Friday, June 20, 2014

Blog Tour: Spotlight/Giveaway!! Crossing Into the Mystic, by D.L. Koontz

Welcome to this stop in the 
Crossing Into the Mystic Tour,
sponsored by
Bewitching Book Tours!!

Crossing Into the Mystic
(The Crossings Trilogy, #1)
D.L. Koontz
Trade Paperback, 252 pages
Lighthouse Publishing of the Carolinas
March 21, 2014
Inspirational Fantasy, Paranormal Romance, Suspense, Young Adult Fiction

Book Synopsis

Now and then, you see something that alters how you view the world.

That's what teen orphan Grace MacKenna learns in this paranormal suspense novel, Crossing Into the Mystic, the first book in The Crossings Trilogy.

Death, ghosts and the foibles of the living all collide together for our insufferably independent protagonist as she escapes from a volatile aunt in Boston to the secluded mountains of West Virginia, wrestles with lingering anger over the horrific deaths of her parents and sister, finds unexpected friendships in the local riverside town, and tackles a budding romantic triangle with two very different young men one living, one dead.

In her isolated mountainside home, Grace discovers how to see and talk with ghosts. In particular, she is pulled into the life of a dashing Civil War ghost, William, and unwittingly finds herself helping him resolve unfinished business so he can cross into the hereafter.

But is Grace actually experiencing angels and demons in disguise? Will she find out too late? And will her developing love for the ghost affect her decisions regarding her real-life romance? Before learning the answers, you ll journey with her to the backwoods flatlands of Georgia, and to Antietam Battlefield (during a full moon "when the divide between life and death is weakest...") where Grace interacts with menacing ghosts.

Join Grace as she learns that forbidden love can make demands that teeter between life and death.

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Chapter 1 Excerpt

All of it became mine that day: the hefty trust fund, my mother’s red SUV, and my stepfather’s ancestral estate isolated amidst the caverns of the Blue Ridge Mountains. I was embarking on a 500-mile journey to make solo use of all three.

As long as I remained in Boston, I would continue to live my life backward — dwelling on the past and longing for the parents and sister who were dead. Buried. Gone. There was no way I could have known that by turning away from death I would be running into it.
That day seemed like the perfect time to launch my escape. The rising sun shot beguiling streaks of crimson through the divisions of the massive brownstones on Boston’s Beacon Hill, teasing away any threat of “Red sky at morning, sailor take warning.”
In the stillness of the morning, I heard a house door latch, then a husky voice grumble. “Ouch ... ouch ... dang!”

My cousin, Michael, barefoot and clad only in gym trunks and a T-shirt, pranced between stones as he hurried up the steep three-block incline toward me. He was carrying travel snacks, but what I hoped he was bringing me was was reassurance of our individual escapes.

“Grace, go! Go! Go! Click your heels and get the Sam Hill out of Oz before she changes her mind!”

Though Michael’s words echoed my resolve, I laughed. He was four inches taller and eight years older, but a million times more sociable and often reminded me of an oversized little boy.

“Auck, Dorothy.” He reached my car, glanced back toward our house, and handed me a zip-locked bag stuffed with trail mix. “You’re too late. You’ll never get to Kansas now.”

I turned to see the subject of his wicked witch allusion exit through the oversized front door of our ivy-covered brownstone and begin her march up the sidewalk with Uncle Phil dawdling behind. Aunt Tish wasn’t toting a flying broom, but she was storming along, face scowling, hands fisted.

Michael grinned. “I guess she’s saving the flying monkeys for me.”

“Maybe. She wasn’t very happy about you leaving tonight for Chile. You sure you’re tough enough to stand up to her?” I elbowed him, knowing he wouldn’t feel the jab. Despite his baby face and wire-rimmed glasses, he had the abs of a bodybuilder.

“No problem. She can’t control me anymore. It’s you who better leave quickly.”

“I’m going. Don’t worry about that.” I tossed the trail mix on the back seat. From the front, my dog, Tramp, watched it land and turned back to the front window, more excited about going somewhere than the goodies. He barked twice. Let’s go.

“Good. It will be two years before you’ll get another chance,” Michael warned in a whisper. “I won’t be here this summer to save you like I have before.”

“Which is exactly why I’m leaving today. Thanks for coming home to see me off. She’s not that bad, you know.” Maybe voicing such hope would make it so.

Eyes wide, he said, “What? She’s an unstable, soul-sucking—”

“Shush.” I stifled laughter. “She’ll hear you.”

He sobered and leaned against my car, crossing his arms.  "You're sure about this?"

“The trip? Of course.”

He shook his head. “The house. It sounds … weird. Like Norman Bates lives there.”

I looked at him, startled. Michael was generally carefree and titillated by the unknown. He loved the notion that people held secrets within themselves.

“That’s crazy,” I affirmed, lest his uncharacteristic concern unnerve me.

“Is it? Jack was so close-mouthed about the place.”

“Michael, stop it! It’s only a house. Jack was there three years ago. How bad could it be?”

“Remember. I’m only a phone call away. You have to live there what — three months?”

“That’s what the will says. Then it’s mine to do what I want with. Including selling it. And, of course, that’s exactly what Aunt Tish expects me to do.”

“We’ll work that out later. Stick with this charade that you’re fixing it for your senior project, then selling it and moving back to Boston. By the end of summer, my new company will transfer me back to the states, and you can live with me. Just don’t come back here.”

“I know, I know.”

“And keep Tramp close by.”

I shook my head to indicate his concern was unnecessary. But inside, I couldn’t help but wonder if Tramp would be able to stop all threats that I might encounter.


In Crossing Into The Mystic, D.L. Koontz makes a very different world real. ~ Ann Vanino

The story is complex and unexpected and I enjoyed the twists of plot. -- Felicia Bowen Bridges

I kept going back and reading a sentence, a paragraph, some of the time the whole page. -~ Tricia Scoggins

 Lighthouse Publishing Links

About the Author

D. L. Koontz was born in Pennsylvania, but with her husband, now splits her time between their home in mountainous West Virginia and their cattle ranch in coastal plains Georgia. She has a son and a stepdaughter. A member of ACFW (American Christian Fiction Writers) and ASJA (American Society of Journalists and Authors), she is a former journalist, business consultant, spokesperson, and college instructor. After several non-fiction books, Crossing into the Mystic is her first novel.

Author Links


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