Jul 22, 2013

Charmed Release Day Blitz!!

Hey everyone! I am super excited to be here in celebration of the release of CHARMED (A Death Escorts Novel) ! I have been looking forward to this release for a long time. Charming is probably my most favorite character I have written to date. He is good looking, snarky, with a very dark side. But he also has a very good side just waiting to get out.  Frankie is Charming’s love interest in the book and she is just as great as Charming. Frankie is a smart ass, confident, and a take no prisoners kind of gal. She also loves sugar and consumes it all the time. Lol. Because I was so excited about this book release I made a series of “countdown” teaser images for fun. I am not claiming any kind of rights to the original images (I just hold copyright to the quotes from the book and the cover image) but I thought they were super fun so I dedicated this post to some of my favorite teaser from CHARMED! Check them out along with a few excerpts. ~Cambria



You would think being a Death Escort—a killer by trade—would make a man above getting a lecture from his boss. Apparently when you work for the Grim Reaper, the ultimate death dealer, it doesn’t matter who you are, how many times you’ve killed, or how ruthless you might be because he is better.
            After over ninety years of working for him, it’s still annoying as hell.
            And so are his lectures.
            The fact is it gets old working for someone who is the be-all, end-all in life and death. So when I saw the chance to allow someone to get the best of him, I took it. I mean, it isn’t every day when someone manages to get around the iron-clad rules of the Grim Reaper himself.
            So yeah, I talked and wasted time. I “forgot” to mention that one of his new Escorts had figured out a way to break the call of death that was placed on a Target. Turns out in the eyes of the Reaper (who strangely looked a lot like Mr. Burns from that cartoon The Simpsons), that made me an accessory.
            And now, after weeks of delaying the inevitable, I was getting my punishment.
            Goody gumdrops.
            Instead of listening to what a disappointment I was, how he should just Recall me right now and let me twist away in an eternity far worse than hell, blah, blah, blah, I turned my attention instead toward the floor-to-ceiling row of closets that lined the wall behind his massive desk.
            The closets where he kept his bodies.

Some people collect coins, artifacts, or tools. G.R. collects bodies.
            The doors were open, making me think he was displaying his collection to me for a certain reason. Shock value maybe? Though he must know that seeing a bunch of bodies wasn’t something that would shock me. These bodies were all groomed and hanging in perfect rows. I was used to seeing bodies in… less than perfect condition.
Maybe it was to make me think that the very body I inhabited at this moment might end up back with the others and I would be nothing but the red mist that makes up my soul.
I scanned the bodies, my eyes looking for one that probably should have been familiar, but after so many years I wondered if it would be. I had done this occasionally through the years, but just like today, I didn’t see it. I wondered what had become of my original body, the one I was born in. The one I died in. I couldn’t imagine G.R. got rid of it; I mean, he was practically a body hoarder, yet in all my years of working as an escort, of rotating bodies, I hadn’t seen it.
And I wasn’t about to ask. Because asking would let him know I wondered; it would give him even more power over me… something he didn’t need more of.
“I have a new Target for you,” G.R. announced, effectively ending my thinking.
“A Target?” I asked, surprised, wondering if I somehow missed the punishment I was supposed to get.
“That is your job, is it not?” he mused, staring at me through narrowed eyes. His cheekbones jutted out and his wide forehead was further widened by the way he combed his dark hair back and away from his face. He wasn’t a big man, but I guess when the merest touch could kill, muscles didn’t really matter.
“I thought we were here to discuss the status of my job,” I replied, looking right at him. I was careful to keep my posture
bordering on lazy to give off the impression I could care less about whatever he dished out.
“Active,” he said, irritation flashing through his eyes. “That’s the status of your job. Like it or not, you’re one of the best escorts I have.”
I flashed a smile. I wasn’t one of the best. I was the best. We both knew it. I guess that was the reason my punishment was lacking.
“Here,” he said, holding out a file. I got up and took the folder, opening it up and staring down at the picture clipped to the front of the page. It was a young woman, in her twenties—long dark hair, brown eyes, and full lips. She was gorgeous, which could be considered a bonus. She had the bone structure of fine breeding and about four names, which spoke of old money.
She’d be dead by the end of the week.


Red. It’s all I could see. It was all around me, everywhere. At this rate I wouldn’t have one drop of blood left in my body. How long did it take someone to bleed out? How long until their organs, their heart had nothing left to fuel them? A minute? Five?
What I couldn’t understand is why I wasn’t in pain. Surely with this much blood pouring out of my skin I would feel some kind of raw pain. But there was nothing.
Nothing but red.
Why was it suddenly so quiet? I could hear nothing—not even the sound of my own breathing. Then I realized. The hush in the air was because everyone was watching me die. They were likely wondering the same thing I had been moments before: How long? I needed to get up, to prove to them that I wasn’t going down like this. I wasn’t going to die in a fight I should have won—a fight that was rightfully mine.
I stopped thinking completely when I practically flew up off the ground. An overwhelming dizziness overcame me, so disorienting and unsettling that my insides buzzed with discomfort.
I was upright, my body springing up so fast that I hadn’t even consciously tried to move it. Still, all I saw was red. How could someone bleed so much and move so fast?
I looked down at myself, taking stock, mentally preparing for the sight of my blood-drenched body…
Only I wasn’t bleeding.
And my body… it wasn’t there.
In the place of skin and bone was nothing but a fine red mist—a red cloud that was shaped like a man—like me.
Tentatively, I reached out my arm (was it really still my arm?) and watched the red mist dissipate like smoke from a cigar.
I must already be dead.
This cloud—this red—was all that was left of me, left of my life?
I looked up, beyond myself, and saw that I wasn’t in the ring anymore. I was in a room. An office. It was large, uncluttered and had a huge row of floor-to-ceiling closets lining the wall behind a massive desk.
It was clear this wasn’t heaven. But it didn’t seem like hell either.
I watched as the large leather chair behind the desk began to swivel around, slowly turning, and if I had a throat I would
have swallowed thickly.
There was something ominous about the way that chair turned, something final. I knew it down to my core.
A boney man with a wide forehead and shrewd eyes appeared, steepling his fingers beneath his chin and regarding me in a way that did nothing to soothe my confusion.
“You’re dead,” the man said simply. “But you don’t have to be for very long.”
“I don’t?” I replied, surprised when my voice echoed through the room. How does one speak without a mouth?
He smiled. It was the kind of smile that I’d seen before. The kind the boxer gave me right before he killed me in that dirty fight.
“I have a proposition for you,” he began, pulling his hands down from under his chin and pushing out of the chair. “One that you won’t be able to refuse.”
And so just minutes after I lived the moment that defined my life forever… I also lived the moment that would forever define my death.


            Sugar. I needed more of it if I was going to make it through this day. The chocolate croissant and caramel latte I had this morning wasn’t near enough to combat the massive lines, the noise, and disgruntled people that filled the DMV. Whatever in hell made me think that working at the Department of Motor Vehicles, here in Alaska, was a good idea?
            Maybe it was the good pay. Maybe it was because I got weekends off.
            Or maybe it was because I had a moment of temporary insanity that unfortunately coincided with me saying, “I accept,” when I got offered this job.
            Besides the fact that the lines were permanently out the door, the computer systems were temperamental at best, and my boss was a complete broom rider, my stash of chocolate and Sour Patch Kids was empty.
            That meant someone was going to die today.
            I glanced back up at the ninety-year-old woman whose head barely cleared the insanely high counters we stood behind and tried to hold on to my patience. “Mrs. Eldridge,” I said extremely loudly. “Like I told you last week, you have to go and get new glasses before I can renew your driver’s license.”
            “I have new glasses,” she insisted.
            Lord, save me now.
            “You got those ten years ago. You need some from this year.” Or decade I finished silently.
            She shuffled out of the line like a turtle and I took her slowness as a chance to really search beneath my station and chair for a long-lost piece of sugar. Anything. Even a stray jellybean would likely find its way into my blood stream at this point. Of course there was nothing. I briefly considered hiding beneath my desk until five o’clock. My car. I had an emergency stash in my car. I glanced at my watch. I had another hour until I was able to take a fifteen-minute break.
            A pair of black pumps appeared before me and I inwardly groaned. Just what I needed—a run-in with the witch. But instead of being greeted by her condescending, screechy tone, an icy-cold red can appeared before me.
            Hallelujah, praise the Lord, it was caffeine and sugar!
            I snatched the Coke out of her hand and popped the top, taking a large, satisfying chug. The bubbles crowded down my throat, slightly burning, and I took another swallow.
            “I love you,” I murmured to Lela, the girl who worked right beside me.
            She laughed. “I know that look when I see it.” Then she straightened and whispered. “Witch alert.”
            I shot up, my head bumping into the counter on the way. I wanted to shout out in pain, but I clamped my mouth shut, not wanting to draw the attention of my boss, Satan’s assistant.
            I turned back to my line, my eyes colliding with a broad chest. I looked up, and the can slid out of my hand, hitting the floor with a thud while fizzy liquid poured over my favorite boots.
            I didn’t even notice.
            “What the hell are you doing here?” I growled as I looked around for something sharp I could stab him with.
            A thick brow arched. “So is this where you spend your days? As if the DMV isn’t a horrible enough place to visit without the poor people of Alaska having to tolerate you.”
            There wasn’t enough sugar on this planet that would save him. I reached out and picked up the black phone. If I couldn’t bludgeon him to death here at my place of employment, then I could at least call the cops. I began dialing, but he reached over and cut the connection.
            I slammed the phone down on his hand, which was still pressed on the hang-up button. Breath hissed between his teeth and his green eyes shot to mine. “Careful, George, you’re pissing off the wrong man.”
            “My name isn’t George.”
            He shrugged, pulling his hand away from the phone. “When you have a man’s name, does it really matter?”


            Okay, so maybe breaking into his house wasn’t the smartest thing I’ve ever done. But I did accomplish something. Besides getting scared to death, annoyed, and slightly turned on (just because he’s good-looking doesn’t mean I have to turn into some obsessive groupie)…
            I learned what he was up to.
            I should have known it wasn’t going to be something as simple as wanting to set up a legitimate residence.
            He had a new Target.
            A high-profile one.
            My hands curled around the steering wheel and squeezed until my joints ached. What was it with this guy? How could he be so casual about killing—about robbing someone of their life?
            I should have listened to Piper. I should have stayed away from him.
But I didn’t.
Now I knew.
I couldn’t just let him kill her.
The Jeep slowed as I pulled into the parking lot of a place I didn’t even realize I was driving to. It was one of my most favorite places ever. The Iced Princess. The Iced Princess was this completely posh, over-the-top bakery. They were famous here in Alaska for their cupcakes and all pink decor. Everything inside was pink—pink rugs, pink couches, and pink chairs sitting at pink tables.
They had a bakery counter that would make anyone drool. The cupcakes were piled high with homemade icing and usually with some sort of edible decoration. Not every cupcake was pink, but they did always have their signature treat: Princess for a Day. It was a white cupcake in a hot-pink wrapper, piped high with pastel-pink icing and an edible sugar tiara balanced on top.
They also had a coffee bar where even the paper cups were pink. The coffee was so good that not even the most macho of men cared to be seen with a pink cup.
Charming probably wouldn’t be caught dead drinking from a pink cup.
I pushed him out of my mind. I was taking a brain break from the killer.
My sugar stores were running low and I needed an emergency pick-me-up. The Iced Princess was closed—they didn’t open until six a.m. for the coffee crowd, but I didn’t have to resort to breaking and entering again that night just to get what I wanted.
I left the Jeep running and went toward the giant pink machine topped with a glittery tiara sitting by the front entrance. I checked out the electronic menu for my choices and couldn’t decide. I swiped my card and hit a button. Seconds later, I lifted the door on the front and withdrew a pink box. Inside was a chocolate cupcake. Then I repeated the process twice more and collected another two cupcakes. This time selecting the classic Princess for a Day and a Rock Me Raspberry flavors.
I mean seriously.
A vending machine filled with the best cupcakes on the planet? If I could figure out a way to tow this thing home, I would so do it.
I stacked the boxes and climbed back into the Jeep, not bothering to wait until I got home. I needed sugar now. I opened up the Choc-o-holic cupcake and dug in.
It was filled with fudge sauce.
I groaned with joy. “Thank you, Jesus,” I prayed.
After licking all the chocolate off my fingers, I backed out of the lot and drove home, eyeing the other two boxes the entire way. If that place was closer to my apartment, my fine balance between curvy and fat might be in danger.
My brain break lasted until I arrived in the safety of my home, where I ate another cupcake. But it couldn’t last forever. I had a decision to make.
I could forget I ever saw Charming today, forget I knew what he was planning.
I could make it my life’s mission to stop him.          
Who was I kidding? There was no choice here. I wasn’t about the let him charm someone to death.
It was about time his charm ran out.

Aren’t they fun!! I hope they make you want to read CHARMED!!

I think my favorite one is the one with Frankie (the photo is of actress Charlize Theron) on it. Lol.
Which one is your favorite? 

Now here is the information you have been waiting on! Everything Charmed!!!!!

Life or Death? Not many people would choose death. But what if death chooses you? What if death doesn’t mean the end of your life, but the beginning?
For a Death Escort, death is life. Death is your paycheck. Death is your job.
And Charming is the best Escort the Grim Reaper has ever had.
But when you piss off the Reaper, being the best doesn’t matter. So Charming is assigned a Target who is practically impossible to kill. He knows the Reaper hopes he fails—that he’s counting on it. So Charming vows to prove him wrong. He vows to make the kill.
But someone else vows to get in his way. Someone with a big mouth, a sugar habit, and blond hair. Someone who makes his heart start beating again.
And so Charming is left holding more than one person’s fate in the palm of his hand. He thought the choice would be easy, that there really wasn’t a question at all.
He was wrong.
Life or Death?

The Awesome Cambria Hebert!

                                                        ABOUT CAMBRIA HEBERT

Cambria Hebert is the author of the young adult paranormal Heven and Hell series, the new adult Death Escorts series, and the new adult Take it Off series. She loves a caramel latte, hates math and is afraid of chickens (yes, chickens). She went to college for a bachelor’s degree, couldn’t pick a major, and ended up with a degree in cosmetology. So rest assured her characters will always have good hair. She currently lives in North Carolina with her husband and children (both human and furry) where she is plotting her next book. You can find out more about Cambria and her work by visiting http://www.cambriahebert.com

Follow her on Twitter: https://twitter.com/cambriahebert
Cambria’s website: http://www.cambriahebert.com

1 comment:

  1. what a great post! thank you so much for being part of the release day celebration!