Hey! I’m fantasy author A. L. Butcher, otherwise known as Alex. My work spans the genres from dark, adult-rated sex and sorcery style fantasy, through more light-hearted short stories, dystopian short fiction, to gothic-style historical fantasy, horror and dark poetry.
I have, to date, over 100 titles – including work in anthologies, book bundles (some as curator), translations into multiple languages – including French, German, Greek, Hindi, Japanese, Welsh, Spanish and Dutch, two poetry books and several short stories.
I’m a Brit, with a background in Classics and mythology, and a degree in politics and sociology (which has been no use in adult life!). I’ve had a varied working life, including dressing backstage at a theatre, which was a lot of fun, but badly paid and lousy hours!
Creative parents inspired a lifelong love of storytelling and reading and an eclectic, lyrical style. One sister is an artist, the other taught drama and English, my father told stories and my mother was a dressmaker. So I was lucky enough to be raised in a household where creativity was encouraged. We were encouraged to read, and that love of literature remains to this day. I can’t imagine life without books. Literacy is, perhaps, mankind’s greatest achievement.
I’ve been writing stories and poems since I could hold a pen – I think a storyteller is what you are, whether or not you ever publish them. You don’t decide to ‘become a writer/artist/musician’ – it’s part of who and what you are. Publishing, on the other hand, is a choice. It’s a steep learning curve.
I love history, fantasy, sci-fi, mystery and true crime, gothic horror, and classics - currently I’m working my way through Agatha Christie – and I love them all.
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Author Bio and Links
British-born A. L. Butcher is an avid reader and creator of worlds, a poet, and a dreamer, a lover of science, natural history, history, and monkeys. Her prose has been described as ‘dark and gritty’ and her poetry as ‘evocative’. She writes with a sure and sometimes erotic sensibility of things that might have been, never were, but could be.
Alex is the author of the Light Beyond the Storm Chronicles and the Tales of Erana lyrical fantasy series. She also has several short stories in the fantasy, fantasy romance genres with occasional forays into gothic style horror, including the Legacy of the Mask series. With a background in politics, classical studies, ancient history and myth, her affinities bring an eclectic and unique flavour in her work, mixing reality and dream in alchemical proportions that bring her characters and worlds to life.
She also curates speculative fiction themed book bundles on Pubshare - for the most part - the Here Be Series
Alex is also proud to be a writer for Perseid Press where her work features in Heroika: Dragon Eaters, Heroika Skirmishers – where she was editor and cover designer as well as writer – as well as Lovers in Hell, Mystics in Hell and Liars in Hell– part of the acclaimed Heroes in Hell series. http://www.theperseidpress.com/
Awards:
Outside the Walls, co-written with Diana L. Wicker received a Chill with a Book Reader’s Award in 2017.
NN Light Book Heaven awards:
The Kitchen Imps and Other Dark Tales won the best fantasy for 2018
Echoes of a Song - one of her Phantom tales – won the best fantasy in 2019
Tears and Crimson Velvet won the best Short Story category in 2020
Dark Tales and Twisted Verses – won the best Short Story Category in 2021
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Title The Light Beyond the Storm Chronicles – Book I
Author A. L. Butcher
Genre Dark Fantasy/Fantasy Romance
Book Blurb
In a dark world where magic is illegal, and elves are enslaved a young elven sorceress runs for her life from the house of her evil Keeper. Pursued by his men and the corrupt Order of Witch-Hunters she must find sanctuary. As the slavers roll across the lands stealing elves from what remains of their ancestral home the Witch-Hunters turn a blind eye to the tragedy and a story of power, love and a terrible revenge unfolds.
18 rated – contains adult themes including violence and sex.
Excerpt
Olek stayed in shadow and walked in silence, forever gaining upon his prey. As Petrus stepped towards the door, he was suddenly grabbed with a gloved hand across his mouth. He saw the edge of a crossbow bolt in the sleeve attached to the hand now gripping his hair as he tried to turn his head and was dragged back behind the house. As he struggled, a voice said close to his ear, “At this range I reckon I can hit the door yonder. Your brain will merely impede the speed it hits. Struggle, lad, and I will test my theory.”
The young man was forced into a small empty courtyard with no windows overlooking it, as it was full of rubbish and refuse. The voice in his ear said, “How nice privacy…”
The hand was removed from his mouth and Petrus blustered, “Who do you think you are, common thief? I will see you flogged through the streets then hanged. My father is an important man! Unhand me.”
Petrus found himself with a sharp blade pressed against his groin, the deadly edge close to his privates. He could feel the weight of the blade pressing into him. The shadows played around him and the voice in his ear softly replied, “Unhand me? Please, could you not think of less of a cliché? Move or scream and your balls will be rolling in the gutter before the cry is finished.” The young man tried to turn and felt the edge of the blade press against him again and the voice hissed, “The city guard would never find me, for I am the shadows. Now, who would this illustrious father be that I am to be so afraid of?”
Trying to look down and as he moved, the swift edge of the blade split the silk of Petrus’ breeches. “My father's men will hunt you down,” he managed, now feeling distinctly less brave.
Olek yawned loudly. “By all means, call his men. They will be hunting a shadow, a ghost. Much expense will be used, to no avail. How much is your life worth to him, do you think? Not only do you deem it suitable to rape young women and brag about your prowess to your friends, but really, you are extremely dull in conversation. If you answer my questions, you might yet live. Believe me when I say I could take you to a man who would not be as…merciful as I, for what you have done and said. A man who could no doubt keep you alive for some while, although I doubt you would be in much of a state to enjoy that life. Now, who are you? This young lady whom you found so…enjoyable, where is she?”
Buy Links (including Goodreads and BookBub)
Universal Link https://www.books2read.com/Lightbeyondstorm1
Available in e-book, paperback, hardback, audio and large print editions.
Title The Shining Citadel – The Light Beyond the Storm Chronicles - Book II
Author A. L. Butcher
Genre Dark fantasy/fantasy romance/fantasy adventure
Book Blurb
Who rules in this game of intrigue where magic is forbidden, and elves enslaved? Journey where beliefs shatter like glass, truth is unwelcome, and monsters from ancient times abound: share the romance and revenge, magic and passion, and the wages of greed in a world of darkest fantasy.
(18 rated for adult scenes, including violence and sex.)
Excerpt
“So, you cannot find the way out, how…unfortunate. Many have wandered into this place, to become my playthings,” the voice laughed nastily. “I find myself hungry, craving sustenance. These pathetic minions provided a mere snack. A game, I think, is in order. It has been some while since there was so much delicious entertainment in my halls!”
“Ignore it, he is Faekind,” Archos snapped before he paused and shifted his Focus, calling up his Astral Sight.
Searching the paths and mists of the Arcane Realms for the creature, he felt the chill of the arcane winds as they billowed around him. He felt the dark shadow before he saw it, felt the force pushing back into him.
“Get you from here, creature, these realms are mine!” Archos growled to the air around him.
The laugh echoed. “So the Lord of Magic is territorial, is he? You invade my captivity, come to steal and destroy what was brought to me.”
Archos crossed his arms. “The destruction is of your own doing, creature, for you defile this place, feeding on the fear and the misery. You think I cannot feel it, all around? The others are mine, they belong to me. Heed that warning, fae.”
The fae laughed his terrible laugh. “Is that so? Perhaps we shall see, Storm Lord. Those women, the red-haired witch and that terrified blonde who holds so many secrets, they will soon belong to me. The forest elf, she is no more than a snack. So many memories, such pain and fear between them. You will watch them become mine.”
Buy Links (including Goodreads and BookBub)
Universal Link https://www.books2read.com/ShiningCitadel
Available in ebook, paperback, hardback, audio and large print.
Title The Stolen Tower – The Light Beyond the Storm Chronicles – Book III
Author A. L. Butcher
Genre Dark Fantasy/Fantasy Adventure
Book Blurb
What stalks the land cannot be, but is.
Where magic is outlawed a troll Shaman calls from her deathbed to her heiress, Mirandra Var, daughter of the storm. Mirandra vows to find her missing kin, sort friend from foe, and claim the dangerous secrets guarded by unthinkable creatures. If she succeeds, she will become the leader of her tribe. If she fails, there will be no tribe to lead.
(18 rated for adult scenes, including sex and violence)
Excerpt
A pearlescent glow rose in the Opal, which hovered above the Circle adorning the table. Colours shifted and, as she placed the Heart of the Mountain over the large stone, the red and black pattern began to move, swirling like a whirlpool. “I am Kherak Var, Shaman, as my kin have been before me. Show me your secrets; guide me in seeking my kin.”
This was strong and wild magic, flowing in a torrent which was close to sweeping the ailing woman away with its force. Suddenly a voice rumbled around, timbre low like thunder, drawing her in and making the old Shaman tingle in ways she had not experienced for many years. The language was strange, ancient and arcane, the very language of the earth. Such words Kherak had seldom heard; the sound held Power, the very essence of magic and rose like a song. She had not expected this, even with all her foretelling. Peering into the depths of the Opal, the images swirled like mist on the mountain and the shifting vision would not yield further. “You will reveal, my eyesight fades but my Sight is clear. You will reveal to me, as is my right and my Power.”
The humming Opal whined with a painful shrill, and tired Kherak fought the errant vision to do her bidding. The Shaman’s Focus shifted— partly in the Realm of Dreams and partly remaining in the mundane world. In Astral Sight the Opal loomed large and bright, a globe of dancing images woven in mist; before her rose a peak of reddish stone, run through with black veins arising from a lake of greenish water, and high in the peak an arch looked out across the lake, weathered but dark and foreboding. As she watched, the lake filled with blood, and screams echoed in her head. As quickly as it had appeared Kherak saw the half-dream flicker away to be replaced by a high-roofed chamber of rock, lit with crystal, and in the centre a red and black stone statue, circled by molten rock, runes glowing like fire about it. The strange words roared as the rolling of waves against stone, echoing in the Realm of Dreams as it did in her parlour, rattling the shelves from which items tumbled. Then the vision was gone.
Buy Links (including Goodreads and BookBub)
Universal Link https://www.books2read.com/StolenTower
Available in ebook, paperback, hardback, audio and large print.
Title The Watcher – A Jack the Ripper Story
Author A. L. Butcher
Genre Short Gothic Horror/Historical Fiction
Book Blurb
The year is 1888, and the place is Whitechapel, in the very heart of London. But the heart is bleeding. A mysterious killer is stalking women of the streets - his true name is unknown, but his legend will go down in history. This is a short tale of Jack the Ripper.
18 rated for scenes of violence.
Excerpt
Women of the lowest class plied their pitiful trade beneath the spluttering gas lamps, among the filth, the crime and the poverty. Some argued they embodied all three. The Great Social Evil – the plague of vice had been called, and Oscar Wilde wrote of the ‘mechanical grotesques’ ‘ghosts’ and ‘skeletons’ and for many of these poor souls, this was their fate. The ‘unfortunates’ sold their bodies for the cost of a bed for the night, barely a couple of pennies, or a glass of Geneva liquor, scourge of the poor. Solace came at a price.
This was the London of Her Majesty Queen Victoria in the declining years of the Nineteenth Century and it was dark and deadly for the poor, although the Empire spanned a quarter of the world. It was held to be the greatest Empire, the most advanced, but history can shield many lies. This was the age of steam-travel, science and ever-growing knowledge. The superstitions of the past were waning. Widowed, ever-mourning, upright and moral, Victoria ruled this realm and many others as far flung as India. This was a time of literature and discovery, of social unrest and discontent. Behind the façade, a pernicious creature lurked. And this creature wanted blood.
Venereal disease, alcoholism and assault were commonplace and life was, unfortunately, cheap. Women and children often paid the ultimate price. The enlightened Victorians turned their sight away from the darkness which crawled through the streets, and the terror and despair which lurked around every corner for the poor.
In the autumn of 1888, things were about to get worse…much, much worse. A legend would stalk the streets, taking lives and gaining a kind of immortality. Death would come early to five women, perhaps more, and brutality would rule.
To this day no one knows the true identity of Britain’s most infamous serial killer, although many have put forward theories – from a Prince of the Realm, to a mad midwife, to a doctor, to a sailor, to an American, to a Jew. He or she could have been any of these or none. The first modern murderer, a deadly threat, a terrible myth – all of these and more, was this killer. None knew why he killed as and when he did, not then.
For three months, he held London in terror. Then he disappeared. Yet his leg
acy lived on for many years. Even now this man, if he was a man, fascinates students of true crime, but the truth remains as elusive as the shadowy figure of Jack the Ripper…
Buy Links (including Goodreads and BookBub)
Available in ebook and audio
Title The Secret of Blossom Rise – A Ghost Story
Author A. L. Butcher
Genre Short Ghost Story/Paranormal/Horror
Book Blurb
When a young nurse accepts a job at a former military hospital, she unearths a family secret and finds the spectral occupants a little too familiar.
Excerpt
It was all a sham. All of it – civilisation, decency, morality - had been tested, and found wanting. His own father had been killed in Ypres and his mother forced to raise five children on a widow’s pension. He’d gained extra money and food poaching – knew how to use a gun. Eyes closed, he saw his mother’s face as he went to war – the fear, the regrets, and the sadness. Such emotions mirrored in his wife’s younger face.
“It’s my duty,” he’d said. “We cannot let the likes of Herr Hitler control Europe. It will be over soon enough.” He’d believed that then.
Leo laughed. But there was no mirth. Four long and terrifying years of war had proven Hitler was not a man who would give up his wicked machinations easily, and Britain would stand against him, alone if she had to. Neither side would capitulate until the enemy was in the streets and at the door.
The world had gone mad with slaughter in the War to End All Wars a generation past – but that had been a lie as well. Politics, death and lies entwined as the casualties grew. Freedom exacted a terrible price. Leo knew that as the bodies had piled up around him in that small French town – now little more than a shell. He’d led what was left of his men into battle, when their captain had been slain and pushed back the enemy, gaining some useful intelligence for his pains. But it had all been futile when the next regiment of panzers rolled in and he and his men found the landmines as they’d tried to retreat. The blood still flowed when he closed his eyes.
Leo dreamt of the faces of the men he’d shot or bayonetted behind the fluctuating German lines. Men like him. Simple men who had been sent to war or signed up unknowing of the horror. Politicians made war, but soldiers died in it far removed from the seat of their government. In this war, civilians lived in fear of the blitz from the sky. Even the clouds were not safe in a world of madness and blood. Was this the end of days? The final judgement for Man’s sins? Leo did not know, and his faith in a good divinity had bled away on the fields of war.
He longed to be far away, on a picnic blanket in the Cotswolds with Mabel. Home with his wife, Audrey, and his daughters, his conscience said. He’d lost much of that conscience in this war. What was adultery, when man sinned the ultimate sin for his country, for freedom, every single day?
Buy Links (including Goodreads and BookBub)
Available in ebook and audio.