02 Nov Yves Fey Floats the Dark Shadow The Coffee Pot Book Club Blog Tour #HistoricalMystery #MontmartreParis #BlogTour #TheCoffeePotBookClub @YvesFey @cathiedunn

FEATURED AUTHOR: YVES FEY

Please welcome Yves Fey as the featured author in The Coffee Pot Book Club Blog Tour being held between October 31st — November 4th, 2022. Yves Fey is the author of the Historical Mystery, Floats the Dark Shadow (The Paris Trilogy). The second edition of the novel was released by Tygerbright Press in September 2022 (340 pages). The audiobook is narrated by Hollie Jackson

Below are highlights of Floats the Dark Shadow, Yves Fey’s author bio, and an excerpt from her book.

To follow the blog tour, CLICK Tour Schedule page

HIGHLIGHTS: FLOATS THE DARK SHADOW

Floats the Dark Shadow

(The Paris Trilogy)

by Yves Fey

(Blurb)

Young American painter Theodora Faraday struggles to become an artist in Belle Époque Paris. She’s tasted the champagne of success, illustrating poems for the Revenants, a group of poets led by her adored cousin, Averill.

When children she knows vanish mysteriously, Theo confronts Inspecteur Michel Devaux who suspects the Revenants are involved. Theo refuses to believe the killer could be a friend—could be the man she loves. Classic detection and occult revelation lead Michel and Theo through the dark underbelly of Paris, from catacombs to asylums, to the obscene ritual of a Black Mass.

Following the maze of clues they discover the murderer believes he is the reincarnation of the most evil serial killer in the history of France—Gilles de Rais. Once Joan of Arc’s lieutenant, after her death he plunged into an orgy of evil. The Church burned him at the stake for heresy, sorcery, and the depraved murder of hundreds of peasant children.

Whether deranged mind or demonic passion incite him, the killer must be found before he strikes again.

Buy Links:

Universal Link   •   Amazon UK  •  Amazon US   •  Amazon CA  •  Amazon AU  •  Barnes and Noble  •  Kobo  •  Audio  •  AppleBooks

AUTHOR BIO: YVES FEY

Yves Fey has MFA in Creative Writing from the University of Oregon, and a BA in Pictorial Arts from UCLA. Yves began drawing as soon as she could hold a crayon and writing at twelve.  

She’s been a tie dye artist, go-go dancer, creator of ceramic beasties, writing teacher, illustrator, and has won prizes for her chocolate desserts. Her current obsession is creating perfumes inspired by her Parisian characters.

Yves lives in Albany with her mystery writer husband and their cats, Charlotte and Emily, the Flying Bronte Sisters.

Social Media Links:

Website  •  Twitter  •  Facebook  •  LinkedIn  •  Instagram  •  Pinterest  •  Amazon Author Page  •  Goodreads

EXCERPT: FLOATS THE DARK SHADOW

Theo and Her Friends Meet at the Charity Bazaar – Floats the Dark Shadow

“I love your new painting, Theo!” Carmine exclaimed.

“What is it? I must see it,” Mélanie said eagerly.

“Le Moulin de la Galette,” Theo told her, “transformed by storm clouds.”

Carmine spun her fingers like pinwheels. “Bold.”

“Not too bold, I hope?” Mélanie teased.

Carmine rolled her eyes. Theo laughed. “So bold no one will buy it!’”

“Don’t you care?” Mélanie asked plaintively.

“I don’t need to,” Theo said.  “I just finished a portrait for which I’ve been paid a fortune—in croissants.”

“Better than gold.” Carmine grinned at her.

“Now remember, this is a charity event.” Mélanie became all earnestness again. “We must each be sure to give something.”

“There are a hundred and fifty charities to choose between. I’m sure I’ll find at least one worth a franc.” Carmine grinned. “Though the boutiques will beckon to my purse.”

“Any purchase goes to charity. There is a school for the blind with many orphaned students. I have ten francs for that. They teach those with musical talent to play the organ,” Mélanie said primly. Then her face brightened. “Monsieur Braille taught there. Do you know he adapted his system from a secret spy code that soldiers used to read in the dark of night?”

“What a marvelous bit of history.” Theo smiled. “They shall have a donation from me. When we have finished, let’s have a cozy tea at Ladurée.” She loved the salon’s gilded interior.

“Or supper if the line doesn’t move faster,” Mélanie said plaintively.

“This is the most modern exhibit. Everyone here must see it.” Carmine gave her wicked smile. “All two thousand of them.”

The line crept forward as another set of people went through the turnstile. As they drew closer the deep blue of the curtains made the hidden interior all the more alluring.

“Theo, did you read the Petit Journal yesterday—the editorial on suffrage?” Carmine lifted her brows in provocative challenge.

“Did I read about the superior wisdom of France compared to the United States?” Theo retorted. “Did I discover that French women live under a rule of benign order, unlike the profound disorder in the state of Colorado where women serve on juries and are free to vote?”

“What of your state?” Carmine asked. “Are they so enlightened?”

Anger tightened Theo’s back and sharpened her voice. “The amendment failed in California last year.”

“Did you march in the street to protest?” Carmine asked her.

“It failed after I left, but yes, I marched to promote it.”

“Then you are truly French!” Carmine laughed then became vehement. “The women of France fought in the Revolution—we led the march on Versailles! Again, in the Commune, we joined the struggle for liberty. Aren’t we worthy of equal rights and privileges?”

“You cannot want the vote.” Mélanie looked truly appalled. “Politics is the man’s world, as home is the woman’s. If she enters into masculine troubles, how can she create a haven for sheltering those she loves?”

“If she has no choice, then she’s just a servant in her supposed domain,” Theo protested. “Controlling your money, owning property, having a vote, it’s all necessary to being a person, not just some decorative attachment, a pretty bauble.”

Mélanie shook her head. “I wouldn’t want the vote. Let men deal with sordid politics.”

“I want a say in just which stupid, sordid idiot runs my world,” Carmine declared.

“If you feel that women belong in the home, why did you apply to the École des Beaux-Arts?” Theo challenged. Mélanie’s impeccable technique had just earned her a place within those sacred walls. She and two other women were the first ever admitted. It was the fulfillment of a dream for Mélanie, who lived a quiet and all too proper life with her widowed mother.

“Artistic skill befits a woman as well as a man. Women cannot expect to outdo men at the pinnacle of their skill, but they can still strive for excellence,” Mélanie said stiffly.

“They promised to admit women almost a year ago,” Carmine said, “then danced around in circles—with us still on the outside. They have opened their doors at last, but do not fool yourself. You will not be given classes equal to the men’s, no matter what they say.”

“We share the oral lecture classes,” Mélanie said defensively. “Of course anatomy is segregated. But we will have the same models—we will simply study them independently. They have promised.”

“Have they kept their promise?” Carmine asked pointedly.

“…Not yet. No male nudes have been permitted. But classes have barely begun.”

Carmine huffed, but Theo forestalled further arguing. “It’s a beginning, at least.”

Finally, they passed through the turnstile into the dimly lit room behind the curtains. Their host briefly explained the system while his assistants readied the machine. “Monsieur Joly has improved upon the kinetograph of Edison and the innovations of the brothers Lumière, giving our machine greater smoothness. No longer is just one person at a time able to view the magic world of cinema. This entire audience will experience the wonder of our films,” he proclaimed proudly. “The Cinématographe Joly is a most marvelous creation—a camera, a printer, and a projector all in one!”

The mechanism operated something like a sewing machine, shuttling the slotted film through the teeth of the projector. “Up and down, in and out, move and pause,” their host chanted, his hands moving as if pushing fabric under a needle. Theo almost laughed, but the man was so serious she didn’t want to hurt his feelings. When she tried for a closer look at the intriguing machine, the projectionist and his assistant blocked her. Their host pointed at the screen. “Attention! Three magical films for your viewing—each almost a minute!”

The lamps were dimmed.  Now they were in darkness. The air filled with quivering light and the screen with flickering images that cast a spell over the audience. Theo gasped and sighed with them, tingling with excitement at the visions unfolding before her. First there was a wonderfully sweet and silly moment of a woman feeding her baby daughter porridge. The baby was chubby cheeked and got the gooey stuff all over herself and her mother, who threw up her hands in dismay. Murmurs of awe wove with bursts of laughter. “It’s a miracle, a modern miracle!” was whispered all around. After the baby came a glorious scene of boys having a snowball fight, running, falling, and rising to send their missiles flying through the air. Theo wanted to be with them, to gather the white snow in her hands and hurl it with the same laughing abandon. Weaving through her enchantment were elusive distractions. The machine made a soft clattering as it ran the film, and a swish as the spools unwound and fell into a box beneath the projector. The booth had a curious smell, a dizzying hint of the ether used to lubricate the mechanism.

The last film was the most startling. Iron struts of a bridge framed train tracks that curved away out of sight. Suddenly, a train turned the bend. Like a black beast, it rushed toward them, spewing a cloud of white smoke. Theo was transfixed. There was no sound, but her mind filled with the grinding sound of steel wheels and piercing whistles. Her heart raced as the engine with its jutting grill charged forward. The next instant there was nothing but smoke and black iron as the train seemed to hurtle off the screen into the room. Frozen in place, Theo gasped in delighted terror. She gasped again when Mélanie clutched her arm as blackness swallowed them.

Almost instantly the lights came on. Everyone laughed with relief to find themselves still alive and filled with wonder at this joyful present the modern world had given them.