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Tuesday, February 23, 2021

Book Blitz for Of Wicked Blood by Olivia Wildenstein & Katie Hayoz

Welcome to Magic Pen Book Tours' organized book blitz for Of Wicked Blood by Olivia Wildenstein and Katie Hayoz taking place February 22-26, 2021!

Book Details

Title: Of Wicked Blood

Series: The Quatrefoil Chronicles #1

Author: Olivia Wildenstein and Katie Hayoz

Genres: Upper Young Adult, Paranormal Romance, Urban Fantasy / Frenemies-to-Lovers Romance

Release date: February 9, 2021

Pages: 425


"This is storytelling at its best." - WENDY HIGGINS, NYTimes bestselling author of Sweet Evil


I didn't mean to steal the Bloodstone from the De Morel's crypt.

Scratch that, I did mean to steal it.

Until I realized it was a curse-magnet that only comes off if I, along with a jolly trio, successfully defeat four curses.

If any of us fail, I'm dead.

I've never been a glass half-empty sort of person, but my glass looks in dire need of a refill right about now.

The only highlight of this wicked treasure hunt: feisty, entitled Cadence de Morel.

I was raised on tales of magic, in a small town reputed to be the birthplace of French witchcraft.

Did I believe all the stories I heard? Absolutely not. I mean, if magic existed, Maman wouldn't have died, and Papa wouldn't be stuck in a wheelchair, right?


The night Slate Ardoin waltzes into my life, wearing a ring he stole from my mother's grave, I call him a monster.

But then I meet real ones, and Slate, well . . . he becomes something else to me.

Something frustrating to live with but impossible to live without.

Something I will fight for, no matter the cost.

*Warning: profuse cursing (and not just the magical kind).
*Intended for readers 16 and up.




Using a thighbone from coffin number three as a crowbar, I begin prying the heavy stone lid, my breath coming out in white puffs. The marker on the sarcophagus reads Amandine de Morel—Rainier’s Sister? Cousin? Mother? — and dates her death as February 29th, seventeen years ago. I’m drunk enough to find that both funny and kind of heartbreaking. Imagine the anniversary of your death only being marked every four years.

It makes me wonder when my parents died exactly. And how? And if maybe they’re buried somewhere in this eerie, frozen cemetery.

I’m not really sure I want to know.

The stone cover inches to the side as I coax it with my nifty bone. When there’s finally enough space for me to grip the edge, I shove the damn thing with all my might. It slides over, revealing a shiny mahogany coffin inside. The lid pops off like a rotten tooth, and like a rotten tooth, the stench is eye-watering.

My first reaction, after wanting to heave up all the wine, is disappointment. All that artifice for a decaying corpse with no jeweled crown or tiara. She doesn’t even have worthless pennies over her lids like the others, and her palms aren’t sandwiched in prayer around a family heirloom.

She only has one hand resting over her heart. Her left arm is tucked underneath the rotting silk of her skirt. With one gloved finger, I push the material aside.

Holy. Fucking. Hell.


About the Authors

USA TODAY bestselling author Olivia Wildenstein grew up in New York City, the daughter of a French father with a great sense of humor, and a Swedish mother whom she speaks to at least three times a day. She chose Brown University to complete her undergraduate studies and earned a bachelor’s in comparative literature. After designing jewelry for a few years, Wildenstein traded in her tools for a laptop computer and a very comfortable chair. This line of work made more sense, considering her college degree.


Katie Hayoz grew up in Racine, Wisconsin where she acquired an irreversible nasal twang and an addiction for books with a slightly dark edge. She now lives in Geneva, Switzerland with her husband, two daughters, and a very fuzzy cat. She has been an avid reader of YA fiction for years. While she has a penchant for the paranormal, she devours a range of books - along with popcorn and black licorice. She consumes all three in large quantities. Luckily, the books don't stay on her hips.


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