Spotlight on R. Caine High School: Books 1-3 (Victoria Danann), Guest Post & Giveaway!
Today we're excited to spotlight R Caine High School: Books 1-3 by Victoria Danann!
Read on for more about Victoria, plus a guest post, and giveaway!
Meet Victoria Danann!
Meet R. Caine High School: Books 1-3!
"FIVE STARS for one of the most peculiar high school experiences of all time!" - The World is Hers for the Reading
A STUNNING NEW TEEN FANTASY SERIES LIKE NOTHING ELSE!
The gods are using their own children as players in a high stakes game located in the most treacherous environment in the known universe... high school. To make it more interesting, they've stripped their children of knowledge of who they really are and withheld the rules of the game.
Sixteen-year-old Ever Moore thought she was an ordinary human girl until she transferred to R. Caine. Now she finds herself in a vortex of crazy occurrences where mystery, myths, and mystic collide.
Start reading TODAY and find out why readers are calling R. Caine HS funny, fast paced, and fabulous with flair.
~ Guest Post ~
CAINE HIGH SCHOOL, Books 1-3 Guest Post
ar·cane /ärˈkān/ adjective: arcane (understood by few; mysterious or secret)
All Night - Walk the Moon
Stone Cold Classic - Aka George
Everything's Not Lost - Coldplay
Grip - Bastille
Hallucinating - Elohim
Inside Your Mind - The 1975
Roller Coaster - The Bleachers
You Should See Me In A Crown - Billie Eilish
Raise Hell - Dorothy
Woman - Dorothy
EXCERPT from Book 1 The Game
When it came to the attention of the old ones that their creations, the Earth gods, had been playing games at the expense of humankind for millennia, they put a stop to it. But the rebellious gods were far too addicted to their games to give them up. After several summit meetings, they voted to use their own children as players and locate the playing field in the most treacherous environment in the known universe… high school.
To make it even more interesting, they stripped their children of their memories and withheld the rules of the game. The game began when the players reached the age of sixteen and were transferred to R. Caine High School.
Gods from diverse cultures entered players and prepared to be entertained.
What the players had in common was a distinct feeling that they were outsiders who didn’t quite belong. Their human parents didn’t understand or relate to them because, while they were their physical children genetically, their spirits were ancient with latent memories of being powerful. The combination made them feel alien even in their own homes.
One player in particular had parents who cheated. Ever had no idea that her normal state of being was Valkyrie, or that her real name was Elfhild, but she was one of the famed demigoddesses who searched for the bravest of the brave, fallen in battle, and retrieved them as a collection of heroes for the great Norse god, Odin. She was the child of Odin, the goddess Freya, and Elfhild, a valiant and beloved shield maiden. How can someone have three parents, you say? It’s a divine mystery.
Elfhild’s parents wanted to be sure the odds were stacked in favor of their champion. So in addition to the gifts she would gradually realize, they made sure Loki was appointed game master. The only reason the other gods agreed was because they all knew that Loki’s ultimate loyalty was to himself, that his unpredictability and love of tricks would give them all what they sought; amusement and surprise.
Wanting extra insurance, Odin plucked the spirit of Gunnar Hamundarson, the legendary Viking swordsman, from the great hall of warriors, Valhalla, and sent him to Earth to act as Elfhild’s protector. When the time was right, Freya also sent her great wolf disguised as a Norwegian Elkhound.
Was it cheating?
But Elfhild’s god-parents loved her. Almost as much as they loved winning. And in any case she would still have to fight to survive the game as a human girl named Ever.
My name is Ever Moore.
I know. It makes me wince every time I say it. When I’m eighteen, I plan to have it legally changed to something that doesn’t make people laugh. But right now I’m stuck.
My dad thinks puns are the highest form of humor. He calls it ‘word play’. That’s right. I’m the spawn of nerds. My dad creates video games, which would probably be cool if he was someone else’s dad. My mother is an ethics professor at UCLA who thinks the battle between good and evil begins at home.
If you want to know just how weird it can get at the Thanksgiving table, there’s more. My only living grandparent was a big deal rock star in the seventies. You wouldn’t know the name of the band. So there’s no point in name dropping. But how’s this for irony? The grandparent who tried really hard to burn out on sex, drugs, and rock and roll is the one who’s still living.
The gods are crazy.
After a visit, he exits with a two-finger peace salute like all the other well-adjusted hippie grandparents. But does he say, “Peace?”
He says, “Rock steady.”
My grandfather doesn’t want to be called Grandpa or Grandad or Gramps or anything close to normal. Oh no. He wants to be called ‘Buzz’. I have no idea why. That is not his name.
My mother is big on manners. She’s too strict to let me say what I think about Buzz and his lifestyle. Don’t get it wrong. I’m fond of him. Sort of. And because Mom has a manners thing, the best protest I can use in response to ‘rock steady’ is rolling my eyes. I keep trying to get his attention by rolling my eyes back further into my head, but he will not be deterred. He doesn’t see my disapproval or he doesn’t care. Either way it is not acknowledged.
Anyway I was leading a completely typical and deliciously angsty teenage life in Austin, Texas when my parents were suddenly offered jobs in the LA area at the same time. It was weird, but weird is part of my normal. Always has been.
Since my grandad, the rocker, still lives in LA with the latest girlfriend who’s barely legal - she’s two years older than I am - moving seemed like a good idea.
Now here we are in beautiful Oxnard. Yeah. I know. It sounds like somebody was in the middle of a sneeze when a cough barked out. I try looking it up to see what an oxnard is. Of course that was a circular exercise; ‘see city in California’. So I try ‘nard’. Closest thing is spikenard which is an herb. At that point I lose interest.
I’m stuck with Oxnard and, at least for the time being, Oxnard is stuck with me. So here’s a rundown of the good, the bad, and the boring.
The good news is that we managed to get a boat dock house. It’s on the water, but not on the beach. No extra space. There are three bedrooms. Guess who gets the ‘master’? That left two little rooms for my brother and me to fight over. I pulled rank - I’m four years older - and got the one facing the front. That means the water view.
Among other noteworthy travel facts, Oxnard is in a valley between the Santa Monica Mountains and the Los Padres, which is a cluster of mountain ranges. I’m told that you could be surfing at the beach while looking at snow-covered mountains. Put that in the kind of cool column.
Now for the bad. The house is tiny compared to where we lived in Austin. It’s going to be an adjustment.
As far as boring, I know no one here. As in NO ONE!
The only thing that could be worse than that is the fact that on Monday I’m going to have to walk into a new high school. Did I mention that I know NO ONE? Not even my brother will be in my school, which, okay, I admit I’m thankful for that because, if things could be worse, that would be it.
I’ve seen it. The school, I mean.
When nobody was there, I walked around the grounds with my dog, Elke. She’s a Norwegian Elkhound, really smart, really pretty, and really sure she doesn’t have to do what I say.
The school is kind of a gothic monstrosity that couldn’t be more out of place in SoCal. It looks like a Wizard of Oz tornado picked it up in Crumbling, Maine and dropped it in Oxnard.
I imagine the ground shaking when it hit. Boom.
How do I feel about starting a new school in two days?
As a sophomore?
Let me put it this way. Last summer my parents decided we were going to take a family trip to England. They said the educational value was astronomical. It would be like a field trip on steroids. Their words. Not mine.
So we went. But we didn’t go like normal families and stay in hotels. Of course not.
We stayed in family hostels. What’s that, you ask? Imagine going to camp with other families and sleeping in big bunk rooms with people of all ages, both sexes, some of whom make noises in their sleep that you wouldn’t think were possible for humans.
Don’t even ask about the shared bath.
Anyway, we went on one of those Bloody Tower tours in London where they trot you past all the torture tools and devices. Our guide tried to give cryptic descriptions about how they were used, because of his perception that my brother is of a tender and sensitive young age. The guide kept glancing at my brother nervously like he was afraid the information would scar the boy’s precious psyche, imprinting evil on the tabula rosa. On the contrary my brother probably invented some of those devices himself in past lifetimes.
The point I’m getting to is this. Given the choice, I’d gladly choose the rack over having to walk into a new high school as a sophomore where I know NOBODY! But this is the real world and I don’t have a choice.
I’m feeling sorry enough for myself to consider curling up into a ball when my brother barges into my room without knocking. “What the…? We moved here three weeks ago, Never. You’ve had time to unpack. You’re supposed to be the neat one. Miss Smart Perfect Suck up.” He punctuates that with a perfectly disgusting sucking noise.
Following his line of sight to the bed, the chair, the desk, I’m forced to agree that clothes draped everywhere looks like a breakdown straight ahead. Naturally I counter by going on the offensive.
“Nobody invited you in. Try knocking! I could have been getting dressed.”
“So what? You’ve got nothing that interests me.”
“Idiot. It’s called privacy. I deserve to have some in my OWN ROOM!”
“What’s this about?” He waves his arm to indicate the trunk show.
“I’m deciding what to wear the first day.”
He laughs that unbelievably aggravating laugh that never fails to make me want to pitch him out a second story window. By the way, there is one close by. It draws my gaze and gives life to my fantasy of hearing him scream on the way down.
“You’re worried, aren’t you?” he asks, wearing his smarmiest smuggest sneer face. “Well, sit at the feet of the master, little girl, and I’ll tell you how to conquer first day fever and win.” He sounds like an infomercial for a self-help guru. Maybe he’ll do okay in SoCal. “When you walk in, look for the biggest toughest-looking girl around. Then you walk straight up to her and punch her in the mouth.”
No. He’s not going to do okay in SoCal.
“Levi. This is California. They have zero tolerance for that kind of thing.” He shrugs, completely unconcerned. I put my hand to my head. “Wait. Wait. I’m getting a premonition. Yes. Yes. I can see it now. Mom and Dad are going to get a call from your vice principal within ten minutes of dropping you off at school. He’s going to tell them that they’re raising a barbarian who’s prison bound.”
“Just telling you. It sets the tone for the entire year. Your life can be bumpy or smooth. Take it from me. Your barbarian is my bad ass.” He holds a finger up. “Oh. Did I mention the part about run like hell after you punch Alice Assault in the mouth?”
I blink at him, wondering for the multi-thousandth time which one of us was adopted. It was probably me. “Say your name slowly.”
He rolls his eyes, but gets the message and leaves.
My brother’s name is Levi. We’re not Hebrew. My parents just liked the jeans which, I guess, must have been cool at one time. If he says his name slowly, it sounds like, “Leave. I.”
If you’re thinking that’s mean, don’t even go there. He gets back at me by calling me Never and cawing like Edgar Allen Poe’s raven, especially if I have friends around.
Naturally he leaves the bedroom door standing open just to irritate me. I slam it, hear my mother’s faint shout saying don’t slam the door, lock it, and turn back to the impossible task of figuring out what people at this alien outpost consider first day of school clothes. If only I could…
That’s when I realize I might get a preview into life at R. Caine High School. I open the laptop and pull up images.
Why didn’t I think of this before?
Track and field. Lots of running and jumping enthusiasm then.
Football. Concussion anyone?
Basketball. No comment.
A CPR dummy. How many times has that thing been kissed?
Softball. Hmmm. Maybe.
Graduation. Gold robes. Ew.
And finally, a photo of kids swarming a large paved area, not wearing athletic gear or some kind of club tee shirt. Whether they were coming or going I can’t tell. The main thing is I can see the clothes and they aren’t all that different from what I’m used to. In fact, the picture could have been taken at my old school. Sigh.
So alright. I can do this. All I have to do is pick out something that makes me feel reasonably attractive. It’s the first day of school. Not the end of the world.
Lots of people have been through this and survived.
I know I’m taking that on faith, but since I haven’t heard urban myths about kids going to new schools and never being heard from again, I’m going with that assumption. Or trying to.
Who am I kidding?
I mean you wouldn’t think a person could actually fear lunch. Not the food, of course. Although some might say fearing the food made in the cafeteria is a test of Darwin’s theory. I don’t think Darwin’s theory applies to humans anymore. Modern medicine is pretty good at interfering with the impending doom and saving the day no matter how badly we botch genetics.
It probably seems like I’m obsessing over the word ‘doom’, but it’s just that kind of weekend. The kind that will live in infamy forever.
What was I saying? Oh, yeah. I was talking about the rites of lunch. The quest for that magical place where you can be part of a herd of the like-minded; meaning people who understand you well enough that you can talk to each other, eat together, gossip about whatever, and kid yourself into thinking they don’t gossip about you when you’re not there.
I look at the clock. Again.
The first day of my sophomore year should be a celebration of not being a freshman anymore. But that’s for kids who get to stay put. Not for people like myself who’ve been forcibly relocated, that means moved against my will, to the other side of the country.
By this same time tomorrow I’ll know if my quest was successful.
Will I be able to locate the magical lunch herd on the first day?
Have I been a good person?
Do I deserve that fate?
Why yes. Yes, I do.
R Caine High School: Books 1-3
Author: Victoria Danann
Publish Date: January 19th, 2019
Five winners will each receive a signed copy of R. Caine High School: Books 1-3 (Victoria Danann) ~ (US Only)
*Click the Rafflecopter link below to enter the giveaway*
The cover is interesting and will capture the attention of YA readers. I read a middle school novel along the same lines (Gods send their kids to school - no powers) which was really very funny. This one sounds a little more mature, but should be a fun read.
Oh WOW!!!! This sounds like a crazy cool concept for an incredible series!! I am so anticipating reading these books!! This would be so cool to win! And the cover is perfect too!! I am just completely into the whole high school game where the children of the Gods dont know who they are! Sounds like a super interesting heck of a great start!