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Time Travel Romance Cover Reveal: BOHERMORE by Jennifer Rose McMahon

When your dreams become reality, being cursed can be a real nightmare.
 Paperback: April 4th
eBook: April 18th

Like a punch in the face, eighteen-year-old Maeve O'Malley's visions knock her off her path. The Pirate Queen stalking Maeve in her dreams killed her mother years ago, and now, the villian is coming for her. Maeve's decision to ditch Boston College takes everyone by surprise as she packs her bags, leaves America, and heads to the west coast of Ireland to chase her dreams—and end them.

Maeve uncovers an ancient family curse that refuses to remain silent until she accepts her predestined role in what many thought was only a legend. Her Irish history professor—a man she shouldn't be falling for—is the only person who understands the origins of her torment.

Maeve's journey becomes a medieval treasure hunt through Ireland's castles and ruins as she tracks the wrathful Pirate Queen who has her marked for vengeance. 

For more about Jennifer Rose McMahon find her across the web:

   http://sharonmjohnston.com/https://twitter.com/s_m_johnstonhttps://www.facebook.com/DBSieders

Find a sneak peek of BOHERMORE now!


Clawing up the steep hill, slipping on loose gravel, I cursed the new rip in my favorite jeans as I vanished into the town cemetery. Every inch of the place was familiar, from the oldest tombstone to the freshest newcomer. It used to be a playground to me for as long as I could remember; hide and seek grew into manhunt, sniffing fresh-laid flowers in the sun turned into stargazing in the black night sky. But it was different now.

My feet dragged through the old section of the graveyard, passing the centuries-old stones of early Massachusetts settlers. The thin slate hand-carved headstones, some cracked or fallen, leaned toward me, straining to be noticed. I slipped past the World War II monument, avoiding eye contact with the weathered bust-sculpture of some famous general. His eyes supposedly possessed your soul if you looked directly into them. It always gave me that unsettling feeling like I was being watched, so I moved with purpose, flinching at every little sound. I kept focus, past the cannons and into the new section of thick granite stones, shiny on the front, rough on the back, all the same.

The straight rows were packed tight with cold efficiency, draining the warmth of the old section from my core and replacing it with the chill of mass-produced memorials. I shimmied through to the far edge, avoiding stepping directly on any plots, especially ones with fresh-cut sod because, well, the possessed thing again. You’re just not supposed to.

Grateful to be somewhat on the outskirts of the grid, I found my mother’s grassy patch by the young maple that shaded it.

“Hi, Mom,” I whispered as I dropped to my knees in front of her, looking around to be sure I was alone—wondering if every time I looked up, whatever it was that was out there hid, with stealth timing. “I’m gonna hang out with you for a little while. I think I need your help.” I paused and tried not to feel dumb.