Temple of Indra Series
Genre: Mystery, Adventure, Romance
Publisher: Solstice Publishing
Date of Publication: February 3rd, 2015
Print Length: 215 pages
Word Count: 66, 400
Cover Artist: Rebecca Boyd
As a librarian, Sophia Marcil loved reading, especially books about ancient curses and reincarnation, but she never imagined the legend of the Purple Delhi Sapphire was true until she inherited it and was transported back to a past life where she was murdered. Now she knows that not only is reincarnation real, but so is the devil’s magic locked inside the precious gem. Just as she’s about to tell her boyfriend Cullen about it, he proposes with an engagement ring made from a piece of the very sapphire that’s cursed her. Reeling from the shock and surrounded by his family, she allows him to place it on her ring finger. As soon as it touches her skin, she feels herself being wrenched back in time.
Before she knows it, she’s wandering the hallway of an old Victorian house in the body of her great aunt. Unfortunately, her nemesis has also reincarnated in 1920—as one of her family members. Sophia struggles to locate the Purple Delhi Sapphire in time to prevent the deaths of those she loves, but she fails and returns to her present-day life, to the precise moment she left, with a deep understanding that her killer’s soul is also tied to the sapphire and every life she has, he is resurrected as someone close to her.
Her stalker ex-boyfriend Nick seems like a prime candidate this time but she’s convinced she’s a step ahead of him, thanks to a tip from a medium, she knows that if she uses the magic of the stone correctly she can trap Nick’s soul in the sapphire and save herself. But when Nick is murdered, she finds evidence that has her questioning everything she thought she knew.
Is Cullen husband material or is history doomed to repeat itself?
Book Trailer: http://youtu.be/VCeG9eA09Fg
Fog descended, eerily beautiful despite the dingy residue it seemed to be composed of—producing an unwelcome metallic taste in my mouth. I lagged behind, pulling my scarf tight around my shoulders and taking in the outline of the buildings, which now looked even more Gothic and ghostly. They gave me a chill, or maybe it was just the weather. I had snowmobiled and skied on the frostiest of Canadian mornings and hardly ever felt the cold; I even slept with the windows open at times. But this cold was different from anything I had experienced. It cut to the core.
Of course I’d read about the smog of old London, when a million coal fires polluted the atmosphere, but the sound of the fog horn now blaring from the river made it real.
“Maggie,” Emily said with a cough. “We should duck into one of these places. We’ve got a pea-souper rolling in.”
Maggie’s soon-to-be mother-in-law gave a gasp. “A tavern is not a suitable place for a group of women and children.”
“Yes, I realize that but it’s bloody—sorry, it’s terribly bad weather out here—” Emily stopped. “It’s going to get worse and—”
“Mama, I’m cold,” Gigi whined. I gave her arms and shoulders a little rub to increase the circulation.
“What is this?” Marjorie asked through a muffled hand.
“Pollution from the—” I began and then clamped my hand over my mouth.
“No use chit-chatting. We should be there already. Let’s pick up our feet, shall we?”
Maggie, who was clearly uncomfortable, made a vague gesture with her hands and followed the formidable woman down the sidewalk.
As the ladies turned a corner, a man in a trench coat caught my eye. He’d been right behind us four blocks ago, and earlier in the day he’d loitered outside the dress shop. His fedora rode low over his eyes at all times and he looked to be about 5’11", coincidentally the same build as Eugene. I kept my eye on him for the next several blocks before he slipped behind a great stone church. I looked up and began to feel uneasy as I realized I’d now lost sight of the gang. In the growing fog, the iron fence surrounding it looked like rows of jagged black teeth. Don’t panic, I said to myself. Eventually I would catch up to them or come to a place I recognized and everything would be all right. I knew the name of the hotel we were staying in. The problem was that I was rapidly being swallowed up into the murk, and it was impossible to read the street signs which had now vanished into the fog above my head.
That’s when I noticed the slow, steady rhythm of footsteps behind me—keeping pace with mine. I turned but couldn’t see anyone. Probably just someone else out lost in this godforsaken weather, I told myself. Or the footsteps could only be a strange echo produced by the fog. I started walking again, stopped suddenly, and heard the footsteps continue another couple of beats before they too stopped. I had no choice but to keep going, so I increased my pace. Thankfully I glimpsed Marjorie’s skirt disappearing behind a building and took off on a terror in an effort to catch up, my mind conjuring the sort of thing that happened in the fog in some of Gigi’s old mystery novels. I rounded the corner onto a cobblestone side street and ran smack into something hard.
Palming my forehead, I realized the smog didn’t hang quite as low here, or maybe the cool breeze off the Thames River pushed it away. The bad news was, aside from the offending lamp post, the street lay empty. I looked up and noticed a sign that hung atop an old storefront, advertising rare books. Maggie must have reasoned with her mother-in-law and pulled the gang indoors. No better place than one filled with books.
Wandering into the shop through a brass-studded wooden door, I smiled to myself, taken in by the familiar smell of grass mixed with a hint of vanilla, my happy place. Books were a constant in my life, and this unmistakable smell always made me feel at home. The bell over the door jingled and a slender man of sixty with large brown eyes, a long nose, and a full gray mustache appeared, climbing down from the rolling ladder behind the counter.
He smiled at me as if he recognized a fellow bibliophile.
“Good afternoon, miss. May I help you?”
I looked around the quaint little shop. A polished table sat empty in the corner, offering up only a delicate brass lamp. Shelves lined the room and were packed with books at every turn but the store was also empty, unless Marjorie and the gang were hiding in an alcove. “Did a group of women come in here?”
“No, dear,” he replied and wrinkled his brow.
Turning to go back out the door, panic slammed into my chest. The man in the navy blue trench coat had followed me. He stood at the corner of the street, leaning against the wall, casually smoking and efficiently blocking my only way out. Half expecting him to turn around and spot me, my mouth went dry.
“Is everything all right, miss?”
Swiping a hand over my forehead, I brushed back a clump of sweaty hair. “I’m fine. I’m waiting for someone, that’s all.”
The shopkeeper stood still, watching me, his face creased with concern. Hastily I retreated, circling the room, studying the shelves and looking for a back door.
He followed me to where I stood browsing an older collection of Shakespeare. He pulled out a nineteenth-century edition of Twelfth Night and handed it to me. I flipped through the pages, to be polite, before handing it back.
“Something specific you fancy?”
“I’ll just take a look around on my own,” I said, then noticed for the first time the book in his possession.
“What’s that?” I asked, squinting; his hand covered the spine.
I followed him and he laid the book open on the counter, turning it sideways so we could both look at it. The scent of dust and pages that time had long since begun to degrade drifted out of it. It was the smell of the book I’d found in the library in my own time and seen prior to that in the alchemist’s study.
“It’s a collection of spells I acquired at an estate sale in Prague a few years ago.” He flipped the thin pages until he came to a poem printed neatly in the center of the leaf. “It looks to me like a book of magic,” he added, grinning.
A familiar feeling twisted within me.
Could it be?
Character Name: Leslie
Character Bio: Leslie is a quirky petite hourglass shaped twenty-something librarian who loves travel, books, men, history, food, and especially, her best-friend Sophia! She is an eccentric dresser—bold prints and plastic accessories but she always looks good and she knows how to make Sophia laugh.
Where is home?
Home is where the heart is. Sorry couldn’t resist. Right now home is downtown Toronto because it’s close to the library where I work. I also moonlight in a bookstore for extra cash and sometimes I track down rare books for this rich dude around the corner. I grew up on the same road as Sophia in Muskoka which is a little north of here, well that is until her mother died and she moved to Gigi’s lake house. Man, I miss that place—the scenic views, the trees in full bloom, and of course the company. I still visit it sometimes—well not so much this year since Sophia moved away. I used to take on part-time shifts at the local library there but now that Sophia’s gone, it’s too much of a drive. I don’t care for driving but I do love flying. I’m a bit of a traveler so I’ve lived all over the world. Sophia keeps bugging me to move back to Ireland (I lived there for a year after school) and I may just do that but I need to win the lottery first or find me a hot Irish sugar daddy.
What’s the strangest thing that has ever happened to you?
Let me see. There have been quite a few in the last two years. Finding Sophia passed out on the floor of the special collections rooms was probably the first. Finding out she wasn’t making up the whole out of body time travel trip was another biggie. Oh and then who could forget helping her reach out to a 19th century alchemist through a spellbook.
Name five items in your purse or pockets right now.
Let me see, today I've got a paperback, a couple toonies, a purple hair bow, my red framed sunglasses and a condom (you can never be too careful).
Describe yourself what is your worst and best quality?
Best quality would be my wit, wacky humor, and sparkling creativity. I’m the girl who always gets pegged for making the goofy hat out of ribbons at the baby shower. My worst...hmm…I cry at the drop of a hat which isn’t necessarily a bad thing…I mean I’m in touch with my emotions (giggles and starts to cry) but it can be embarrassing for me at times.
What is your biggest secret something no one knows about?
You’ll just have to read Curse of the Purple Delhi Sapphire to find that out, now won’t you? (Giggles) Hint: I once slept with Sophia’s stalker. I didn’t know it was him at the time. Okay, okay, I’ll give you something else only Sophia knows. Lisa Loeb is my personal style Icon. I’ve never wanted to raid a person’s closet quite as badly as I do hers. Sophia’s always laughing at my outfits but I have personally owned every style of glasses Lisa Lobe ever wore. My favorite outfit ever was the pink tutu and red tube top she wore on the cover of her album, Stay. She was the original hipster.
What are you most afraid of?
Losing Sophia. She’s my best-friend in the whole wide world.
What do you want more than anything?
Right now. Cupcakes. I have a chocolate peanut butter hankering.
What is your relationship status?
How about perpetually choosing the wrong guy.
How would you describe your sense of fashion?
I think we may have covered this but alternative, retro, Lisa Loeb-esq. I guess the cat (eyed frame)s out of the bag now. (Giggles)
How much of a rebel are you?
I smoke when Sophia’s not around (she hates cigarettes, cigars, pipes, you name it) and I drink like a fish. I guess you could say I’m pretty rebellious for a nerd.
What do you consider to be your greatest achievement?
My friendship with Sophia and my well used passport.
What is your idea of happiness?
Poetry, drinks with friends, travelling and music festivals.
What is your current state of mind?
I’m a bit of a rollercoaster but right now I’d say I miss my best-friend. (Dabs at tears with Kleenex)
What is your most treasured possession?
I have a box—it’s a large box full of mementos. Why don’t I give you the highlights—a worn leather journal Sophia bought me with her first paycheck, a concert ticket from Lilith Fair, a seashell from a beach in Mexico and a lock of my mother’s hair.
What is your most marked characteristic?
I’m fidgety and I’m told I have a nervous laugh. I don’t know what that means. (Giggles in a high pitched manner)
Which living person do you, most despise?
Him. Sophia’s …oops…I almost gave that away…Sophia’s stalker.
What is your greatest regret?
That I can’t travel into the past with Sophia. I’d give anything to see history up close and personal.
Who is your favorite hero in fiction?
Lucky Santangelo. I’m actually stealing this one from Sophia ‘cause she’s obsessed with Jackie Collins but I do agree. That character is one kick ass lady.
Which living person do you most admire?
Stevie Nicks is pretty neat. I like the way she’s unapologetic about her flaws. I wish I had the courage to own mine.
If you could change one thing about yourself what would it be?
My vulnerability—it would be nice to get through a day without crying.
What is your motto?
Let’s Get Weird.
Rachel Stapleton spent her youth cultivating a vivid imagination inside the book lined walls of an old Victorian library where she consumed everything from mystery to biography, creating magical worlds, hidden elevators, and secret spiral staircases. At sixteen, she penned a column for the local newspaper and in 2006, wrote her first book featuring an adventurous librarian.
She lives in a Second Empire Victorian with her husband and two children in Ontario and enjoys writing in the comforts of aged wood and arched dormers. She is the author of The Temple of Indra’s Jewel and is currently working on a third book in the Temple of Indra series.
Visit her website and follow her on social media or sign up at www.rachaelstapleton.com to receive email updates.