Happy June — sunshine and magical libraries and puppy kisses, coming your way, ! 📚☀️🐶

The Shelties have rounded up a lot of big news lately (whew!), but here we are back to our regular newsletter, so you know what that means.... puppy stories and free books!

1. Tiny boring housekeeping issue (I'm sorry if this is you!!!)
2. Puppy story: the one last monster
3. What's on my desk now (besides tea)
4. Free books for June
5. Another dog picture, and Magical Libraries — read-right-here sample

But first....

...Rian's story is on sale for Father's Day!

Squire was selected for a Father's Day promo on Kobo, so I popped it on sale for a few days...so if you've been debating this one, grab it now while it's 99c!

Grab Squire while it's on sale

Tiny boring housekeeping issue (whoops!)

When you join my newsletter, you automatically get a welcome sequence so we can get to know each other. But I just realized that when I made an adjustment, some people were getting a new welcome sequence. I'm sorry — I have it turned off now.

Also, if you joined my list a second time, like if you signed up for one of the Women's Fiction Day giveaways, you might be on that welcome sequence. There isn't an easy tech way to compare all the lists and only keep you on the right one, but if you are suddenly getting a bunch of welcome that you don't need, feel free to reply to the email and I can manually move you off.

Here's a picture of some plants in the afternoon light to restore some peace and equilibrium to your life. I'm sorry for the confusion!

Puppy stories!!!! Yay!!!

This is the good part, right?! (Also, I love all the pictures you send me of your pets. Show me your June fluffy friends!)

So, you probably know that Shelties are herding dogs, and I might have mentioned that Malin got the herding genetics in spades. Defensive of his family, overwhelming desire to Make Large Grazing Animals MOVE, and firm belief that the world only turns because he personally barks at it and nips its ankles.

Since I have neglected to provide Malin with any sheep, he is obliged to find his own work. Lately, what Malin defines as Important Jobs To Keep The Household Running have gotten somewhat overwhelming to the humans in said household... in other words, he is barking way too much.

We've convinced him that opening drawers is not dangerous, piano noises are not evil, that he gets a treat if he quietly watches us change the trash bag. However, nothing and no one can persuade Malin that this particular contraption is safe:

We call it the Glug-Glug Monster, and it makes all kinds of nefarious sounds (if by "nefarious" you mean "watery," which apparently Malin does). The water jug bubbles when someone fills their cup. It makes sounds to fill the teakettle, while the teakettle is heating, and to pour the boiling water into tea pots and coffee cups. Then the tea pot gurgles to pour it into the cup. Also, when someone opens the drawer with the tea or carries a new jug of water up the stairs, a clever dog can tell that the Glug-Glug Monster is about to emerge, and can fulfill his duty by barking and lunging at said drawer ahead of all nefarious sounds. Afterwords, the hard-working dog can run into the room behind the Glug-Glug Monster and give it some warnings about whether to return.

Shockingly, in a poll taken last week, it turns out that zero percent of the humans appreciate having their water barked out every. single. time. they. want. a. drink.

After a campaign of positive reinforcement, which successfully taught the other dogs to stand quietly near the water container while Malin barked his head off, it was time for some serious artillery. I brought out the leash and slip collar, and I put it on Malin before the Glug-Glug Monster is activated. A slip collar is similar to what we used to call a choke chain, growing up.

Never fear. No dogs are being choked.

In fact, as soon as that leash goes on, Malin remembers that he is not supposed to bark at the water. He also remembers that he doesn't need to bark at children making sounds in different rooms, or the neighbor mowing his field. All of Malin's manners reappear, and you get a demure and obedient dog as seen in this picture.

See? Magic is real. Just instead of a magical library, here we have a magical leash.

Here's the Magical Libraries. which is all fun although I can't promise everyone uses good manners

What's on my writing desk right now...

I mean, there's always tea. If I'm not drinking tea, it's possible that I'm in a coma; you should probably poke me to be sure. Isn't that pot the cutest? And my 5yo son made the cookies this weekend, shockingly close to entirely by himself.

I'm finishing up "The Knight and His Armlet," a bonus story that shows when Rian meets Maura —and adult Rian has figured out more about how the time-slip magic of their world works than any other character so far.

Then I can't wait to get back to finishing Hannah's story! Scroll down to read the beginning (she arrives at Maura's castle before Maura does), and you can preorder her main story here:

He has one last chance to be a hero...but she never agreed to be the damsel in distress

Free Books for June

There's a lot of free books here, so I hope you can find something you enjoy! Please go ahead and tell me what genres or moods you like, and I'll look for promos and author swaps that suit your interests. If you just are here for the puppies and my Irish fairy tales, scroll down...

This group has quite a number of folklore or Celtic inspired stories, like mine. Here's a couple that I picked out...

The Fall of the Queen of Elphame is based on a Scottish myth. I just finished The Wright Way to Begin; it was a nice clear novella-length plot with Mercedes Lackey vibes. And then here's a dog book--I've enjoyed this author!

Check out Fantastic Heroines

Not into fantasy? Here's some of everything--romance, from the sweet to the billionaire, some around-the-dinner-table conversation starters, cozy mystery, and more.

If you've been around for a little while, you know I'm going to grab this ballet book! (PS, my son left for 5 week of ballet intensive yesterday!) And I've really been enjoying Sarah Adam's small-town rom-coms lately, so I'm hoping Sunset at Catoctin Creek has a similar vibe.

Check out Free June Reads

Browsing through this promo, it looks like it has a LOT to offer if you're into romantasy, dark fantasy, and emotional sci-fi. Lots of gorgeous covers!

I pulled a couple in case, like me, you prefer something lighter. Winterfrost Market looks like a fun cozy fantasy (and it's got a teapot!), and Priye was a lovely uplifting read that I finished while lingering over breakfast (and tea). Enjoy!

Yes, I want Fantasy and Sci-Fi Freebies

And finally...

I always feed my dogs in their boxes, so they go rushing in as soon as I'm carrying the bowls of food. Lately, I've been telling them to "wait" and walking farther away, and finally out of sight, before I come back and give them their meal. (See Highly Desirable Bowl in my hand.) I haven't had time for much training lately, but little exercises like this help them build their trust and self-control.

You can see that Inish is practically exploding out of his box. Malin is debating whether he is allowed to put one foot out. Adare's box is closed and he is happily munching, because he succeeded in waiting the first time around, before I remembered the camera!

Happy reading and lots of enthusiastic barks,

Christy & the Shelties

The Library in the Castle in Kilkenny

Arthur slams on the breaks and turns sharply, sliding me across the back seat into Dylan’s shoulder.

I squeeze his fingers, a little too hard. “This was supposed to be our date,” I whisper.

“I know, I know. I’m sorry, luv.”

Sorry doesn’t cut it. My parents barely ever let me have a night off, I skipped tea to start my piano practice early and no sooner than I’d gotten to my boyfriend’s house than Arthur showed up with all these excuses. The castle’s been sold, it’s gotta be tonight, catch the Patchwork Man, blah blah blah. I know the boys want the reward, but I want a little time with my boyfriend. I want Dylan to pay attention to me, every once in a while, that’s all.

The car hits a pot hole, slamming my teeth together. Of course Arthur is speeding through a cattle field in the dark, but he’s the only one who’s turned seventeen and old enough for a license. 

“I’ll take you out to a nice place next time,” Dylan tells me. “Fine meal, maybe some music at the pub after.”

Unfortunately, the song ends right then and Arthur hears us.

“Ye can’t afford to take Hannah for a fine meal, you bastard,” he says cheerfully. “That’s why poor boys like us need this reward.”

Dylan goes stiff and I sag, knowing that nothing I say will fix it. We’ve been round and round this, the three of us. Arthur throws in barbs about me being a rich girl now; Dylan is ashamed of the street we all grew up on; I say it doesn’t matter to me. It doesn’t, truly, but I can’t tell him how hard it is to be caught between my parents’ expectations and loving him. That would make him feel worse, and he might give me up for my own good.

I can’t bear the thought of Dylan giving me up, so I don’t say anything at all.

“I can too afford a fine meal,” Dylan mutters. “I can save for it.”

I don’t want a fine meal. I just wanted to spend the evening together, just the two of us being ourselves.

We arrive; Arthur slows as the car rolls through the gap in the ragged hedge, and a shiver slides across my skin. Is that the magic of this place, or just me thinking on it? I’ve certainly heard all the stories, but I’ve never been here myself.

Arthur parks with a shower of gravel, and we all climb out. I stare up at the the castle looming above us, a darker cliff in the dark night. This isn’t some gussied up palace that hosts champagne receptions under fairy lights, like they do in the cities. It’s a chunky square with a glowering gatehouse and one tower off the back side; pleasure gardens from centuries past have gone wild and crowd up to the flat sandstone walls. I’ve seen plenty of pictures, but I’m curious what’s really here as Arthur leads us on an overgrown path around the side. Dylan’s hand brushes my back, inviting me to go ahead, a simple gesture to say he’s taking care of me.

Why don’t my parents see this? They poke fun at his broad accent and tut-tut that he isn’t taking enough leaving certs for university. They don’t see how hard it is to find a fellow who treats a girl like she matters, especially when she’s quiet and mousey-like. 

I still would rather be joking and eating crisps in his bedroom (door open, of course).

Halfway along the dark wing, Arthur leans down and pushes aside a window frame with the ease of long practice, flicks on a torch, and slides into the maw of the castle.

“Can you make it over?” Dylan asks me.

I’m wearing a dress, so the question is fair. I bite my lip, trying to decide if I want to play it tough and act like the boys. But I don’t want to ruin my dress—I put on a pretty one because it was my evening with Dylan. 

“It’s a bit of a hop,” Arthur calls. “You should go first and give Hannah a hand. Here, I’ve found a barrel I’ll push over so she can stand on it.” 

There’s scraping and banging from below, and Arthur grunts with effort. Right—this is why I put up with Arthur, because for all his rough edges, he’s good to his mates. 

Besides, I grew up on that street. I know his Da.

Between the two boys, they get me through the window and down to the cellar floor. I shiver for real and pull my jumper close; the autumn chill is descending.

“Is this the dungeon?” I ask. Were English soldiers tortured here, or clan wars before that? Just think of the stories these stones could tell!

“Just storage rooms,” Arthur answers. “Follow me to the stairs.”

Dylan hands me a torch and I pick my way after Arthur, dust swirling with every step. My dress is never going to be the same, and Dylan didn’t even say I looked pretty.

Arthur leads us up steep plywood stairs, then through a series of dilapidated rooms. I dart my beam around, finding heavy garderobes and tattered tapestries, and dust dust and more dust everywhere. 

“This is a fine place to live,” I say bitterly, thinking of the cleaning to be done.

Arthur jerks his thumb behind us. “The family rooms are at the front. They’ve put in a kitchen and toilets and all, but we don’t want that. We want the part they haven’t mucked about with.”

I want the part that has seen a mop some time in the last twenty years, that’s what I want.

“When are the new folks moving in?” Dylan asks.

“This weekend, but the movers come tomorrow.” Arthur growls. “Bloody feckin’ Americans with their bloody feckin’ millions.”

He’s said that, with various degrees of profanity, at least a dozen times since he picked us up this evening, but I have to admit I agree. I’m a quiet girl, but the blood fair boils in my throat when I think of foreigners running all over our castle and our history. They might buy it, but they’ll never own it.

“Just so long they don’t try to make it some posh B&B,” Dylan mutters, and we all agree.

We’re at the back of the square now. Although it smells of damp and some of the stonework is patched with plywood, the castle still retains a sense of grace and majesty. My heart swells with pride, and despite myself I’m a wee bit glad I came here tonight, while the castle is still ours.

An caisléan, the castle—that’s what we call it, we folks who live in this little valley at the edge of County Kilkenny. There’s another name on the map, but locals don’t use that—as though this is the only castle in the world, or at least the only one worth mentioning. Even my parents are proud of this place.

“There’s a lot of rooms on the inside,” Dylan says.

Arthur nods. “We should spread out to look. Go faster that way, so we can get Hannah back and her parents don’t eat her head off.”

Dylan glances at me anxiously. I know he’s expecting me to ask to stick together, but I don’t say it.

I’m not scared of our castle. And besides, Dylan already lost the chance to spend the evening courting me.

I push my hair behind my ear, which is the mousey version of tossing my head. “Anything we’re looking for, precisely?”

Arthur turns to me. “I dunno if we’ll see it, so much as feel it. See if it speaks to you. If it…” He spreads his hands, work-rough even at our age.

“They say this place was built on a faerie mound.” Dylan’s voice is animated now.

“Two thousand years ago and more,” I add.

“”Twas here in the days of Finn McCool.” Arthur whistles.

“And someone has lived here, right in these walls, ever since,” Dylan says.

“Maybe with the fae living alongside them, or Below.” I shiver. I wouldn’t want to see one, myself.

“Right!” Arthur brings us back to our mission. “If the Patchwork Man is stealing from modern folks, it stands to reason that he’s coming through the veil at the castle. If we mean to catch him—”

“And we do!” Dylan interrupts.

“Then we should take a thorough go-round while the castle’s still open to us.”

It’s a generous definition of open, given that we passed several “keep out” signs to climb through a broken window after dark, but I know what he means.

“Do you think we’ll see the Patchwork Man?” Would he snatch me, is what I mean.

Both boys are quick to reassure me, although I don’t know how they would know for certain. He’s definitely interested in young ladies; all the old stories say that. But my lads insist we’re just looking for something odd, or a door that is darker than shadow, or the smell of summer fields where it should only be dust and stones.

Very well, I don’t think the Patchwork Man is going to hurt me, either. Enough folks have reported his mischief that I don’t disbelieve he’s real. It just seems like a million kilometers from my life; math homework and piano practice and debating with the girls in the loo about whether we dare to roll up our waistbands and put on lipstick—if it nearly matches our skin tone and all, maybe the teachers won’t call us out.

The boys are divvying up the rooms.

“I’ll take the side with the bedrooms,” I interrupt. I’m fine with going off on my own, but I don’t want these sad gawping hallways, untouched since before the world wars.

“Right, it’s the ground floor you’ll want then.” Arthur turns to me. “The bedrooms themselves are updated, and the fae aren’t hanging about with en suites and tellies. You know what to look for? Remember—”

“I know.” I push my hair behind my other ear. I don’t need any Arthur Dalton telling me our own stories! I’ve been in the same Irish classes with him since we were both in nappies, and the same church and…well, probably not nearly as many nights at the pub. But still.

“Meet here in one hour.” Arthur takes my phone and sets the alarm. Bossy, that one. “Are you right or what?”

We nod, ready.

“I’ll walk you over on my way to the cellars, Hannah.” Dylan takes my hand, like he’s a proper boyfriend giving me a proper evening out, which my parents would most emphatically say this is not.

We walk in silence, our torch beams slicing into the musty dark. We’re finally alone, and he could say I’m pretty. He could say he loves me. He could pull me into his arms and hold me for just a couple minutes of our stupid hour, so I could breathe in his smell and let my weight sag against his sturdy chest. I need that, sometimes, to keep believing in us.

He has to stop to push hard against a door, which gives way in a flurry of dust. Now the Victorian living rooms spread to our right, and the stone stairs to more cellars descend on the left.

Finally, Dylan pauses and looks at me. He pushes my hair behind my ear, and when he does that, it’s tender.

I close my eyes and lean my cheek against his palm. I just want him. Not always coming second to Arthur, or picking up a couple hours in the shop.

“Hannah, luv, the reward would mean we could be together,” Dylan says softly.

“I know.” I put my hand over his wrist, holding him in place. The Town Council offered a stupid house for anyone who catches the stupid Patchwork Man, but I’m so lonely, and we’ve lost the whole evening together.

“If I had a house for you, your parents wouldn’t think I’m such a useless sod.”

“I know.” It’s not true; my parents won’t approve whether or not Dylan owns a house.

Dylan brushes his lips to mine, and I lean in and savor his kiss, however brief.

My parents won’t like it, but if we turn eighteen and Dylan owns a house, I’ll marry him anyways. 

But what's in the library?