DARK SACRIFICE
A GIFT AND A CURSE
Mala LaCroix sees dead people -really. After using her psychic gifts to catch a killer, she's locked in a psych ward and must strike a deal with the devil to secure her release. Apprenticed to a dark arts practitioner, Mala vows to free herself and save her loved ones from danger. But she doesn't know who to turn to when her crush on Landry Prince turns into something more serious.A FATE WORSE THAN DEATH
Landry has sacrificed everything to protect Mala. A near-death experience changes him forever, and now he, too, possesses supernatural powers he doesn't understand. Mala and Landry must band together to defeat the dark forces-both human and otherworldly-who would use their abilities for evil. Even as they fall for each other, they must prepare to battle for their very souls . . .Buy Links
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Excerpt
On Saturdays, the local farmers set up a market in Paradise Park. I plan to do my veggie shopping there since I didn’t get my garden planted this year. The streets bordering the park are packed. I’m lucky to find a spot in the parking lot of First National Bank kitty-corner from the Memorial Rose Garden. Colorful tents are lined up in orderly rows in the square. Each section is separated, with the organic foods in one row and regular folk who want to sell extra produce in the other. Local shops also set up booths selling everything from pastries, coffee and tea, handmade clothing and soaps, fresh eggs, organic meat, and toys and games. A freaktastic clown stands on the street corner with a tank of helium and a gaggle of kids around him. I’m tempted to buy Landry a balloon to cheer him up.The passenger door slams shut as soon as I shut off the engine. Landry wastes no time coming around to open my door and lift me to the ground before I can squawk in protest. He strides off while I grab my cloth shopping bag, leaving me to stare after his retreating back in shock. When he’s halfway across the street, he pauses and turns around.“This is your idea. Hurry,” he yells.“I’m coming.” I shut the door and run to catch up. When I reach him, he moves around me until I’m on his blind side. He starts forward again, but slows his steps so they match mine. If I didn’t know him so well, I’d think he didn’t have a care in the world, but I do. He walks like he did in jail—shoulders back and tight, chest slightly raised. He scans the area, alert for a threat.I take his hand, squeezing when he tries to pull away.We blend into the crowd, strolling up and down the rows. It’s a mix of people of all ages. A few people say “hi.” Most don’t. A large percentage of them stare. I feel like I’m at the mercy of paparazzi.“Smile and wave,” I mutter from the corner of my mouth, jabbing Landry in the side with my elbow.“Huh?”“You’re acting like you’ve done something wrong, but you haven’t. Don’t let these fools see you sweat. Weakness breeds violence. Like a silverback gorilla in the jungle, you need to beat your chest and fling your poop at someone.”His snort-laugh doubles him over, and I pat him on the back. “That’s perfect,” I say. “No worries.”He turns and lifts me into a breath-stealing hug. “Thanks,” he whispers in my ear and presses a brotherly kiss to my forehead. Wish he’d move his lips a little lower. Would a few inches kill him?My voice comes a little thick and raspy too, and I cough to clear my throat. “No problem.”How long has he been standing here holding me? We have an even larger audience than before. Now we really are the object of paparazzi-like behavior as people snap pictures of our embrace with their phones. I wrap my arms around his neck and press my cheek against his. “Cheese,” I say, grinning for the cameras.A couple of high school kids start to laugh.One yells, “Give her another kiss, Landry.”“Yeah, Landry. Give me a kiss.” I bat my eyelashes, whispering in his ear, “I swear if you drop me on my ass in public—”I don’t have to finish the threat.His mouth steals across mine.I lean into him, head tilting. My arms tighten around his neck. His lips are soft and juicy, like peaches. Yum. My thoughts scatter and swirl, leaving only the sensation of his mouth on mine.He breaks free first and lowers me to my feet. He avoids my gaze. “Did it work?” he asks, running his fingers through his black hair so it falls forward to shield his eye again. He shifts from his forward foot to his back which somehow puts distance between us without him having to move.I laugh, playing off the hurt. “Yeah, we gave our fans a titillating bit of new gossip to take the place of the old. Rumors about our relationship will be flying through town before lunch.” I glance around to be sure. The crowd drifts away, realizing there’s nothing more to see. Even better, nobody hurls insults or throws dead animals at our heads. “Let’s go.”
About Angie Sandro:
Angie Sandro was born at Whiteman Air Force Base in Missouri. Within six weeks, she began the first of eleven relocations throughout the United States, Spain, and Guam before the age of eighteen.
Friends were left behind. The only constants in her life were her family and the books she shipped wherever she went. Traveling the world inspired her imagination and allowed her to create her own imaginary friends. Visits to her father's family in Louisiana inspired this story. Angie now lives in Northern California with her husband, two children, and an overweight Labrador.
Angie’s SM:
I Married a Viking, ARGH!
I guess the argh would only be appropriate if he were a Viking Pirate, but alas, no. Swash-bucking is not part of my husband's heritage (that I'm aware of). His paternal family line are scholars. Brilliant educators who love to learn and farmers who lived in Singsaas, Sor-Trondelag, Norway since the fifteen hundreds.
My interest in genealogy was reawakened in 2007 after I found a book my husband's grandfather, Gustov Sandro wrote about his family history. He actually wrote this in high school and it went back several generations. I went through and copied the names into Ancestry.com. to start the tree.
Yes, by now everyone who has read this blog knows that I love, love Ancestry.com.
The interesting thing about doing genealogical research on Norwegian genealogy is that the children are named after their fathers. For example, Berit Ellefsdatter Busethvold, is the daughter of Ellef Ellefson Buseth, and he's the son of Ellef Svendson Buseth. The surname is actually a place name. This is the town or farm they were raised in (I think). I just wish I spoke or read Norwegian. It would make researching a bit easier.
Honestly, it does get a little confusing, and I'm still learning. Norwegian records are excellent because most of the church records have been translated into a 'bygdebok'. I was lucky enough to find all my husband's family records online, and I traced his oldest male line through the fifteen hundreds to a Jartru and Oluf Knudson.
I plan on focusing my upcoming posts on his family tree since the main reason I spend so much time on genealogy is so my children know where their ancestors came from. I want them to see their place in history and how fate has placed them exactly where they are at this very moment. Throughout the course of history there have been disasters, famine, disease; yet, somehow these people met, married, raised children and continued the cycle which led to today.
I find it totally amazing.
To be or not to be a slave...is that's my question?
So I was feeling guilty about neglecting my father's side of the family, and frankly tired of mother's side. So I began searching around where I had been stuck before. My father's family is from Louisiana, and I have been able to get just to and maybe a little past the Civil War due to my uncle's past research.
I have not been able to locate my father's mother Etalia Reese prior to the 1920 census. She married Henry L. Antoine and dies prior to the 1930 census. I was mucking around trying to find her in the 1910 census but no luck... when I discover her husband Henry's parents Paul and Courine's Antoine's marriage record which listed his mother's maiden name as Lorence.
Now Courine Lorence was born in 1869 in Louisiana. So I began searching for one that matches the age of my ancestor. Turns out there were two. A Corinne Llorens from Natchitoches and a Corinne Lorinse from St. Martinville (which is the family hometown so I'm going with this one). Courine's father is listed as Hyppolite Lorinse, born 1842 (Lorins, Lorince, Lorence...yep, multiple spellings driving me crazy).
Also on the same census was his father, Hyppolite Sr. who was born in 1805 in France. I have not been able to find Courine's mother's name. Hyppolite Jr's mother's name, though may be Belzire. I have not been able to locate her or the children living with Hyppolite Sr. in previous census records and I imagined it was not ok until after the Civil war. I found Hyppolite sr living at a school in 1850. There is someone I think might be his brother by the name of So.B. Dest Laurent and his wife Rose, both born in France. There was a ship passenger record for a Hyppolite from France in 1839, who's last name is very difficult to read who was listed as a Professor of Music.
So this is where I was when I started searching this evening and this is what I discovered.
I followed up on the lead regarding the school. On the 1850 , Hyppolite is living next to the private school and his possible relation S.R.D.A. Laurant aka SO. B. Laurant. It does have that Mr. Laurant is a teacher at a private school, and I assume it is for a girls since there are three girls living there. In 1850 there were quite a bit more students than in 1860. In 1860 census, Hyppolite is living a few houses away and can be found on the following page.
At both these times there should be a record of his children but there is not. So then I began to look on the slave census and I found that Mr. Laurant owned 8 slaves in 1860. Then I looked to see how many he owned in 1850 and I found my Hypolite Lorins listed directly above Mr. Laurant. Hyppolite owned six slaves which match his wife, four sons and a daughter that are found in the 1880 census record. The ages seem to fit his children; however, he has them all listed as female. I did not find a record of him owning slaves in 1860 but it may be that he sold them to his brother (Laurant) or that I have just not been able to figure out which spelling of his name he is using. Anyway, that's all I have for now. Peace out
DARK LEGACYMala LaCroix has spent her whole life trying to escape her destiny. As the last in a long line of "witch women," she rejects the notion of spirits and hoodoo and instead does her best to blend in. But when she finds a dead body floating in the bayou behind her house, Mala taps into powers she never knew she had. She's haunted by visions of the dead girl, demanding justice and vengeance.
DEADLY SECRETS
Landry Prince has always had a crush on Mala, but when Mala discovers his sister, murdered and marked in some sort of Satanic ritual, he wonders if all the rumors about the LaCroix family are true. Yet after Mala uses her connection to the spirit world to identify his sister's killer, he starts to form his own bond to her . . . a very physical one. As they move closer to each other and closer to the truth, Mala and Landry must risk everything-their families, their love, and even their live
"A fast-paced and addictive debut. Sandro is a writer to watch!"—J.A. Redmerksi, New York Times bestselling author
Excerpt 1
Landry’s truck sits in the driveway when I stroll out of the house at a quarter to eight in the morning. I’m in such a glorious mood that I don’t bother trying to sneak off without him catching sight of me. It would’ve been easy, I learn upon climbing on the bumper and sticking my head through the truck’s open window. He has the seat pushed back and his legs stretched out kitty corner across the passenger seat. Snores, loud enough to scare a bear, echo through the cab.I reach in and poke his shoulder a few times. “Wake up, Sleeping Beauty.”Landry’s thick lashes flutter then open to meet mine. “I’m supposed to be woken with a kiss, not a jab.”I snort. “I don’t kiss slimy critters. You’re playing double duty as a frog, and I throw them in a frying pan with a little butter and garlic.”“Oh, so now you’re trying to butter me up?”The heat of a blush rises. “Saints, boy. You’re fraying my last nerve.” I plant my hands on my hips, toe tapping. “What are you doing here? In case you forgot, I’m mad at you.”“No you’re not.” He grins and runs his fingers through his thick hair. My breath catches as my brain stutters. I shake my head to dispel the wave of pheromone-induced stupidity that washes over me. My noses twitches. Why does he have to smell so good? Like cinnamon and brown sugar. “Did you forget yester—”An oily paper bag flies in my direction. I grab it out of the air before it drops to the ground. It’s warm in my hands, and the smell makes my mouth water. “Ooh, cinnamon rolls,” I mumble around the melting mouthful of cinnamon-y goodness. “I love these.”“I know,” Landry says, throwing open the truck door.I hop off the bumper with a scowl. The arrogant jerk thinks he has me eating out of his hands; all he has to do is flutter those insanely long eyelashes, smile to show off his pearly whites, and tempt me with fresh, warm buns.“These are mine?” I clutch the bag to my chest as I eye him in suspicion.“Yeah, they’re your favorite, right?”“Mmm hmm.”Landry props his elbow on the open window and ducks his head. Black hair tangles across his face, hiding his eyes. “I hoped you’d be more accepting of my apology if I bribed you with sweets. Forgive me for being an ass yesterday?”Lucky guy. He figured out the fastest way to soften my heartstrings—sugar. Wait how does he know they’re my favorite? Stupid question. It’s like him knowing my nickname and my job. He pays way too much attention to me, and I’m kinda scared to ask why. I stare at my sticky fingers, then lick the icing off one by one. Landry’s gaze draws my attention. He’s staring at my mouth. My gut tightens in response, and I slowly lick my lips. Get a grip. Don’t trust him just because he says he’s sorry.I concentrate on the mouthful of cinnamon roll. Each chew echoes the rapid patter of my heart. God, why does my body react like this when I’m around him? Why? He’s still staring at me. Can’t he tell I’m uncomfortable? Oh, I get it. He’s irritating me on purpose so I can’t totally ignore him.I pass the empty bag to him. “You’re not going away, are you?”“Nope.” He smiles.
Dark Redemption
From rising star Angie Sandro, a steamy Southern gothic romance that will appeal to fans of Beautiful Creatures . . .by Angie Sandro
Deep in the Louisiana bayou, Mala LaCroix cannot escape the mysterious things she's seen. Haunted by her otherworldly past, she only wants to hide her special abilities and care for the man she's come to love. But the dark swamp she calls home holds more than just Mala's secrets, for a killer is leaving behind ghosts trapped between worlds, hungry for vengeance . . .
Landry knows Mala could never turn her back on those in need. It's part of what attracts him to her. But now that he's wrestling with his own demons-and losing-he fears that just being near the woman he loves endangers her life. And that traps him in a terrible dilemma: leave Mala alone to catch a murderer by herself or stay close-and risk entangling her in the brutal battle for his very soul.
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