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That Pearly Drop by Jianne Carlo
Murphy’s Laws of Time Travel Book One

Emma knows time travel’s impossible. So, the only other explanation for her going to sleep on Halloween night in 2013 and waking up in Wales in the year 1763 is that she’s insane.

There’s a murdered girl, a coach ticket to Wye Castle, and a letter of employment to be governess to the Earl of Wye’s daughter. What’s a gal to do but go with the flow?

Wolf-shifter Ian, Earl of Wye, recognizes Emma as his mate instantly and senses she’s in danger. He knows Emma’s harboring a deep, dark secret. But, no matter what he does, she won’t confide in him.

Then he finds Emma wounded and rambling about nine white gorgons who attacked her. The hounds of hell are Ian’s nemeses, and the fact they’ve reappeared in the mortal world after centuries of banishment can only mean one thing…

Genre: Historical Paranormal Romance
Content/Theme(s): Shifters, Time Travel, Fae, Wolves, Magic, Hellhounds
Release Date: November 7, 2013
Publisher: Hartwood Publishing

Excerpt & More

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Excerpt:
Time travel doesn't work the way it's portrayed in movies and books.

Useless tools follow you in time, mocking you because you can't use them. I have an iPhone that doesn’t work, a Kindle that won’t power on, and a set of remote keys for a rental car that no longer exists.

“Make a doggone list.” My death-grip on the pen makes my fingertips burn. After flexing my hand a few times, I start to write.

Facts:
1. I am in Wye Court, Wales.
2. It's November 2, 1763.
3. I left Boca Raton, Florida on October 30, 2013.

A stomach cramp hits me, and I double over and wait the convulsions out. For two days, all I’ve had to eat were the three packs of freebie peanuts from the transatlantic plane ride. Temptation surges, my mouth waters, and I stare at the backpack. Shaking my head and clenching my jaw, I set aside the idea of eating one of the four Mars bars purchased while waiting for Heathrow’s airport train to take us to the car rental station. I’m a hoarder by nature, and I’m afraid to eat all my precious food until I know for certain I’ll be fed regularly.

I read what I've written and want to howl my frustration, my anger, my sheer terror. But I can't because they can come for me at any moment, and I have to be prepared.

For the last six months after graduating from Florida Atlantic University, I've been working on a forensic accounting team for a major oil firm. I love my job and my boss, and he’s taught me so much in such a short time.

David’s ex-military, and he approaches everything from a standard operating procedure point of view, what he calls SOPs. Identify the problem, identify the facts, identify the desired resolution, and plot the strategies to attain the goal. Taking a deep breath, I scribble:

Goal:
1. To get back to Boca Raton, Florida in the year 2013.

Strategies:
1. Figure out how I got here.

I’ve spent most of the last two days on the verge of a breakdown, and it’s been impossible to think clearly. While I know my mental state is by no means stable, it’s time to write down what I recall before the memories dull.

Facts:
1. Vikki, Phoebe, and I arrived in London at noon on October 31st, 2013.
2. We made a planned detour to Stonehenge, the weather turned bad, and we were forced to stay overnight at The Ratfyn Inn.

Vikki’s an archaeology graduate, obsessed with ancient myths and legends, and had begged for the Stonehenge visit. She also revels in primitive emotions and rituals, and loves dancing in wild thunderstorms.

Not me.

I was struck by lightning as a kid, and the slightest thunder roll has me hiding in a closet and cowering.

No going off on tangents.

I force myself to keep on writing.

3. When the storm worsened, I took a sleeping pill.
4. Sometime during the night, I woke up to see Vikki outside in the middle of a barrage of constant lightning.
5. I grabbed my backpack and went out, intending to drag her to shelter.

A flashback hits me, and I choke back the bile galloping up my throat. The image of the nine white dogs with gorgon heads and blood red ears circling me rears. My pulse skyrockets, and it’s hard to suck in enough oxygen. The vision is so vivid, I can smell the fetid stink rolling off the monsters.

I should’ve known better than to take the sleeping pill after drinking wine. I’d obviously hallucinated before lightning struck me unconscious.
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