In 1988, Angelica Cross worked with a mortal detective to take down a werewolf pack who were feeding on children at a local school playground.

In 2008, the killings begin again, and Angelica is called in to work the case alongside her old partner’s nephew, who likes Angelica as much as she likes garlic.
They need to put their animosity behind them, before more people are murdered.

The Last Gambi by Om Swami
Genre: YA Coming of Age
Release Date: February 2017
Harper Element (Harper Collins)

Summary:

Success by design is infinitely better than a win by chance. Vasu Bhatt is fourteen years old when a mysterious old man spots him at a chess tournament and offers to coach him, on two simple but strange conditions: he would not accompany his student to tournaments, and there was to be no digging into his past. Initially resentful, Vasu begins to gradually understand his master’s mettle.

Over eight years, master and student come to love and respect each other, but the two conditions remain unbroken – until Vasu confronts and provokes the old man. Meanwhile, their hard work and strategy pay off: Vasu qualifies for the world chess championship. But can he make it all the way without his master by his side?

Inspiring, moving and mercurial, The Last Gambit is a beautiful coming of age tale in a uniquely Indian context.

Excerpt:

‘Do you know who the finest teacher is?’ he asked.

‘You!’

Ignoring my answer, he continued, ‘Experience is the greatest teacher, Vasu. Always replay your own games to see where you went wrong and what made you play the way you did. People don’t lose because they make mistakes, they do so because they repeat their mistakes. The first time, it’s not a loss but a learning.’

‘So, how do I avoid making mistakes?’

‘Just don’t repeat them,’ he said after coughing and clearing his throat. ‘Be it life or chess, that’s the only difference between a grandmaster and an amateur. An amateur expects to reach a different destination by walking the same path. He hopes for miracles or serendipities. A grandmaster, on the other hand, relies on his own effort and intelligence. He does not commit the same error twice.’

‘But Master,’ I said, curious, ‘I do try my best to not repeat my mistakes. Why do I still lose?’ ‘Because you nourish the body and starve the soul.’ I gave him a blank look because I didn’t have a clue about what he just said.

‘Do you know the soul of chess, Vasu?’

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About the Author:

Om Swami is a monk who lives in a remote place in the Himalayan foothills. He has a bachelor degree in business and an MBA from Sydney, Australia. Swami served in executive roles in large corporations around the world. He founded and led a profitable software company with offices in San Francisco, New York, Toronto, London, Sydney and India.

Om Swami completely renounced his business interests to pursue a more spiritual life. He is the bestselling author of Kundalini: An Untold Story, A Fistful of Love and If Truth Be Told: A Monk’s Memoir.

His blog omswami.com is read by millions all over the world.

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About the Book

Title: Right Text Wrong Number

Author: Natalie Decker

Genre: YA Romance

High school juniors Layla and Tyler are complete opposites. Sure she’s a cheerleader and he’s a football player, but she thinks he’s the biggest jerk in the school and he thinks she is too high on her horse to even be worth of a second glance from him. And when the two of them are near one another, sparks fly in all the wrong directions. They are NOT interested in speaking to one another, let alone date.

But when Layla unknowingly sends Tyler a smack-down text meant for the girl sending naked photos to her then-boyfriend, Adam, Tyler has no idea it’s Layla and decides to play along. After all, Tyler cannot resist messing with the pissed off girl firing off texts about junk pictures, cheating, and girl code.

As the fallout from Adam’s sexting scandal plays out in front of the entire school, Tyler and Layla secretly continue to text one another using fake names. But as days and weeks pass, things take a turn for the serious between them, and suddenly, their texts mean more. They both begin to consider revealing their true identity to the other and taking the relationship from texts to dates, then kissing and maybe more.

They say there’s a thin line between love and hate. Can reality live up to the fantasy, or will Layla and Tyler be forever offsides?

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Author Bio: Natalie Decker is the author of RIVAL LOVE series and the Scandalous Boys series. She loves oceans, sunsets, sand between her toes, and carefree days. Her imagination is always going, which some find odd. But she believes in seeing the world in a different light at all times. Her first passion for writing started at age twelve when she had to write a poem for English class. However, seventh grade wasn’t her favorite time and books were her source of comfort. She took all college prep classes in High school, and attended the University of Akron. Although she studied Mathematics she never lost her passion for writing or her comfort in books. She’s a mean cook in the kitchen, loves her family and friends and her awesome dog infinity times infinity. If she’s not writing, reading, traveling, hanging out with her family and friends, then she’s off having an adventure. Because Natalie believes in a saying: Your life is your own journey, so make it amazing!

Find out more visit: www.authornataliedecker.com

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EXCERPT:

A knock prods my door open a smidge. Juliet peeks in, and I want to launch a pillow at her face. “What do you want?”
“Um … can I talk to you about something?”
“No. Especially not if you’ve come to gloat about me getting all your chores.”
She flinches. “I’m sorry … I was mad. I’ll talk to mom. It’s cool. I know you have way more going on than me. You don’t have to do my chores.”
“I’m going to. I don’t need a reminder of all the things you do better than me.”
“Ugh. It’s not like that, and you know it. I get crap all the time for not being more active in school and more social.”
It’s true she does. Sometimes I think our mom likes to pit us against each other so we both try as hard as the other. Juliet is book smart and great at soccer. Me. Well, I’m the more flexible one and good with people. I cheer and do gymnastics, and I’ve got over ten thousand followers on Facebook, Instagram and Twitter. Juliet has no social accounts. Even our 80-year-old grandma has Facebook. But Juliet thinks sites like that are just a waste and eats brain cells like crack kills a person. My twin is very unique.
I frown. “I’m tired. Can we talk later?”
“Yeah, sure.”
She closes the door, and I glare at my algebra. The numbers are so jumbled; I have to calm myself and focus. Numbers always look wonky to me. Sevens and ones look the same. Fours and Nines look the same. Threes tend to look like Eights.
Adam sometimes laughs at me when I try texting without using my voice app because it looks like a drunk person typed it. But the wonderful app on my phone can’t help me pass Algebra. It certainly can’t help me muddle my way through English.
A lot of people, especially in our family, believe Juliet got all the brains. Maybe they’re right. Heck, I didn’t even start talking until I was four. By the time I was in first grade, I was just learning to read my own name. I’ve been to tutors and specialists, and not much helps. There is no cure for Dyslexia. I just have to take longer breaks than normal students.
Maybe that’s why I focus better at sports. No one is asking me to find x while flipping in the air. No one is asking me to read when I’m working on the balancing beam.
My phone pings, and I sigh. Great, a text message. I turn on my app and it sounds off in a generic voice. Message from Adam: Hey U. R U grounded?
I use the microphone and say: Not exactly. Have to do extra chores.

Adam: That Sucks. No party Friday?
Me: Not sure. Can we do something else?
Adam: Babe. Srsly? I want 2 prty.
Me: I get that. Trying to get Homework done. TTYL
Adam: Can’t I g2g2 zzz.

That’s bullcrap. He doesn’t go to bed until at least twelve. It’s only seven. At least I think it is. I chew on my lower lip.

Me: Yeah Ok.
Adam: Heart U.

Heart? No love? What the heck?
I don’t bother to acknowledge him. I push my phone aside. He’ll get the hint his lack of typing out “I love you” really ticked me off.
My phone pings again. I don’t look at it immediately. After about four more pings, I can’t ignore it anymore and look. He sends me a pic of him making a kissy face at me. My resolve wanes a little. The next picture is a selfie; with his left-hand he makes the universal sign for “I love you.” I melt a bit but still refuse to answer.

Adam: Sry.
Adam: Luv u.
Me: I’m sorry too. Just stressed.
Adam: We could correct that :-).

I hate when he hints at sex. He’ll put on a whole pouty act because I refuse to go all the way. Why does waiting for a right moment have to feel like a ticking time bomb? What’s with it with guys thinking they’re only awesome if they go all the way with their girlfriends?

Me: I told u. I’m not ready.
Adam: I know. When u r I’m here.

I want to say ‘really, then why keep mentioning every chance you get?’ But this will lead to a fight so I simply take the cowardly way out.

Me: I have to finish this homework. Love you.
Adam: Luv ya too. Sweet dreams.

I set my phone aside and stare at my math. The whole sex thing has me in a way worse mood. We’ve been together for almost a year. I don’t want to be that corny girl who gives it up on prom night. I don’t want to wait until I’m married either, I just … I’m scared.
All my friends who’ve done it said it was super painful the first time and you can’t even enjoy it. They also claim every time afterwards is amazing. Still pain before doesn’t make me want to try it any time soon. If I’m being completely truthful though, pain isn’t the only thing holding me back. What I’m really terrified of is losing Adam afterwards. I already feel like our relationship is on its last thread with his constant pressure. Then with him being so distracted, he can’t even hold a conversation with me anymore. I’d be completely mortified if I did share that experience with him and he just dropped me as easily as the snap of a finger.
Every single one of my friends who gave up the v-card to a guy they were dating said it was like that’s all the guy was after—nailing the virgin—because they broke up quickly after. Some waited a week, some a couple days, others less than twenty-four hours. That is what I’m terrified of: that Adam will go from this wonderful, amazing person to a grade-A douche. And I’ll forever remember him as that guy who took my virginity and left me.
I stare mindlessly at my homework. I’m never going to get this done if I keep letting myself get distracted with texts and worrying about sex. Around nine, I finally finish my homework and then I turn in.