“That is no longer coffee” is SO completely the point!

“Hey. I wasn’t sure how long you’d be so I held off on the coffee. I also needed a couple minutes to figure out your fancy machine.”

She walked to the fancy machine as she spoke, placed one of his oversize mugs. “Go ahead and sit down. I’ll bring it out.”

Still blurry, he did as he was told while the machine whirred and finally that life-giving scent hit the air.

She brought out mugs—one no more than two-thirds full. When she set the other in front of him, he lifted it, inhaled the first dose straight into his brain.

“You drink it black. I’m always amazed at people who drink black coffee. I don’t actually like coffee.”

As he watched, she flooded her mug with milk, showered it with one, two, dear God, three spoonfuls of sugar.

“That is no longer coffee.”

“Exactly. But it still has that punch I go for in the morning.”

Aside: Did anyone else read this book and end up eating nearly an entire box of Swiss Rolls?

My sentiments exactly!

The inventor of single-serve coffee machines was a god. They should be sainted at the very least. Just think of how many people they had saved from going postal by their almost instant cups of coffee bean ambrosia.
Operation Foxtrot by Stormy Glenn

I don’t drink coffee that often, but when I’m that desperate….

Alpha Night by Nalini Singh

Hawke and Sienna need to hurry up and kill Ming.  He really needs to die.  I don’t care if it’s by tooth and claw, cold fire or photon laser.

About the Architect, did Henry and/or Shoshanna Scott have a child? I keep coming back to the spider and throne references. She’s been “training for this all her life”.  However, the psychic similarities with Nikita are . . . interesting. And that they, Memory and Ethan are the only ones who can see the parasites. And that she and Ethan seem to be the only ones to see the lightning.

On a lighter note, I would love to know Ena Mercant’s reaction to Arwen having to be bailed out of jail!

The Vikings by Neil Oliver

This book has 336 pages.  Nearly half are taken up by appendices.  Which is probably why the holes in this book are legion. And they are huge. Here are only a few of the most egregious, to my mind at least.

1. Ragnar Lodbrok’s role in the 845 Siege of Paris are only touched on in the Chronology appendix.  I’m serious.  What makes it worse is that Mr. Oliver was present at one of the filming locations of the T.V. show. Leaving aside the truth or fiction of Ragnar, how can a book about Vikings fail to spend any time at all on his exploits? In the text, his name is used only in relation to his sons Ivar the Boneless and Halfdan.
2. Æthelfaed, Lady of the Mercians, is never mentioned. He recounts the struggles of her brother, Edward, in a scant few paragraphs, that do not even contain her name.
3. Cnut the Great’s other wife, Ælfgifu of Northampton, is not named. And only one of her sons, Harald Harefoot.  And all he merits is a couple of entries in the Chronology.
4. He refers to Svein Estridsson (or Ulfsson), in the Chronology, as the cousin of Harald Hardrada. He was Cnut’s nephew. This was the more important relationship when it came to his claim to kingship.
5. Clontarf, one of the most epic of Viking battles, is not covered. Like most of this list, it gets a single in the Chronology.

And, one more thing:  I thought it had been, mostly, proven that the Geats of Beowulf were Gauts, not Goths.  It is my understanding they were two different peoples.

For me, the gold standard when it comes to books on Viking history continues to be Gwyn Jones’s A History of the Vikings.  It’s woefully out of date, but it still manages to be a better, more complete, history.  In my humble opinion, you should read it, not this.

Can anyone recommend something more recent and up-to-date?

Bridgerton Pall Mall and the Mallet of Death

“Miss Sheffield!” came Colin’s impatient holler from up the hill. “It’s your turn!”

“So it is,” Kate said, analyzing her possible shots. She could aim for the next wicket or she could attempt to sabotage Anthony even further. Unfortunately, his ball wasn’t touching hers, so she couldn’t attempt the foot-on-the-ball maneuver he’d used on her earlier in the game. Which was probably for the best. With her luck, she’d end up missing the ball entirely and instead breaking her foot.

“Decisions, decisions,” she murmured.

Anthony crossed his arms. ‘The only way you’re going to ruin my game is to ruin yours as well.”

“True,” she acceded. If she wanted to send him into oblivion, she’d have to send herself there as well, since she’d have to hit hers with all she was worth just to get his to move. And since she couldn’t hold hers in place, heaven only knew where she’d end up.

“But,” she said, looking up at him and smiling innocently, “I really have no chance of winning the game, anyway.”

“You could come in second or third,” he tried.

She shook her head. “Unlikely, don’t you think? I’m so far behind as it is, and we are nearing the end of play.”

“You don’t want to do this, Miss Sheffield,” he warned.

“Oh,” she said with great feeling, “I do. I really, really do.” And then, with quite the most evil grin her lips had ever formed, she drew back her mallet and smacked her ball with every ounce of every single emotion within her. It knocked into his with stunning force, sending it hurtling even farther down the hill.

Farther…

Farther.

Right into the lake.

Openmouthed with delight, Kate just stared for a moment as the pink ball sank into the lake. Then something rose up within her, some strange and primitive emotion, and before she knew what she was about, she was jumping about like a crazy woman, yelling, “Yes! Yes! I win!”

“You don’t win,” Anthony snapped.

“Oh, it feels like I’ve won,” she reveled.

Colin and Daphne, who had come dashing down the hill, skidded to a halt before them. “Well done, Miss Sheffield!” Colin exclaimed. “I knew you were worthy of the mallet of death.”

“Brilliant,” Daphne agreed. “Absolutely brilliant.”

Anthony, of course, had no choice but to cross his arms and scowl mightily.

Colin gave her a congenial pat on the back. “Are you certain you’re not a Bridgerton in disguise? You have truly lived up to the spirit of the game.”

“I couldn’t have done it without you,” Kate said graciously. “If you hadn’t hit his ball down the hill…”

“I had been hoping you would pick up the reins of his destruction,” Colin said.

The duke finally approached, Edwina at his side. “A rather stunning conclusion to the game,” he commented.

“It’s not over yet,” Daphne said.

Her husband gave her a faintly amused glance. ‘To continue the play now seems rather anticlimactic, don’t you think?”

Surprisingly, even Colin agreed. “I certainly can’t imagine anything topping it.”

Kate beamed.

The duke glanced up at the sky. “Furthermore, it’s starting to cloud over. I want to get Daphne in before it starts to rain. Delicate condition and all, you know.”

Kate looked in surprise at Daphne, who had started to blush. She didn’t look the least bit pregnant.

“Very well,” Colin said. “I move we end the game and declare Miss Sheffield the winner.”

“I was two wickets behind the rest of you,” Kate demurred.

“Nevertheless,” Colin said, “any true aficionado of Bridgerton Pall Mall understands that sending Anthony into the lake is far more important than actually sending one’s ball through all the wickets. Which makes you our winner, Miss Sheffield.” He looked about, then straight at Anthony. “Does anyone disagree?”

No one did, although Anthony looked close to violence.

“Excellent,” Colin said. “In that case, Miss Sheffield is our winner, and Anthony, you are our loser.”
The Viscount Who Loved Me by Julia Quinn

A Star is Born

First, there were the Psychlo workers racing out to leave the platform clear for the incoming semiannual from Earth. There were flatbeds lined up to receive coffins and personnel.

There was the first shimmer of arrival of the Psychlos Jonnie and Windsplitter had knocked down.

Then a small puff.

There were the Psychlo workmen flinching back.

A force screen had gone on! A dome over the platform had closed instantly to contain that small explosion. It could not have been an atmosphere-armor cable. Some sort of shimmering, sparkling screen. Transparent but very much there.

Trucks had time to start up before anything else occurred. One huge emergency truck had lunged nearer the platform, evidently to handle the minor blast. A whole minute went by.

Then the first lethal coffin exploded! A big “planet buster” nuclear bomb, nestled into a bed of dirty mines.

The force screen held.

The holocaust was contained. The boiling, ferocious blast had not even bulged the screen.

Then another shock as the second coffined “planet buster” went off.

The screen held! Good Lord, what technology to build a screen like that. What power it must take to hold it.

Another shock inside that dome. The third planet buster. It and all its ancient, very dirty atomic bombs.

The screen held.

Psychlos were racing toward it from far off. Those near the platform were flattened by concussion transmitting through the screen.

The fourth contained bomb went off.

The screen still held.

But the transmitted concussion had hurled the emergency truck backward. Nearby buildings lost their glass.

The ground was shaking as though hit by gigantic earthquakes.

A nearby building suddenly dropped downward as though sucked from below. Other buildings began to go the same way.

The fifth bomb went off!

And seen in slow motion, first narrowly, then more broadly, the entire scene went into a churning, boiling mass of atomic fire.

No, something more! Molten, flaming fire was erupting in spots all over the plain.

They widened the angle quickly.

The whole Imperial City of Psychlo was sinking and all about it sprayed up rolling oceans of molten fire.

The circular trams, the mobs, the buildings, and even the towering cliffs were drowning in a tumult of liquid, yellow green flame.

They hastily widened the view.

And they saw the entire planet of Psychlo turn into a radioactive sun!
Battlefield Earth: A Saga of the Year 3000 by L. Ron Hubbard

Foreshadowing?

One measly coma and the world turns upside down. Silver Mercant with a bear. What the hell am I going to find out next? That Psy Councilor Nikita Duncan has fallen madly in love and eloped?
Ocean Light by Nalini Singh

How about Abominably Adorable?

Valentin was a “big, deranged grizzly,” while Stasya was an “intelligent and thoughtful panda.”

That description had come from his second-eldest sister, Nova. Forget that he, Stasya, Nova, and Nika—his third-eldest sister—were all Kamchatka brown bears, and pandas were so “thoughtful” they often took an hour to reply to a question. Apparently it was a metaphor. At least Nova hadn’t called him an actual snearzhnyi chelovek. An alpha had to have some standards—his included not being called a yeti.

Or a wolf.

His impolitic nature was the reason why it had taken him so long to meet Silver. He’d just never gone to any Moscow meetings. Now, he went to every one where he knew she would be present. Stasya had thrown up her hands when he dug in his feet on the matter—then she’d given him duct tape. To put over his mouth whenever he felt like being his “lumbering beary self.” End quote.

Valentin didn’t lumber. Not unless he’d downed a few beers.

And none of those thoughts were keeping his mind off the woman in the room beyond the closed door.
Silver Silence by Nalini Singh

The Death of Shadows

Sydney stopped a block from House Prospero. There it was: the familiar, hated feeling of the summons to Shadows itching beneath her skin. The cut edges of her shadow burned.

She had known the summons would come, as it always came. Known the question was when, not if. Knew, too, that there would be the same question through the rest of the Turning, through however long it might be before the House decided that she had earned her freedom.

Through when the House decided.

She was done letting the House of Shadows decide.

She clutched magic in her fists like lightning and stalked through the city like a storm.

On the shore of the reservoir, she lit the required matches. One. Two. Three. The magic just beneath her skin echoed their burning. She stepped into the boat, listening to the boards creak, the waves splash against its sides. Her eyes toward Shadows, looming larger in her field of vision. She focused until it was all she could see.

The boat shuddered against the shore, breaking into pieces. She stepped off. Shadows opened its doors.

Sydney did not walk through. She stood just outside the doors and loosed the magic she’d held tight in her hands. “I challenge the House!”

The House answered.

When it had been time for Sydney to leave Shadows, the testing had been rigorous. She had been required to perform a variety of spells—magics both subtle and complex—under adverse conditions. In cold and rain. Exhausted. Starving. In physical pain and mental anguish.

She had gotten out. She had won free. But she knew her magic, and she knew how close it had been—the moments that had been knife’s-edge balanced, that might have kept her inside.

Today was different. Today she was a hurricane.

Sydney cast magic that was an answer to everything she had ever endured behind these doors. She spoke words that cut through walls like knives and carved symbols of freedom on the foundations. She bent her hands into symbols of loosing and broke chains. She curled her fingers and sent windows shattering, letting light come in, shouting words of brightness until every corner was illuminated.

Until there were no shadows left.

She reached into the lines of magic that tied and wrapped like spiders’ webs, that offered peace and painlessness to magicians willing to send others to suffer. A word scissored through them, echoed by a wind that blew through Central Park like a storm, breaking branches, downing trees, and sending people running for shelter.

The Angel of the Waters rocked on its foundation, the stone lily crashing from its hand.

Sydney stole the sacrifices, the few that remained, transporting them to emergency rooms, fire stations. Places where unwanted children could be safely left.

It wasn’t enough to be free herself. She wanted no one else to ever be trapped again.

Sydney crooked her fingers, and the great doors cracked and fell from their hinges.

She walked through.

The air shifted as she crossed the threshold, and it was no longer Shadows trying to pull Sydney and her magic in, but the House desperately trying to stand against her. It twisted itself and changed its shape—moving hallways, throwing up walls, crumbling floors, but she kept walking.

As she walked, she cast magic of her own: freezing the House’s architecture in place, opening its doors, crumbling its foundations. Something rent and something screamed and Sydney raised her hands and the entire building trembled. Locks opened. Bars loosed. Shadows was a hell, and this was a harrowing.
An Unkindness of Magicians by Kat Howard

Professional Jealousy

Kaleb had known for some time that Aden was no medic. Or not just a medic–because the Arrow was fully trained and capable as a field medic. But what he’d seen today was incomprehensible. “According to the data I hacked, all his tests come back to a 4.3 telepath and 3.2 M,” he said to Sahara when he returned to Moscow.

“I can’t work out how he created that reflective shield.” Kaleb could deflect bullets and missles, but not return them to their locations with the precision Aden had displayed unless he was focusing specifically on a particular shot.

“It really looked like a mirror in the recordings.” Sahara smoothed his iron gray tie, Kaleb having been in a meeting with Jen Liu when Zaira Neve contacted him. He’d teleported out without explanation, conscious Zaira would never telepath him unless it was a major emergency. Factoring in the possibility the Arrows might be under attack and he could end up being unable to avoid a bullet if he teleported in too close, he hadn’t locked in on their faces but made the call to come in near the park around which he knew the two were running a security check.

As it was, he hadn’t needed to speak to them to figure out what was going on. “How did he do it?” he said. Moving back from Sahara, he tossed her several small items from his desk, including a piece of lapis lazuli she must’ve been playing with absently as she worked on a report requested by the Es. “Throw them at me at the same time.”

She rolled her eyes but did as asked. Kaleb had no problem freezing the objects in the air, but he couldn’t reverse their trajectories all at once on their original flight paths—the objects all arrowed toward a central point. “He must be a telekinetic of some kind.” Except Tks could never keep their abilities under wraps—telekinesis had a way of making itself felt, especially telekinesis that vicious.

Plucking the items from the air, her bracelet making a gentle sound as the charms swung against one another, Sahara put them back on the desk. “Does it matter if you know the details?”

When he just looked at her, she laughed. “Right, of course it matters. You like to know everything.”
Shards of Hope by Nalini Singh