Tim Rayborn has a new bi urban fantasy book out, book one of the Qwyrk Tales: Qwyrk. And there’s a giveaway!
Qwyrk is having a bad day; several, in fact. One of the Shadow folk tasked with keeping an eye on humanity, sheâs ready for a well-earned break in Yorkshire, but now sheâs (literally) run into a girl, Jilly, who just saw something quite supernatural and truly awful happen in her town.
As Qwyrk tries to unravel the mystery, layers of villainy are exposed, and sheâs stuck with an assortment of unlikely folk that sheâd rather not have âhelpingâ her.
Together, they confront ancient magic, medieval conspiracies, and the possible end of the world (that again?). Itâs not the holiday Qwyrk was hoping for!
Aboyt the Series: Qwyrk is the first in a series of four novels about the adventures of a group of misfits at the edge of reality in modern northern England, a world of shadows, Nighttime Nasties, sorcery, intergalactic councils, tacky nightclub attire, an abundance of sarcasm, and even elvesâŚthough they are a bit silly.
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Giveaway
Tim is giving away an Amazon gift card with this tour:
a Rafflecopter giveawayDirect Link: http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/b60e8d47191/?
Excerpt
Qwyrk and her friends sat on the slanted rooftop of the Ecklesonsâ large old home a little later on, quite annoyed. Now they were just trying to avoid all of the clatter and the obnoxious human adults stomping around below. Jimmyâs second outburst had no doubt earned him a grounding for the next month. Mr. Eckleson had let out a few stern words that were decidedly inappropriate for young Jimmyâs ears.
So Qwyrk, and her mates Qwypp and Qwykk, sat and surveyed the scene. It was a nice detached Edwardian home, with a lovely yard. Well, it would have been lovely except that it needed more tending than the Ecklesons were prepared to give it.
An old rosebush had grown to quite a size, such that its thorny branches often grabbed people as they walked by, often to gasps of surprise that then turned to annoyance as new victims found themselves unable to walk any farther until they became untangled. Those that ventured forward to smell the roses risked never being seen again.
At least twice a month, Mr. Eckleson threatened to hack the whole thing down, but somehow, he always got distracted by other weekend activities, such as football on television. And secretly, he harbored a slight fear of the thing, as if it were watching him. He worried that if he cut it down, a mob of rosebushes might return one night to enact a brutal vengeance. Mr. Eckleson needed a bit more fresh air.
Yes, it could have been a charming entryway to an old house, even with the disagreeable rosebush. But the plastic pink flamingos that Mrs. Eckleson had brought back from their Florida holiday and displayed with pride out front ensured that âcharmingâ was not a word on the lips of guests. So did the bright blue ceramic garden gnome.
So, the trio looked down on the yard now: gnomes, flamingos, petulant rosebushes, and all. Humans could only see them as shadows with glowing red eyes, but up here, all alone, they saw each other on their natural form, which was basically like humans, except for their pointed ears. Humans would probably be disappointed by that. The occasional humanâlike a witch, a druid, a shaman, or some suchâwho could see them in their true form called them elves or fairies, which the Shadows resented. Elves were pretty silly, after all.
âSo⌠what are we looking at?â Qwypp asked. Her bright red bob haircut clashed with her blue overalls and purple Doc Marten boots in a noticeable way.
âThe rosebush,â Qwyrk sighed, as she ran her hands through her short but oh-so-stylish blonde hair.
âThe rosebush,â Qwypp repeated. âAnd weâre looking at this rosebush becauseâŚâ
âShhh! Did you see that?â Qwyrk interrupted.
âWhat?â asked Qwykk, curling a strand of her long, wavy brown hair around her finger, and smoothing out wrinkles in her new designer exercise outfit. She obviously prided herself on being the glamorous one of the three.
âOne of the branches moved.â
âOh. My. Goddess!â Qwypp exclaimed. âYou mean they have⌠wind up here in the north? We got here just in time!â
Qwykk stifled a giggle.
Qwyrk shot both of them an angry look. âIt bent a little, like an elbow, you idiots! The rosebush is taking on anthropomorphic qualities. Iâm sure I just saw it.â
âAnthro-what?â Qwykk asked.
âIt means itâs becoming animated, moving like a bipedal being,â Qwypp answered, looking quite proud of herself, and smiling a smug smile.
âI donât care what its sexual orientation is! Thatâs its own private business,â Qwykk answered in an equally snooty voice, clearly trying to sound impressive.
Qwyrk sighed and rolled her eyes. âLook, letâs just focus on it for a while, all right? It may do something else. We have to find out.â
âI wonder how that would work?â Qwykk mused after another minute of the three of them watching in silence.
âHow what would work?â Qwyrk knew sheâd regret asking.
âI mean, if you was a rosebush, how would you know who you fancied? Like, what if you had a knob with thorns? That wouldnât be very pleasant! And even if you did know, what could you do about it? I mean⌠suppose you liked the rosebush on the other side of the street, how would you know if it fancied you back? And even if you knew it did, how would you actually get over there to get a snog? Itâs not like you could move or anything. And how would you actually snog? Like, with what? Rosebuds on your branches? And suppose you actually fancied the oak tree next door instead, well, that opens up a whole new set of problems!â
Qwyrk almost put her face in her palms. Almost.
âWhy canât we just go downstairs and do some yoga?â Qwypp interjected, and for once, Qwyrk was glad for her whining.
âI told youâŚâ Qwyrk started.
âYou didnât, though!â Qwypp said, annoyed. âJust that youâve got a job up here to do, because of some funny reports.â
âYeah, Qwyrk, whatâs up? You dragged us all the way up here from London, when we were going clubbing this weekend, and we have a right to know why.â
Qwyrk assumed a mock pleasant voice. âLook, here it is again, in small words, so youâll understand: that big rosebush has been doing some strange things over the last couple of weeks. Itâs been moving like a human, and people have also been seeing things like ghosts, goblins, strange lights, and apparitions in the neighborhood; there was even a little earthquake a few days ago. When a plant starts moving by itself, itâs usually not a good thing, and if thereâre ghosts and goblins involved, and the earth starts rumbling, it doesnât usually lead to snogs and chocolate. All clear now?â
âBut what are we supposed to do about it?â pouted Qwykk. âNow I canât use my VIP pass to Londonâs âClub Nitro Ibiza Hedonistic Fun Domeâ this weekend.â
âThe council wants us to keep an eye on it for a bit, to watch over everything. Our mate Jimmy down there is making that a bit difficult and making me question the wisdom of that order. Iâve a good mind to gag him tomorrow night.â
âThe fact that weâre the ones that scare the bejeesus out of most kids who see us is somehow lost on the council, eh?â snarked Qwypp. âI donât make the rules,â Qwyrk answered. âI just follow them.â
Qwyrk did ponder the irony of it all. âWell, what can I say? Sometimes kids are up far past their bedtimes and spot us. Then they get more scared of us than of the dangers weâre supposed to be watching for.â
Itâs time for a change in policy.
Author Bio
Tim Rayborn is a writer and internationally acclaimed musician. He plays dozens of unusual instruments that many people of have never heard of and often canât pronounce, including medieval instrument reconstructions and folk instruments from Northern Europe, the Balkans, and the Middle East.
He has appeared on over forty recordings, and his wanderings and tours have taken him across the US, all over Europe, to Canada and Australia, and to such romantic locations as Marrakech, Istanbul, Renaissance chateaux, medieval churches, and high school gymnasiums.
On the writing side of things, Tim lived in England for nearly seven years and has a PhD from the University of Leeds, which he likes to pretend means that he knows what heâs talking about. He has written several books and magazine articles about music, the arts, history, and business, and undoubtedly will write more (whether anyone likes it or not).
He currently resides in Northern California amid many books, antique music reproduction devices (i.e., CDs), instruments, and with a sometimes-demanding cat. Heâs also rather enthusiastic about good wines, single-malt Scotch, and cooking excellent food.
Author Website: https://timrayborn.com/
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