When George Brown spends the day at a water park, he ends up making a huge splash, just not the kind he intended. That's because trouble follows him like a shadow. It's not his fault. Really! Poor George is at the mercy of magic burps, burps that make him do wild and crazy things. Perfect for reluctant readers, this funny chapter book series is illustrated with more than forty black-and-white drawings that mirror the goofy mayhem. Views: 59
Master storyteller and bestselling author Jodi Picoult teams up with Jake van Leer and Ellen Wilber to bring you an original musical, sure to breathe life into any middle-school and high school drama curriculum. Part Shakespearean comedy and part Fractured Fairy Tales, Over the Moon is all fun. Narrated by a cross-dressing Hairy Godmother (no, that's not a typo), the story begins when Luna (the moon) descends to a small town on earth disguised as a boy, and sets out to help humans find love. But Luna herself falls in love with Prince Jack... who's in love with Felicity... who has fallen for Luna. On the way to happily ever after are a steady stream of clever puns and topical jokes about American Idol, universal health care, Bernie Madoff, and just about every fairy tale creature you've ever heard of! With nineteen original hum-worthy songs and plenty of spots to tailor the play to any city or town, Over the Moon is the perfect choice for every school looking to perform an energeti... Views: 59
Captain Joe Mendoza has wanted to be fire chief since he was four years old. And now he's one step away from making assistant chief. But that's proving to be some big step now that the chief's daughter has joined his crew. He's promised he'll keep her safe—and promised himself to keep things strictly business.Faith Peligni has battled her way back from an on-the-job injury in San Antonio, and she's stronger than ever. Even if as the first female firefighter on the San Amaro Island crew—and the chief's daughter—she's expecting some heat. But with the impossibly distracting Joe Mendoza as her captain, who knew it could get this hot? Views: 59
SWAT team member Miranda Murdock can't bake, or get a three-year-old to eat. But she can shoot the wings off a fly. Which is why she's protecting millionaire Quinn Gallagher's daughter. But the little girl is soon tugging at Miranda's heartstrings. And Quinn is doing other things to her—exciting, forbidden, bedroom things—making her job riskier each day....Quinn is determined to find the killer threatening his daughter's life. Despite the danger, he wants Miranda with shocking intensity. The elite cop is a puzzle he can't figure out, and desire between them builds with each heartbeat. Yet with New Year's Eve and the killer's deadline approaching, even a single kiss could spell disaster.... Views: 59
The long-awaited and highly anticipated sequel to the Newbery Honor winner Our Only May Amelia, by the bestselling and cherished author Jennifer Holm. May Amelia Jackson captured readers hearts in the Newbery Honor Book Our Only May Amelia. Now, after more than ten years, Jennifer Holm is bringing this beloved character back in a beautifully written story thats both heartbreaking and hilarious. May Amelia lives with her pioneer family on a farm in 1900, but she just cant act the part of a proper young ladyand it doesnt help that she has seven brothers and a Pappa who proclaim that Girls Are Useless. May Amelia jumps at the chance to earn her fathers respect when he asks her to translate for a gentleman whos interested in buying their land and making them rich. But when the deal turns out to be a scam, Pappa places all the blame on May. Its going to take a lot of sisuthats Finnish for gutsto make things right. Views: 59
There is eerie trouble once again in the Cornish village of St Boan, often known as Thunder's Pocket. Some hundred-year-old water pipes are being replaced and the digging has disturbed the ghosts of the past, namely the twins Matthew and Ben Pernel who were killed in mysterious circumstances and their musician father blamed. The three are now trying to be reunited but less innocent forces are also at work and the present townspeople are involved as the unhappy incidents of a hundred years ago are relived. Aunt Lal calls on her nephew Ned to help. She believes only he can bring the Pernels together again and thus truly bury the past. But even Ned is not immune to the horrors of the disturbed spirits. A thrilling sequel to In Thunder's Pocket by this prestigious author. Views: 59
She's all about going green. Could he be her white knight--or will he make her see red?Tree-huggin', animal-lovin' Bridget Pickwick-Buchanan is on a mission. Well, two. First she has to come to terms with being a widow at thirty-three. After all, it's been four years and even her five-year-old niece and nephew think it's time she shed her widow's weeds. Second, she needs to find a buyer for her family's estate--a Biltmore-inspired mansion surrounded by hundreds of acres of unspoiled forestland. With family obligations forcing the sale, Bridget is determined to find an eco-friendly developer to buy the land, someone who won't turn it into single-family homes or a cheesy theme park.Enter J. C. Dirk, a high-energy developer from Atlanta whose green property developments have earned him national acclaim. When he doesn't return her calls, Bridget decides a personal visit is in order. Unfortunately, J. C. Dirk is neither amused nor interested when she interrupts his... Views: 59
### Product Description It started as a dream—a redheaded warrior king fought and died for his men centuries ago. The dream would lead archaeologist Annja Creed to the king's undisturbed corpse...and one of England's greatest mythical artifacts. Deep in an archaeological dig in England's Midlands, Annja locates a braided necklace around a mummiï¬ed king's neck. Made of an unusual material—not quite obsidian, but gleaming with multihued color—the torc is an astonishing ï¬nd. But someone knows exactly what the torc means. And he will do anything to get his hands on the Tear of the Gods. When the dig is compromised and innocent archaeologists are slain, even Annja herself is left for dead. Now she is fleeing for her life, not knowing the terrifying truth about the relic she risks everything to protect—or the devastating consequences should it fall into the wrong hands.... ### Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. Myrrdin sat high astride his horse and stared down the slope of the hill at the Roman army amassing in the valley below. What was left of his command was gathered at his back, but it was pitifully small compared to the enemy presence before him. It was hard to believe that things had gone wrong so swiftly. Less than a week before, he[HTML_REMOVED]d been war leader to Queen Boudica herself and had led an army of more than eighty thousand souls across Britannia, carving a path of destruction in their wake. They had destroyed the colony at Camulodunum and had marched against first Verulamium, and then Londinium itself, sacking each city and slaying as many of the invaders as they could find. Blood flowed like a river wherever they went, appeasing the anger of the gods at the presence of the Roman invaders and bestowing blessings upon the Iceni as a result. Nothing, it seemed, could stand in their way. Nothing, that was, until the coming of Gaius Suetonius Paulinus. Even thinking of the Roman[HTML_REMOVED]s name was enough to make Myrrdin curse aloud and spit on the ground. He longed to carve the man[HTML_REMOVED]s flesh from his bones and feed it the crows. He prayed to the gods that he would get his chance before the battle was over. What a difference seventy-two hours made. Less than five thousand men remained of the army that had met Paulinus and the soldiers of the XIV _Gemina _on the field of battle three days before. Few, if any, of his senior commanders still lived, for they had stood their ground and fought on even when the battle had turned in the Romans[HTML_REMOVED] favor. Myrrdin would have gone down fighting alongside them if the queen hadn[HTML_REMOVED]t ordered him to retreat, to ensure that someone still remained who could rally the remnants of the Iceni and see to it that their people[HTML_REMOVED]s sacrifice was not in vain. How he wished he had never left her side! He reached up and fingered the torc he wore about his neck, the one Boudica had entrusted to him before the battle. She[HTML_REMOVED]d always claimed it to be the root of her power, that the metal from which it was formed, the metal given to them by the very gods themselves, protected her time and time again. But Boudica was dead now, poisoned by her own hand while in Roman custody rather than be handed over to Paulinus[HTML_REMOVED]s troops as a plaything for their amusement. When word reached him earlier that morning of her fate, he wept, wondering if he[HTML_REMOVED]d condemned her to death simply by taking the torc. Not that it mattered now; what was done was done. Myrrdin was a good enough tactician to know that at this point there was no way the Iceni could win. They were outnumbered and the Romans were not only better armed but better armored, as well. If he hadn[HTML_REMOVED]t been able to beat them with eighty thousand warriors at his command, there was no way he was going to be able to do so with only five thousand. But there was no question of retreat. He would rather die on the field of battle, sword in hand, than be hunted down like a dog in the weeks to come. And perhaps, Awran willing, he could take a few Romans with him as an offering before it was his time to die. He let his gaze roam over the soldiers gathering on the field below. Unlike his ragtag band of warriors, who often wore as little into battle as possible, the Romans were all dressed in identical coats of chain armor worn over a short jerkin with thick-soled leather sandals on their feet. They each carried two iron-tipped spears, pilums he[HTML_REMOVED]d heard them called. The short swords were designed primarily for stabbing in close-quarter combat. The soldiers also held large rectangular shields, big enough to cover a man from ankle to chin. The legion[HTML_REMOVED]s standard, a charging boar on a field of crimson that was so dark as to be almost purple, flapped in the afternoon breeze, the Romans arrogantly claiming this land on behalf of the Emperor. Myrrdin turned and surveyed the men assembled behind him. What a sharp contrast to those they were about to face. Where the Romans were tall and muscled from years of disciplined labor, his men were smaller and wiry in nature, built for speed and dexterity. Where the Romans were armored and carried multiple weapons, many of his men were naked or nearly so, their fair skin decorated in blue woad. They clutched swords made of iron and carried small, round shields of leather stretched over wooden frames. Of his illustrious horse soldiers, less than fifty remained. They sat stiffly in the saddle off to his right, weary from the days of fighting and the long chase they had endured so far, yet none hesitated to return his gaze or gave any sign they would shy away from the confrontation to come. As he turned away, one thought was prominent in his mind. We don[HTML_REMOVED]t stand a chance. Myrrdin shook his head, clearing it of such defeatism. The simple fact was he no longer had any choice; there was nowhere else to run. He[HTML_REMOVED]d never get his men through the bogs on the other side of the hills before the enemy could catch up with them. He had no choice but to stand and fight. Like all good commanders, Myrrdin wanted that fight on his terms, not the enemy[HTML_REMOVED]s, which was why he[HTML_REMOVED]d assembled his men along the crest of the hill while the Romans attempted to set up camp in the valley below. He hadn[HTML_REMOVED]t been able to choose the field on which they would meet, but he[HTML_REMOVED]d be damned if he wouldn[HTML_REMOVED]t choose the time. And that time was now, before the enemy got themselves organized and settled in. He brought his horn to his lips and blew a long blast. The sound echoed across the valley, like a great voice shouting from the hilltop, and Myrrdin smiled in defiance as he watched the Roman soldiers milling about in response. Behind him, his men took up the call to battle, pounding the flats of their swords against their shields, calling up a frightful racket, letting the spirits know that there would soon be newcomers, friend and foe alike, entering the land of the dead. Bare-breasted women moved among the ranks, screaming in hatred at the Romans massed below and whispering words of encouragement to their men, stoking the twin fires of courage and power. Myrrdin let it build for a few minutes, allowing his men to whip themselves into a killing frenzy, and then, when he judged the time was right, he raised his right arm above his head, his fist clenched for all to see, and then brought it slashing downward. Like a breaking wave his army surged into motion, pouring down the hill toward the enemy, shrieking their war cries as they went. With a joyous shout, Myrrdin spurred his horse and joined them, thundering down toward the rapidly forming enemy line. Behind him came the rest of his horse soldiers, their voices raised in harmony with his own. Ahead of them the Romans stood shoulder to shoulder in a long, unbroken line, waiting with disciplined ease for the enemy to make contact, their oversize shields held before them to form a wall. As the Iceni warriors closed in, the Romans unleashed a blistering rain of stones and spears from behind the protection of that wall, hoping to blunt the force of the attack. The Iceni had faced the Romans before, however, and they were ready, having expected just such a move. Almost as one they bent low over their mounts, their heads sheltered by the animals[HTML_REMOVED] long necks, and as a result the majority of them made it through the storm unscathed. Mere yards separated the two forces and Myrddin felt his lips peel back from his teeth as he bared them at the enemy like a wild animal defending its den. Heart racing, blood pumping, he let out another shout of defiance and drove his horse right into the ranks of the enemy, smashing aside that wall of shields, trampling those foolish enough to stand firm in the face of the attack under the hooves of his battle-hardened mount. Beside him, his horse warriors did the same, smashing aside the Roman line, creating a breach for their foot soldiers to exploit as they caught up with the charging cavalry. In seconds the orderly nature of the Roman defense had dissolved into chaos. The air was full of the coppery scent of fresh blood, the smell of leather and sweat, the screams of the injured and the dying. Myrrdin slashed about him with his sword, hacking at anyone who got close enough, striking down as many of the enemy as he could, driving his horse relentlessly forward, doing all he could to widen the gap, to give his people a fighting chance at survival. If they could break through the other side of the Roman battle line, some of them might survive to fight another day. A tall Roman rose up on his right side, his battle-ax already in motion, but Myrrdin took the blow on the buckler strapped to his left arm. The shield shattered, smashed to pieces by the force of the blow, but it served its purpose, giving Myrrdin time to thrust his sword deep into the other man[HTML_REMOVED]s chest, killing him where he stood. The Iceni chieftain turned in the saddle, searching for his next foe. The spear came out of nowhere, whistling through the air with all the grace of a weapon of war doing just what it had been designed to do. It struck him high in the right side. As luck would have it, he[HTML_REMOVED]d been in the midst of turning and the projectile drove into the narrow gap his mail coat failed to cover at his armpit, burying itself deep in his chest. It was like being buried in an avalanche of ice, his sword falling away from fingers gone suddenly numb, his grip on the saddle loosening as he lost the feeling in his legs, and he tumbled from his mount to lie in the mud of the battlefield as the fight raged on around him. As his vision began to narrow and the darkness closed in, Myrrdin could have sworn he felt the torc about his neck pulse in time with his heartbeat. Annja Creed studied the decapitated heads on the table in front of her. Two of them had their eyes closed, as if they[HTML_REMOVED]d died peacefully in their sleep, but Annja knew better than to trust in simple appearances. There had been nothing peaceful about their passing; the fact that they were sitting on the table minus the rest of their bodies was proof of that, she thought wryly. The eye... Views: 59
Samantha Vanderveer has no inkling of the lives that have been destroyed by the infamous Pandora Ruby, a gem that has divided the Vanderveer and Raincrow families for decades, when she falls in love with Jake Raincrow.From the Paperback edition. Views: 59
