Tamara Lowery is a former maid and current auto industry worker. She is a graduate of Soddy-Daisy High School and Chattanooga State, where she majored in Journalism. She is a new author. She currently lives in Tennessee with her husband and the Rottentots, her cats. For more information, Check out:      Facebook      Plurk

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	Known as Bloody Vik Brandee, Viktor Brandewyne had a reputation as a bloodthirsty pirate. The world would soon learn just how bloodthirsty he had become. Thanks to the vengeful curse of a powerful witch, he had become a vampire. However, since he was cursed, rather than bitten, he was not vulnerable to daylight or holy items. As curses went, he didn’t think it was all that bad, until Mother Celie, his foster mother and a witch in her own right, informed him that the curse would eventually destroy him. Now he finds himself in a race against time to find the seven Sisters of Power and gain some of their magic in order to survive the curse. He is aided in his quest by Hezekiah Grimm, his first mate; Belladonna, a siren and sea witch; and Lazarus, a creature that is sometimes a cat and sometimes a raven.
	Excerpt Word Count: 86,800 Pages to Print: 294 File Format: PDF                  Price: $5.99
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EXCERPTS

Once Upon a Tide… On a pleasant summer afternoon in 1750, a young boy drifted lazily among the salt marshes that inundate coastal Georgia. He’d fished for a while that morning without any luck. Having grown bored with the activity, he’d allowed his punt to drift where it would in the maze-like channels between the marshlands, tidal flats and small islands formed from the oyster shell ballast dumped by merchant ships preparing to take on cargo in port. He had no worry of getting lost. He’d been boating these waters for as long as he could remember. The boy knew that he was currently about three miles south of Savannah. The warm sun and cool breeze lent themselves to napping. Soon, the boy had dozed off. He was awakened by the sound of other boys chattering and laughing. They sounded nearby. As quietly as possible, he rowed toward the voices. The tide was high, and he decided to take the little flat-bottomed punt into the marsh grass before getting too close. No telling what mood these strangers might be in. Peering through the grasses, he saw two boys around his age busy pulling up their crab traps. The wooden tub seated in the middle of their boat brimmed with their catch. Three empty traps were stacked in the back of their boat, and the trap they were in the process of emptying was very full; several of the crabs were quite large. The boy was very fond of the sweet meat of the sought-after blue crabs. He knew old Mother would be glad of the treat, as well. ‘Although, she’ll probably grumble that I didn’t net her some shrimp to go with them,’ he thought to himself. His decision made, he nudged his boat through the flooded marsh to join the other boys. “Those are some mighty fine lookin’ crabs,” he told them by way of greeting. “I’ll have them.” The younger of the boys, brothers, smiled at him. “You want to buy them?” The lone boy smiled back and calmly stated, “No. I’ll take them. Now.” The older brother scowled at him, ready to defend their catch from the young interloper. “You can’t just take them,” he countered. “You have to buy them, if you want them. We worked hard for these crabs, and we’re going to take them back to town to sell them.” The boy said matter-of-factly, “My waters; my crabs. Hand them over. I won’t tell you again.” Rather than comply, the older brother shouted, “I said, you can’t have them!” Taking his oar, the boy nimbly jumped into the other boys’ boat and promptly used it to knock the older of the two into the water. He brandished the oar at the younger boy. The lad quickly decided the water was a better place to be than in the same boat with the mad young bully. The victor then began tying their boat to his punt, to tow it back with him and ensure they didn’t try to give chase to reclaim their catch. The older brother looked a bit panicked at this. His sibling was crying in fear. “Hey! You can’t just leave us out here! We could drown trying to get back home,” he pled. He looked at them, almost expressionless, and said, “You should have given me the crabs, when I told you to.” Then he rowed away, not caring if they made it back or not. “Whatever fate the tide and marsh have for you is your lot now.” Of course, the lads made it back to Savannah. Otherwise, the legend would never have been born of how, in the summer of 1750, an eleven-year-old Viktor Brandewyne committed his first act of piracy. And the rest, as you soon will read, is history. --Chapter 1-- Does any man know where the love of God goes, when the waves turn the minutes to hours?—Gordon Lightfoot Looking for love in all the wrong places. – Johnny Lee On August 18, 1771, the pirate ship, Redfish, limped madly across the choppy waters twenty miles northeast of Hispañola, the HMS Bonnie Mae closing rapidly. The Navy ship had been pursuing her for almost five hours, since exchanging fire just north of Tortuga Harbor. The pirate ship had not fared well in her exchange with the Bonnie Mae. Her topmast and mizzenmast had been destroyed by chain shot. Several pirates were dead or mortally wounded. To add insult to injury, a stray cannonball had blasted a good-sized hole at her waterline. The ship’s carpenter had managed to get a makeshift patch in place, before he bled to death from a leg wound. The rough waters were beginning to hammer away at it, though, and it was clear it wouldn’t hold much longer. Already, the Redfish was taking on water. Her captain, Viktor Brandewyne, known more commonly as Bloody Vik Brandee, knew the ship was doomed. But, he was determined they’d not be taken to experience the King’s “kind” mercies. “Aft lookout report!” Brandee bellowed. “Aft lookout, aye,” the pirate in the rigging called back. “She be closing with us, Cap’n. Pro’ly be on us in another hour. She’s atwixt us and the nearest land.” “Understood, aft lookout. Forward lookout report!” “Forward lookout, aye. That be a bad ‘un, Cap’n. Definitely a hurricane. Heavy seas ahead. We be in no shape to tangle with that bitch,” the lookout answered. Brandee mulled his predicament. Navy at his back; monstrous hurricane before him; no apparent escape. He made his decision. “Mr. Rigger,” he addressed the helmsman, “steer me a course due east.” “Aye, Cap’n. Um, Cap’n, that’ll take us straight into the hurricane,” Rigger pointed out. Brandee smiled darkly. “Aye, Jim. It will.” Shouting loud enough for the remains of his crew to hear, he announced, “Listen up lads! We’re taking the Redfish right down the gullet of that storm afore us! If the King wants our ship, he’ll have to follow us into the mouth of Hell itself to catch us! What say ye?” A unanimous roar of agreement rose from the crew. Each man knew the only alternative was dangling from a gibbet in Port Royal or at Wapping, on Execution Dock. “Then step to it, ye scurrilous dregs!” he ordered. “We’ve a hurricane to catch!” Turning, he faced the storm and their certain doom. “Don’t fear, Jim. I’ve a few tricks left. We’ll cheat ol’ Cob same as we’ll cheat the King of his prey.” “Aye, Cap’n.”                                                                                Back to Blood Curse