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Kimberly Van Ginkel

Fantasy

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Kimberly Van Ginkel is 5th-generation Iowan. Her meandering career path has included TV Programmer, Newspaper Webmaster, and Printing CIO. She divvies up her time between gaming, coding, researching, logic puzzles, crocheting, staring into the abyss, baking cookies, and a flagrant lack of exercise.

She lives in the Midwest with her husband and two children.

Follow her at kimberlyvanginkel.com or @VanginkelAuthor

In the Sleep of Death

Kimberly Van Ginkel

Though she would never be able to explain it, Lorena knew him - knew him intimately - long before they met.

Kimberly Van Ginkel

She watched the men of the posse milling about in the darkness, like phantoms along the outskirts of the campfire. They had been ordered to spread out in case The Hellfire Witch tried to run.

Kimberly Van Ginkel

She sensed their fear. The newspapers had branded her "The Hellfire Witch of St. Louis," which set every home in the state abuzz with different versions of her exploits.

Kimberly Van Ginkel

He eyed her with a possessive smirk that would have scandalized her Eastern society friends. But the palpable lust was not for her body. George and his posse planned to collect the bounty before she took her first proud step onto the gallows.

Kimberly Van Ginkel

... And when Lorena murmured, "Thank you, Bo. You'll never know how grateful I am," her benign words became his eulogy, for she had just resolved to murder him before sunrise.

Kimberly Van Ginkel

Her defect lay in her love of learning. The sweet young thing began speaking her mind in mixed company and contradicting every man she disagreed with. Finally, even her father was forced to concede that perhaps not every woman wished to be married.

Kimberly Van Ginkel

Potential suitors ambled though her life, but Lorena invested no emotion in them, smiling in secret pleasure at her "imaginary" lover instead.

Kimberly Van Ginkel

That evening, Mrs. Whittaker presided over precisely the type of meal she loathed: one fraught with boring conversation.

Kimberly Van Ginkel

"If you had an ounce of practicality about you, Lorena, you might have seen this for the blessing that it is. Why, by the looks of him, you'd be a widow in no time and wealthier than you can imagine! You willful, stupid girl!"

Kimberly Van Ginkel

Years later, when the nickel rags brought sensationalized accounts of The Hellfire Witch of St. Louis, no one ever thought to connect them with Miss Lorena.

Kimberly Van Ginkel

"It's Old Scratch talkin' through you. Don't you see?" Sweat beaded on Bo's forehead. "You actin' crazy as a loon! It's that foreign man. He done put the voodoo on you!"

Kimberly Van Ginkel

George had seen more than his fill of men shot, hanged, or bludgeoned to death. But nothing ever gave him the willies like the sight on the Missouri plains that morning.

Kimberly Van Ginkel

She sipped her goblet of wine -- a burgundy so dark it tasted of vinegar and reeked like a bloodletting.

Kimberly Van Ginkel

The turned around slowly, considering the stately room. Immaculate. Expansive. Somber. "This is Death's study," she said, panicking.

Kimberly Van Ginkel

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Kimberly Van Ginkel Books

Though she would never be able to explain it, Lorena knew him - knew him intimately - long before they met.

She watched the men of the posse milling about in the darkness, like phantoms along the outskirts of the campfire. They had been ordered to spread out in case The Hellfire Witch tried to run.

She sensed their fear. The newspapers had branded her "The Hellfire Witch of St. Louis," which set every home in the state abuzz with different versions of her exploits.

He eyed her with a possessive smirk that would have scandalized her Eastern society friends. But the palpable lust was not for her body. George and his posse planned to collect the bounty before she took her first proud step onto the gallows.

... And when Lorena murmured, "Thank you, Bo. You'll never know how grateful I am," her benign words became his eulogy, for she had just resolved to murder him before sunrise.

Her defect lay in her love of learning. The sweet young thing began speaking her mind in mixed company and contradicting every man she disagreed with. Finally, even her father was forced to concede that perhaps not every woman wished to be married.

Potential suitors ambled though her life, but Lorena invested no emotion in them, smiling in secret pleasure at her "imaginary" lover instead.

That evening, Mrs. Whittaker presided over precisely the type of meal she loathed: one fraught with boring conversation.

"If you had an ounce of practicality about you, Lorena, you might have seen this for the blessing that it is. Why, by the looks of him, you'd be a widow in no time and wealthier than you can imagine! You willful, stupid girl!"

Years later, when the nickel rags brought sensationalized accounts of The Hellfire Witch of St. Louis, no one ever thought to connect them with Miss Lorena.

"It's Old Scratch talkin' through you. Don't you see?" Sweat beaded on Bo's forehead. "You actin' crazy as a loon! It's that foreign man. He done put the voodoo on you!"

George had seen more than his fill of men shot, hanged, or bludgeoned to death. But nothing ever gave him the willies like the sight on the Missouri plains that morning.

She sipped her goblet of wine -- a burgundy so dark it tasted of vinegar and reeked like a bloodletting.

The turned around slowly, considering the stately room. Immaculate. Expansive. Somber. "This is Death's study," she said, panicking.

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