments, and administratively assisted several
organizations before returning to the Adirondacks with a wife and child
that he picked up along the way.
He approaches life as though it were a page – frequently rearranging
paragraphs to make it more interesting if not wholly true, fudging with
the margins to fit more in, and, sometimes, erasing entire sections
altogether.
When not altering reality, he is scouring comic book shops, lying on the
ground, or floor (whichever he happens to be standing on when he feels
the need to go horizontal), trying to convince his wife to make french
toast (she makes amazing french toast), and searching for the darkest
cup of coffee in existence.
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Cassandra M’s Place – Promo Post
November 9th
Bookworm In Barrie – Promo Post
November 10th
Lisa Loves Literature – Review
November 11th
Mystical Lit Lounge – Review
November 12th
Reading Over Sleeping – Interview
November 13th
WTF Are You Reading? – Promo Post
Reading is My Treasure – Guest Post
November 14th
My Book Chatter – Guest Post
November 15th
Adventures in Writing – Promo Post
November 16th
I Feel the Need, the Need to Read – Review
November 17th
The Caffeinated Booknerd – Promo Post
November 18th
Sleeps on Tables – Interview
All My Book Finds – Review
November 19th
ReadWriteLove28 – Guest Post
Bitches n Prose – Promo Post
November 20th
Imaginative Dreams – Review
A Little Bit of R&R – Interview
November 21st
Blissful Book Reviews – Review
Never Ending Stories – Promo Post
November 22nd
Book Lovers Life – Guest Post
Pandora’s Books – Promo Post
November 23rd
Mindjacked – Review
Fly to Fiction – Guest Post
November 24th
For the Love – Promo Post
November 25th
Just One More Chapter – Review
November 26th
The Book Beacon – Review
November 27th
Mercurial Musings – Review
The Book Cellar - Promo Post
Thanks so much for being on the Shade blog tour, Cath!
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You're very welcome, happy to help out anytime =D
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