Because we all love this series so much, I’ve begun a spin-off series. Carrie Jo and the gang need a new house to explore, so we are headed off to Idlewood. The Ghosts of Idlewood is Book One of the new Idlewood series. It will be available sometime in 2016.
If you love historical fiction, check out my Desert Queen series. It’s about Queen Nefertiti and her ill-fated love with Akhenaten.
I’ve also begun a series set in Dauphin Island, the Sirens Gate series. My heroine, Thessalonike (called Nik by her friends), gets into plenty of trouble. It’s an urban fantasy with a touch of humor and snark.
I have other series planned too, many featuring ghosts and great Southern families. I would be honored to have you follow me on Facebook. Just look up Author ML Bullock or sign up for my mailing list at www.mlbullock.com and get updates on new releases right in your mailbox. I don’t send spam, and I only email about new releases.
Thank you again for every kind email, Facebook post and message. I appreciate you.
All my best,
M.L. Bullock
Connect with M.L. Bullock on Facebook. To receive updates on her latest releases, visit her website at M.L. Bullock and subscribe to her mailing list. You can also contact her at [email protected].
About the Author
Author of the best-selling Seven Sisters series and the Desert Queen series, M.L. Bullock has been storytelling since she was a child. A student of archaeology, she loves weaving stories that feature her favorite historical characters—including Nefertiti. She currently lives on the Gulf Coast with her family but travels frequently to explore the southern states she loves so much.
Read more from M.L. Bullock
The Nike Chronicles
Blue Water
Blue Wake
Blue Tide
The Idlewood Series
The Ghosts of Idlewood
Dreams of Idlewood
The Whispering Saint
The Haunted Child
Return to Seven Sisters
(A Seven Sisters Sequel Series)
The Roses of Mobile
All the Summer Roses
Blooms Torn Asunder
A Garden of Thorns
The Gulf Coast Paranormal Series
The Ghosts of Kali Oka Road
The Ghosts of the Crescent Theater
A Haunting on Bloodgood Row
The Legend of the Ghost Queen
A Haunting at Dixie House
The Ghost Lights of Forrest Field
The Ghost of Gabrielle Bonet
The Ghost of Harrington Farm
The Creature on Crenshaw Road
Shabby Hearts Paranormal Cozy Mystery Series
A Touch of Shabby
Shabbier by the Minute
Shabby by Night
The Sugar Hill Series
Wife of the Left Hand
Fire on the Ramparts
Blood by Candlelight
The Starlight Ball
His Lovely Garden
Ghosts of Summerleigh Series
The Belles of Desire, Mississippi
The Ghost of Jeopardy Belle
The Lady in White
Lost Camelot Series
Guinevere Forever
Guinevere Unconquered
The Desert Queen Series
The Tale of Nefret
The Falcon Rises
The Kingdom of Nefertiti
The Song of the Bee-Eater
Standalone books
Ghosts on a Plane
Short Story Collections
Christmas at Seven Sisters
More from M.L. Bullock
From The Ghosts of Idlewood
I arrived at Idlewood at seven o’clock thinking I’d have plenty of time to mark the doors with taped signs before the various contractors arrived. There was no electricity, so I wasn’t sure what the workmen would actually accomplish today. I’d dressed down this morning in worn blue jeans and a long-sleeved t-shirt. It just felt like that kind of day. The house smelled stale, and it was cool but not freezing. We’d enjoyed a mild February this year, but like they say, “If you don’t like the weather in Mobile, just wait a few minutes.”
I really hated February. It was “the month of love,” and this year I wasn’t feeling much like celebrating. I’d given Chip the heave-ho for good right after Christmas, and our friendship hadn’t survived the breakup. I hated that because I really did like him as a person, even if he could be narrow-minded about spiritual subjects. I hadn’t been seeing anyone, but I was almost ready to get back into the dating game. Almost.
I changed out the batteries in my camera before beginning to document the house. Carrie Jo liked having before, during and after shots of every room.
According to the planning sheet Carrie Jo and I developed last month, all the stage one doors were marked. On her jobs, CJ orchestrated everything: what rooms got painted first, where the computers would go, which room we would store supplies in, that sort of thing. I also put no-entry signs on rooms that weren’t safe or were off-limits to curious workers. The home was mostly empty, but there were some pricy mantelpieces and other components that would fetch a fair price if you knew where to unload stolen items such as high-end antiques. Surprisingly, many people did.
I’d start the pictures on the top floor and work my way down. I peeked out the front door quickly to see if CJ was here. No sign of her yet, which wasn’t like her at all. She was usually the early bird. I smiled, feeling good that Carrie Jo trusted me enough to give me the keys to this grand old place. There were three floors, although the attic space wasn’t a real priority for our project. The windows would be changed, the floors and roof inspected, but not a lot of cosmetic changes were planned for up there beyond that. We’d prepare it for future storage of seasonal decorations and miscellaneous supplies. Seemed a waste to me. I liked the attic; it was roomy, like an amazing loft apartment. But it was no surprise I was drawn to it—when I was a kid, I practically lived in my tree house.
I stuffed my cell phone in my pocket and jogged up the wide staircase in the foyer. I could hear birds chirping upstairs; they probably flew in through a broken window. There were quite a few of them from the sound of it. Since I hadn’t labeled any doors upstairs or in the attic, I hadn’t had the opportunity to explore much up there. It felt strangely exhilarating to do so all by myself. The first flight of stairs appeared safe, but I took my time on the next two. Water damage wasn’t always easy to spot, and I had no desire to fall through a weak floor. When I reached the top of the stairs to the attic, I turned the knob and was surprised to find it locked.
“What?” I twisted it again and leaned against the door this time, but it wouldn’t move. I didn’t see a keyhole, so that meant it wasn’t locked after all. I supposed it was merely stuck, the wood probably swollen from moisture. “Rats,” I said. I set my jaw and tried one last time. The third time must have been the charm because it opened freely, as if it hadn’t given me a world of problems before. I nearly fell as it gave way, laughing at myself as I regained my balance quickly. I reached for my camera and flipped it to the video setting. I panned the room to record the contents. There were quite a few old trunks, boxes and even the obligatory dressmaker’s dummy. It was a nerd girl historian’s dream come true.
Like an amateur documentarian, I spoke to the camera: “Maiden voyage into the attic at Idlewood. Today is February 4th. This is Rachel Kowalski recording.”
Rachel Kowalski recording, something whispered back. My back straightened, and the fine hairs on my arms lifted as if to alert me to the presence of someone or something unseen.
I froze and said, “Hello?” I was happy to hear my voice and my voice alone echo back to me.
Hello?
About The Ghosts of Idlewood
When a team of historians takes on the task of restoring the Idlewood plantation to its former glory, they discover there’s more to the moldering old home than meets the eye. The long-dead Ferguson childre
n don’t seem to know they’re dead. A mysterious clock, a devilish fog and the Shadow Man add to the supernatural tension that begins to build in the house. Lead historian Carrie Jo Stuart and her assistant Rachel must use their special abilities to get to the bottom of the many mysteries that the house holds.
Detra Ann and Henri get a reality check, of the supernatural kind, and Deidre Jardine finally comes face to face with the past.
More from M.L. Bullock
From The Roses of Mobile
I could see the side of the house now and a wild patch of garden so dense that I knew immediately I would not explore it today. Even I did not wish to endure Mama’s wrath on such a fine afternoon, and I surely would if I tore my silk lavender dress. Honestly, who traveled in silk? I was wrinkled from head to toe.
Wait! I saw an entrance into the garden, one I hadn’t seen from the side path. It was an archway made of vine roses, Bourbons, I believed. I picked one and sniffed it. Yes, Bourbon. Light scent, small round flowers; this variety was known as Honorine de Brabant. The soft pink blooms felt smooth and cool beneath my fingers. The leaves of the runaway climber were light green and the barbs sharp and long. I stepped under the archway and was completely overwhelmed by the heady fragrance that surrounded me. There were a large oak tree and a bench to my far right, but I wasn’t in a hurry to sit. I’d been sitting for days. Standing in the sunshine felt liberating.
Oh, yes, this was a delightful place! Just as Papa had promised. I would love it here. And this wasn’t the only garden—there were two more to explore, document and cultivate as I saw fit. Papa already promised that I could make any changes I liked, but why would I change it? Except to trim it here and there, weed the long-neglected beds and open the old paths by removing the debris. But I couldn’t do this by myself. I would need help, and Papa would surely approve the hiring of a gardener or two to work under my instruction. And Jonatan could help, if Mama allowed him to.
I spun around with my arms outstretched, laughing with pure joy. My lavender skirts spun about me, and for a moment I felt like a flower.
And then I heard crying—it was a woman crying, and her sobbing was the sound of someone who knew the depths of despair. I was frightened but moved by her tears. I searched and searched but couldn’t spot her. It was as if she were here, there and all around me. My heart sank and my skin felt so cold, almost like it was wet. I froze and forgot completely about the joy of the previous moment.
“Hello?”
No one answered me, and I felt as though I’d probably interrupted someone, someone who wasn’t supposed to be here. This was my garden now. Whoever or whatever it was in here would have to leave. “You can’t be here. This is my garden now.” Another sound and then even more heartbreaking sobbing caught me by surprise, but it came from another direction, as if the woman was outside the rose garden now. I ran to the archway and peered to the left and right. I saw no one. I thought perhaps I caught the tail of a dress turning a corner in the hedgerow, but surely that was a trick of the light. Frowning now, I walked back into the garden. I’d sort that out later. Now I wanted to explore.
And I did explore for nearly thirty minutes. I heard Jonatan calling me and decided to take my samples and make my way to Seven Sisters. It wasn’t far away, and there was much to do to get settled in. He’d need me with him, for he was always so unsure of everything when we moved. We would have to set up his tin soldiers on his dresser and arrange his clothing just so.
Clutching my rose samples lightly, for the thorns were painful to handle, I smiled to myself as I stood up and dusted the soil from my skirt. I heard an odd sound, the sound of paper fluttering in the breeze, and noticed a book lying open on the bench. I hadn’t seen it before…maybe it belonged to the sobbing woman who’d snuck out earlier. Yes, that would explain it.
“Silly woman,” I said. Imagine leaving a book outside unprotected from the rain. And it did look like it might rain soon, if the dark clouds on the horizon were any indication. I set my roses on the bench, picked the book up and flipped through the pages. Yes, this must belong to a well-read person, for it was a rare book of poetry. Inside the book was an embroidered blue silk ribbon. The embroidery work was finely stitched, and I detected two C’s and a small blue flower. I flipped to the front and read the inscription:
To my dear sister, Christine.
All my love, Louis
Yes, I would have to find this Christine and give her a stern warning about leaving books outside. I flipped to another page, a blank page. But then it suddenly wasn’t blank. It was as if an invisible hand began to write—the writing was clear, and the lettering was in red. Is that blood? So shocked was I that I dropped the book, but I quickly and carefully picked it back up.
Get out now! Leave this place!
And that was it. The writing stopped and the letters began to fade, as if the words had been written in disappearing ink. Seeing it made me think of Jonatan, who loved to prank me.
But the voice! How could he have tricked me with that? He sounded nothing like a woman.
I shook my head and decided to leave the garden in search of my brother. I shivered at remembering the woman crying here. The smell of roses overwhelmed me. It was time to leave the garden and go into the house. I tried to remain calm. I must remain calm and think about sensible things, not spirits in the garden.
About The Roses of Mobile
Carrie Jo receives a gift she never expected—Seven Sisters. The dream catcher and her handsome husband, Ashland, quickly discover that the past is alive and well and that ghosts roam the halls of the restored plantation home. Unfamiliar ghosts. As Carrie Jo begins to dream about the past, she “meets” Lafonda Delarosa, a young woman with a curious mind but an uncertain future, and her beautiful brother, Jonatan. When CJ learns that tragedy awaits the Delarosa family, she tries to come to Lafonda’s aid but makes a mistake that will cost her—or someone—dearly.
More from M.L. Bullock
From The Tale of Nefret
Clapping my hands three times, I smiled, amused at the half-dozen pairs of dark eyes that watched me entranced with every word and movement I made. “And then she crept up to the rock door and clapped her hands again…” Clap, clap, clap. The children squealed with delight as I weaved my story. This was one of their favorites, The Story of Mahara, about an adventurous queen who constantly fought magical creatures to win back her clan’s stolen treasures.
“Mahara crouched down as low as she could.” I demonstrated, squatting as low as I could in the tent. “She knew that the serpent could only see her if she stood up tall, for he had very poor eyesight. If she was going to steal back the jewel, she would have to crawl her way into the den, just as the serpent opened the door. She was terrified, but the words of her mother rang in her ears: ‘Please, Mahara! Bring back our treasures and restore our honor!’”
I crawled around, pretending to be Mahara. The children giggled. “Now Mahara had to be very quiet. The bones of a hundred warriors lay in the serpent’s cave. One wrong move and that old snake would see her and…catch her!” I grabbed at a nearby child, who screamed in surprise. Before I could finish my tale, Pah entered our tent, a look of disgust on her face.
“What is this? Must our tent now become a playground? Out! All of you, out! Today is a special day, and we have to get ready.”
The children complained loudly, “We want to hear Nefret’s story! Can’t we stay a little longer?”
Pah shook her head, and her long, straight hair shimmered. “Out! Now!” she scolded the spokesman for the group.
“Run along. There will be time for stories later,” I promised them.
As the heavy curtain fell behind them, I gave Pah an unhappy look. She simply shook her head. “You shouldn’t make promises that you may not be able to keep, Nefret. You do not know what the future holds.”
“Why must you treat them so? They are only children!” I set about dressing for the day. Today we were to dress simply with an aba—a sleevele
ss coat and trousers. I chose green as my color, and Pah wore blue. I cinched the aba at the waist with a thick leather belt. I wore my hair in a long braid. My fingers trembled as I cinched it with a small bit of cloth.
“Well, if nothing else, you’ll be queen of the children, Nefret.”
About The Tale of Nefret
Twin daughters of an ancient Bedouin king struggle under the weight of an ominous prophecy that threatens to divide them forever. Royal sibling rivalry explodes as the young women realize that they must fight for their future and for the love of Alexio, the man they both love. The Tale of Nefret chronicles their lives as they travel in two different directions. One sister becomes the leader of the Meshwesh while the other travels to Egypt as an unwilling gift to Pharaoh.
More from M.L. Bullock
From Wife of the Left Hand
Okay, so it was official. I had lost my mind. I turned off the television and got up from the settee. I couldn’t explain any of it, and who would believe me? Too many weird things had happened today—ever since I arrived at Sugar Hill.
Just walk away, Avery. Walk away. That had always been good advice, Vertie’s advice, actually.
And I did.
I took a long hot bath, slid into some comfortable pinstriped pajamas, pulled my hair into a messy bun and climbed into my king-sized bed.
All was well. Until about midnight.
A shocking noise had me sitting up straight in the bed. It was the loudest, deepest clock I had ever heard, and it took forever for the bells to ring twelve times. After the last ring, I flopped back on my bed and pulled the covers over my head. Would I be able to go back to sleep now?
To my surprise, the clock struck once more. What kind of clock struck thirteen? Immediately my room got cold, the kind of cold that would ice you down to your bones. Wrapping the down comforter around me, I turned on the lamp beside me and huddled in the bed, waiting…for something…
I sat waiting, wishing I were brave enough and warm enough to go relight a fire in my fireplace. It was so cold I could see my breath now. Thank God I hadn’t slept nude tonight. Jonah had hated when I wore pajamas to bed. Screw him! I willed myself to stop thinking about him. That was all in the past now. He’d made his choice, and I had made mine.
The Ultimate Seven Sisters Collection Page 74
