My thanks go out once again to ‘Head Of Zeus’ publishing, for the opportunity to take part in this Blog Tour.
Many of you will have already seen my initial feature post for this book, although you may not recognise the new cover image, which came with the lovely complimentary paperback edition, so kindly supplied by Communications Executive, Clare Gordon. I shall therefore feature both covers in this post and you can choose which one you like the most, for yourselves.
Caitlin never meant to stay so long. But it’s strange how this place warps time. Out here, in the middle of nowhere, it’s easy to forget about the world outside.
It all happened so fast. She was lonely, broke, about to give up.
Then she met Jake and he took her to his ‘family’: a close-knit community living by the lake.
Each day she says she’ll leave, but each night she’s back around their campfire. Staring into the flames. Reciting in chorus that she’s nothing without them.
But something inside her won’t let go. A whisper that knows this isn’t right. Knows there is danger lurking in that quiet room down by the lake …
Clicking on the title will link you directly to the book’s dedicated Goodreads page, where you can read the early reviews and ratings.
Since moving to New York from London two years ago, she has spent a lot of time brewing coffee, writing fiction, and covering the ever-broadening selection of Peak TV – all while fighting a one-woman war against the culinary tyranny of cilantro.
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For my stop on the Blog Tour, ‘Head Of Zeus’ have sent through this extract for me to share, offering you a short insight into the story. Other stops on the tour will be featuring alternative copy, so why not stop by some of them and discover the bigger picture.
“I’m disappointed to find out the drive will take barely two hours – in my head, driving from anywhere to anywhere else in the US is an epic undertaking, requiring overnight stays at seedy-yet-atmospheric motels along the way. He promises me the scenic route. But after the view from the Washington Bridge recedes, the motorway stretches out blank and bleak ahead of us, suburban houses dotted dutifully at its edges, and I feel dread. This is flat land, no variation, nothing but road for miles in any direction. What on earth am I doing?
‘Is there a way back from where we’re going? Other than by car?’
‘Let me guess – you don’t drive.’
I can’t work out whether he’s mocking me.
‘No. I never had much reason to learn. Nobody drives in London, and in Oxford I just cycled everywhere. Ever since I’ve been old enough to care, there’s been public transport.’
‘I guess there was public transport where I grew up, but nobody really took the time to find out. If you don’t drive you’re basically dead.’
‘Yikes. That’s comforting.’
He grins, reaching over to squeeze my leg.
‘Already planning your escape route?’
‘Have you heard of the final girl?’
‘The final girl. It’s this device in horror movies, where a group of people gets picked off one by one by the serial killer, or the monster or whatever, until there’s just one girl left alive. Everybody else dies but she survives, and gets out, and tells the story.’
‘Like in Alien?’
‘Yeah, Ripley in Alien, and it happens in Nightmare on Elm Street, Halloween… there are others I’m forgetting. The girl in Carrie, who has the grave nightmare right at the end.’
‘That movie messed me up.’
‘Me too. She survives because she’s kind to Carrie – the final girl’s usually like that. She’s innocent, in contrast to her hedonistic friends who do drugs and have sex and die for their sins.’
He smiles at me, raises an eyebrow. ‘Well, the closest town to where we’re going is Forestburgh, but I don’t know what the transport’s like. There’s buses back to New York from Monticello for sure.’ I make a mental note of Monticello, though this whole conversation has put me back at ease and the landscape is opening up around us as we drive, the foliage getting denser. The scenery Jake promised. As sun dapples through the narrow gaps in leaves, I wind down my window and extend my arm sideways into the air, fingers splayed against the forward motion.
From the corner of my eye I can see him looking over at me, but I can’t make out his expression without turning. To do that would be to break the moment, so instead I fill in the gaps for myself. He’s looking at me thinking I’m unlike any girl he’s ever met before, and maybe thinking that he doesn’t want to let me go now he’s found me.
I breathe in deep all the way to my diaphragm, and let the city go.“