Author: Angie

Walking With Elephants by Karen S. Bell Genre: Contemporary Women’s Fiction

Suze Hall is at a crossroads. Her nemesis at work, Wanda, has been promoted and now will be her boss. Her husband, Bob, is leaving her and the three kids for a six-month sabbatical down under. To top it off, her best friend, Marcia, is missing in action—playing footsie with some new boyfriend! Adding to this disaster stew, David, the gorgeous hunk who broke her young-girl’s heart has coincidentally popped back into her life and has something she desperately needs to keep her job. Walking with Elephants, a lighthearted slice-of- life story, brings to the table the serious work/family issues facing women today. It explores the modern dichotomy of a workplace that is filled with homemakers who still must cook, clean, carpool on nights and weekends, shop for prom dresses, and “create” the holidays—such as Suze. But it also is filled with women who have the same drive as men, have no family responsibilities, and will do what ever it takes to get ahead. So step into the shoes of Suze Hall and commiserate over workplace politics, titillate your sexual fantasies, ride the wave of a working mother, and fall-down laughing. Goodreads * Amazon

I get so much satisfaction in the writing process. I take care to choose just the right word, to make sure each sentence has the right cadence. I appreciate other writers who respect the craft in this way, and I hope my readers do so with me. Writing is a need, a desire for expression, and springs from well within my subconscious mind. Thoughts rise up, scenes rise up and blend in with the over-arching story. These thoughts emerge whenever they want to and wherever I am and probably not when I am at the computer. The computer is for the craft, the technique. The thoughts come during walks, or while driving the car, or at the grocery store. I am the willing recipient of these thoughts and so they seek me out. It’s a mystery this business and art of writing and it keeps me enthralled. Website * Facebook * Twitter * Amazon * Goodreads

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A Hare in the Wilderness Kingdom of Durundal Book 1 by S. E. Turner Genre: Epic Fantasy

They persecuted her as a child. Now they have to face her as a woman. In the house of Gnaeus, a daughter is born, though when a mysterious mark appears on her face – the father instantly rejects her. Scorned and isolated by those at court, she grows up in the shadows, unaware of the tragic events that caused the defect in the first place. Unwavered by kinship and severing all ties, Gnaeus strips away his daughter’s identity, removes her from court and banishes her to the wilderness forever. Cast out with her mother, they find sanctuary with the clans. Here she forges a new life, learning new skills, gathering knowledge and finding love. No one can harm her again this far north. No one knows who she is. Until the day an old enemy appears on the horizon. Now a grown woman, and a formidable warrior, she knows she must defeat this enemy and seek the truth. That she is Ajeya, Crown Princess of Ataxata, heir to the subject kingdoms of Ataxata and all the colonies of the southern most territories. Because if she fails – she will remain as the forgotten heir forever … ‘AN EPIC TALE OF LOVE, LOSS AND RIVALRY – IN A MAN’S WORLD.’ ** only 99 cents!!**Goodreads * Amazon A Wolf in the Dark Kingdom of Durundal Book 2

Lyall has lived and breathed nightmares since he was fourteen years old. He believed he knew every horror, and was beyond surprise. He was wrong. When General Domitrius Corbulo launches a brutal attack on Castle Dru in Durundal, he slaughters everyone inside, including the king and queen. Everyone that is … except one. The young Prince Lyall escapes the carnage through an ancient, disused tunnel – knowing that he can never go back to his ancestral home, and fearful of what lies ahead. In the wake of this tragedy, he has to adapt to a new life and face challenges beyond his wildest dreams … and the wrath of the General is always a heartbeat away. By the time he reaches adulthood with unrivalled knowledge and a unique set of skills, he faces the ultimate decision –embrace the future as the man he has become, or return to his birthright to avenge a past he can’t forget …‘AN INTOXICATING TALE OF MONSTERS, HEROES AND SURVIVAL.’** only 99 cents!!**Goodreads * Amazon

A Leopard in the Mist Kingdom of Durundal Book 3

It’s not until you’re broken – that you discover what’s worth fighting for. Cornelius has returned from exile to reclaim his birthright and take back control of the empire. Offering a peace treaty with the clans, he approaches Namir, an adversary from old, with whom he seeks to make amends. However, the clan is suspicious of Cornelius. Concerned that his intentions are not entirely honourable. Worried that his agenda is the same as the emperor before him; steeped with motives in a lust for power to bring down the Kingdom of Durundal forever. Despite the protests from his wife and the rest of the clan, Namir accepts the proposal and ventures to Ataxata to sign the agreement. Though when he doesn’t return – suspicions are heightened and they fear the worst. Now the clans will risk everything in a race against time to find the chieftain and save the future of his kingdom. And only one thing is certain – there will be blood. ‘ENTER AN ANCIENT WORLD OF AVARICE, CORRUPTION AND SURVIVAL.’Goodreads * Amazon

A Stag in the Shadows Kingdom of Durundal Book 4

In the Kingdom of Durundal, hearts will be broken, loved ones lost and thrones burned. Saskia remembers when the soil of Durundal hummed with peace, and the future of the kingdom brimmed with prosperity. But everything changed the night her home was attacked. On the orders of the ruthless King Segan Hezekiah, she finds herself imprisoned in a tower awaiting a fate worse than death, her father has been taken to the dark labyrinths of the mine to dig for gold, and her people are forced to work in the adjoining grounds. The only person with the power to help is locked up in the mines alongside her father, and anyone who disobeys the king, or tries to escape, is targeted and killed. As danger lurks at every turn and guards prowl every corner, Saskia feels more helpless than ever … but is she? Sometimes, only the direst need can teach us our own depths, and Saskia has yet to discover what she is capable of. ‘THE INEXTINGUISHABLE FIRE OF A WOMAN, SMOULDERING IN THE SHADOWS.’ Goodreads * Amazon

S E Turner is a life-long enthusiast of epic fantasy that borders on the believable. With an abundance of historical research weaved through the pages, this promises to be an engaging and immersive experience. ‘The Kingdom of Durundal series is far more than the single genre of fantasy. Rather, it blends into a prestigious crossroads where fantasy meets reality, and the surreal meets the sublime. I wanted to write a series that everyone could read, and I’m happy to provide an exciting, epic story that a wide variety of ages will enjoy.’ Website * Facebook * Twitter * Instagram * Bookbub * Amazon * Goodreads

The morning air was dark with the smell of rain, and the dragons peered out from their stone
surroundings as if they were looking directly at him. A cloud seemed to hang over him today,
ragged and black as his cloak. He paced about restlessly, muttering to himself, and the crenel
of witches trembled when he brushed past them. He was agitated about something, he did not
know what, he just knew that he needed a change – after three years of living in the cave,
something had to alter.
Outside, he heard the waves crashing against the jagged rocks, eager to get past the entrance
of the cave’s mouth. The wind picked up pace and threaded its way through the canyon into
the dome of gargoyles, where it curled round the hundred faces and breathed energy into
them. The fire glowed with the life giving elements and rose up higher, burning brighter with
every passing minute. He caught his breath for a moment, unsure of what was happening. He
heard a rustling and then an even fiercer light bloomed.
He shielded his eyes and felt his breath stuck in his throat. His own hand gripped his neck and
the other protected him from the glare. As the roar of power settled down, it then went pitch
black.
‘What witchcraft is this?’ his voice quivered.
All he could hear was the sound of his own breathing; loud, anxious, agitated. He calmed
himself. The light returned, and out of the flames stepped a life form. He didn’t know what it
was. He backed away, stumbling, slipping, falling. Hot coals ignited the being. The black
charcoaled image stood there burning, as ashes around its feet lifted in a frenzy and swirled
around the body, before disappearing into the orifice of a throat. The blackened skin became
young and even skin-toned. Long golden hair grew from the crown of the head. Though
shrouded in a fine gossamer, he could see that the face was beautiful, and beneath, the body
was perfect. A naked woman stood before him veiled in plumes of smoke. Fiery amber eyes
pierced his own and didn’t stray from their focus.
‘Cornelius, I have watched you grow into a man, I have seen the change in you. But I know
you are about to leave this place and go on a journey.’
Cornelius pinched himself, he shook his head, not quite believing what was in front of him or
what he had just heard.

‘You are not the frightened little boy anymore. You are strong and you are courageous. I can help you
become even stronger.’
‘How?’ his voice was small and weak.
‘The gods of darkness protect you and I can give you immortality.’
Cornelius laughed out loud.
The fire soared, the wind howled, the amber eyes glared. ‘Do not mock me,’ she bellowed.
He swallowed the laugh and spoke quietly. ‘Why would you do that for me?’
‘Because I want something in return.’
He braced himself fearful of what she would request from him.
‘What can I give you?’ He heard the whisper.
Her eyes burned brighter, the plumes of smoke clung to her curves. The breeze curled around his torso.
‘Look at me Cornelius.’
Their eyes met.
‘It is written that a warrior will charge through the kingdoms and seek vengeance for those whom have
been slain and tortured. This warrior will be born from the seed of the living and the womb of the dead.’

He dropped his head sideways in astonishment.

‘Her name will be Sansara, her purpose will be to bring peace. She will be able to take many forms – but

in this life – it will be of a human.’
His rhetoric was mocking. ‘That is impossible. There is too much evil out there for one person to take care
of. Even a ten thousand strong army of powerful bowmen and a well established cavalry cannot do what
you propose’
The fire blinded him. The wind froze him to the spot.
He frowned.
‘I want you to father me that child.’
She saw the pink cavern of his mouth.
‘If you do this for me then I give you my word, no ordinary man will take your life.’
‘How do I know you are speaking the truth?’
The fire roared again, the waves snarled foam around the cavern, the wind raced through the gloom.
‘How can you take care of a child? What will you do? Where will you go?’ He continued despite the
wrath.
‘That is not your concern. The child will be mine and given everything she needs – I can assure you of
that.’ Her voice grew thin ‘But I grow weak in this life form…I am tiring… now do we have a bargain?’
~
Cornelius sat in the tavern for the first time in months.
‘Gimme another flagon of ale!’ He caught the passing serving girl by the arm.
‘Are you sure sir? I think you have had enough for one night.’
‘I’ll be the judge of that you useless wench, just do as I ask.’
The girl rushed off to get his ale, and left Cornelius immersed in his thoughts, looking down at a torched
piece of paper born from the ashes.
‘Beware a stag in the shadows – for he has the power to slay you.’

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Courting Darkness The Magicsmith Book 2 by L.R. Braden Genre: Urban Fantasy, Paranormal Romance

“A great story of murder, mystery . . . and well- developed characters.”—Margie Hager, Netgalley Reviewer on A Drop of Magic “A Drop of Magic is a damned fun and original read, with sass, action, hot men, and a whole lot of magic.” —Diana Pharaoh Francis, author of the Diamond City Magic, Magicfall, and Horngate Witches series Deeper into the shadows. . . The paranatural community isn’t done with Alex. She’s been summoned to the fae court, and she’s got her hands full trying to prepare. But her date with the fae will have to wait. There’s been a death at the gallery, and the man she hoped would be a part of her future is the prime suspect. Bitter enemies pull her into the middle of a paranatural war for territory that has her dodging police, swords, teeth, and claws—not to mention the truth. The deeper she digs, the more secrets she uncovers, and the less certain she is about the innocence of the one man she wanted to trust. She thought she was done with murder and monsters, but she’ll have to enter the belly of the beast if she hopes to save her friend. Add to GoodreadsAmazon * Apple * B&N * Google * Kobo A Drop of Magic The Magicsmith Book 1

The war isn’t over . . . With the world clinging to a fragile peace forced on the Fae by humanity after the Faerie Wars, metalsmith Alex Blackwood is plunged into the world of the half-fae who traffick in illegal magical artifacts. Her best friend’s murder and his cryptic last message place her in the crosshairs of a scheme to reignite the decade-old war between humans and fae. Worse, violent attacks against her and the arrival of a fae knight on a mission force Alex to face a devastating revelation of who and what she is. To catch a killer, retrieve a dangerous artifact, and stop a war, Alex will have to accept that she’s an unregistered fae “halfer” with a unique magical talent—a talent that would change everything she believes about her past, her art, and her future. Her world is crumbling around her, and Alex will have to decide who to trust if she and the world are going to survive. “A Drop of Magic is a damned fun and original read, with sass, action, hot men, and a whole lot of magic.” —Diana Pharaoh Francis, author of the Diamond City Magic, Magicfall, and Horngate Witches series Add to GoodreadsAmazon * Apple * B&N * Google * Kobo

Born and raised in Colorado, L. R. BRADEN makes her home in the foothills of the Rocky Mountains with her wonderful husband, precocious daughter, and psychotic cat. With degrees in both English literature and metalsmithing, she splits her time between writing and art. Website * Facebook * Amazon * Goodreads

A Drop of Magic Excerpt

METAL DUST CLUNG to the sweat on my arms, glittering like shining scales. Even with the studio
door propped open behind me, the uncommonly warm October air did little to temper the heat of the
forge. A shower of sparks erupted as I plunged the carbon steel rod back into the annealing embers and
dragged an arm across my forehead, taking care to avoid the bulky, blackened welding glove. I’d
probably still end up with sooty streaks decorating my otherwise pale face. I always did.
Lost in the beat of my old MP3 player, I started belting out the lyrics of Robert DeLong’s Don’t Wait Up
as I prepared the next rod. Then a touch settled—light and tentative—on my arm, and the bottom fell out
of my stomach.
Tongs clutched in one hand, hammer in the other, I spun.
“Whoa, whoa.” His lips formed the words, though I couldn’t hear them over the music blaring through
my headphones.
An inch shorter than I was, wearing jeans and a polo shirt, I had no reason to think the man was anything
but human. But then, who could tell these days? He took a step back, hands raised, either to show he
meant no harm or to ward off the blow he thought was coming.
Behind him, near the open door, stood a second man. He wore a rumpled brown suit that matched his hair
and eyes. Average height, average build, average looks. Nothing remarkable about him.
Moving to put the anvil between us, I set the hammer down and pulled off my headphones, but kept a
white-knuckled grip on the tongs. The higher-than-average number of violent crimes this summer had me
on edge—along with everyone else—though none of the violence had come so far as my neck of the
woods. It seemed unlikely a murderer would get my attention before attacking, but my heart raced a mile
a minute as I faced the strangers. “Who are you?”
The man nearest me lowered his arms. “We announced ourselves, but it seems you didn’t hear.”
I scowled at his attempt to put the blame back on me. This was my studio, and they were uninvited guests.
“My apologies.” This came from Mr. Unremarkable. The monotone of his voice matched his appearance,
revealing nothing. “You may call me Smith. My associate is Neil. Am I addressing Alyssandra
Blackwood?”
A muscle under my right eye twitched. Most people only knew me as Alex. Alyssandra hadn’t existed
anywhere but legal documents since I was twelve and traded the name in for something stronger, more
practical.
“We’ve come to purchase an item from you, an engraved silver box.”
My shoulders dropped as the tension in them eased a little. Customers didn’t often stop by the studio
unannounced, but it wasn’t unheard of. People sometimes got my address from the Souled Art Gallery
in Boulder where I showed my work, or from previous customers, and came to commission pieces. Most
were courteous enough to call ahead.
“I’m booked on orders right now. I could maybe get to it next month.”
“You misunderstand. We are looking for an object already in your possession.”
“Oh. Well, sorry to disappoint, but I don’t have an item like that in stock.”
“We know the box came your way. If you hand it over, we can make it worth your while.” Neil had the
slick, sleazy tone of a used car salesman. Curious though I was about this box, and why they thought I
had it, I’d had enough of the conversation. Even if they weren’t killers, they gave me the creeps. I shook
my head. “You were misinformed.”
“Ms. Blackwood,” Smith said. “Be reasonable. We’re willing to pay handsomely, and considering the
other parties involved, you’re not likely to get a better offer. Surely it isn’t worth the risk?”
My breath caught as the thinly veiled threat hit me like a punch in the gut.
“You need to leave, now.” My voice trembled slightly. The studio only had one door, and they were
between it and me. I was trapped. Shifting my stance, I tightened my grip on the tongs, willing them not
to shake.
Smith raised his hands in a placating manner. “I think we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot. You might not
even realize you have the item we seek. It would look quite common, like a jewelry box.”
“I told you, I haven’t got anything like that. Now get out of here before I call the cops.” It was a bluff, of
course, I’d left my cell phone in the house. Even if I could call, the police would never arrive in time to
help. That was the downside of living so far from town. I was on my own.
“Enough of this.” Neil stepped around the anvil and reached for my arm.
Time slowed.
I didn’t like to fight, I avoided confrontations when I could, but if he thought I was going to roll over, he
was wrong. With a guttural howl, I twisted my wrist out of Neil’s grip and swung the tongs into his face.

His skin split apart like newspaper peeling back from a fire, scorched black and crinkled around the
edges. An unearthly shriek filled the studio, and I stumbled back, shocked at the damage I’d done.
Neil shimmered and seemed to melt. His skin became transparent, and a network of blue veins crawled
beneath its surface. His nose spread and sank into his face, leaving two flared slits. Below that, the mouth
emitting that horrible sound elongated until the gaping, needle-lined hole grew so large I could have put
my whole fist in without scraping my knuckles. When he reached up to cover his face, his fingers had
nearly doubled in length, the webbing between them connecting all the way to the tips. His fingernails
stretched and thickened to claws. The creature before me was straight out of a horror movie, and I added
my own scream to the cacophony.
Wielding my tongs like a baseball bat, I backed away from the writhing shape which had been the man
Neil seconds before. Even at the best of times, my stomach cramped when someone mentioned the
fae. Seeing one in the flesh was like having a bucket of ice water dumped on my head. I shivered from
head to toe, and fought the urge to throw up.
Smith crossed the space between himself and Neil in two steps and pulled Neil’s arms down to expose the
hideous gash burned across his cheek. My stomach lurched at what I’d done. White glinted where bone
showed beneath charred flesh. The eye above had swelled shut and was rapidly turning a sickly greenish
color. Smith placed one palm against Neil’s forehead, and the horrible wail abruptly cut off as Neil
sagged in Smith’s arms.
“It seems we were mistaken.” Smith spoke as he had before, without inflection or emotion. Nothing to
show surprise or concern that he was holding an unconscious, injured faerie in his arms. “Good day, Ms.
Blackwood.”
My mind went blank as I fumbled for words.
Smith took my stupefied silence in stride. Hefting Neil without visible effort, he gave a small parting nod
and carried his companion out of the studio.
I remained where I was until the sound of car doors closing and the crunch of gravel told me I was alone.
Then, still clutching my tongs, I inched to the door and took a deep breath of the outside air. The
driveway was empty, no cars in sight. No faerie goons either. My knees gave out under the weight of the
panic I’d been keeping in check, and I sank to the ground, tongs still clutched in my shaking hands. The
tea I’d had for breakfast felt like acid in my stomach, threatening to come back up.
A gray tabby with yellow-green eyes peeked around the corner of the shed with a questioning, “Meow?”
Cat had appeared on my doorstep a few months back, begging for scraps, and I’d made the mistake of
giving him some. He’d come around every day since. Despite the fact he’d already stuck around longer
than most of the guys in my life, I’d steadfastly refused to name him.
“Fat lot of good you were.”
Lifting his nose, Cat swished his tail and stalked away.
It was silly to take my anxiety out on Cat, but it was easier than dealing with the panic and adrenaline
threatening to overwhelm me. Anything to distract from the flesh seared to the tongs in my shaking
hands.
I couldn’t imagine forging more, so with a wary eye on the door I dampened the coals and stored my
tools, each in its marked place on my pegboard. The gooey tongs went on a shelf, I’d throw them in an
acid bath later.

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Sapphire Flames A Hidden Legacy Novel, Book 4 by Ilona Andrews Genre: Urban Fantasy, Paranormal Romance

From #1 New York Times bestselling author Ilona Andrew comes an enthralling new trilogy set in the Hidden Legacy world, where magic means power, and family bloodlines are the new currency of society… In a world where magic is the key to power and wealth, Catalina Baylor is a Prime, the highest rank of magic user, and the Head of her House. Catalina has always been afraid to use her unique powers, but when her friend’s mother and sister are murdered, Catalina risks her reputation and safety to unravel the mystery. But behind the scenes powerful forces are at work, and one of them is Alessandro Sagredo, the Italian Prime who was once Catalina’s teenage crush. Dangerous and unpredictable, Alessandro’s true motives are unclear, but he’s drawn to Catalina like a moth to a flame. To help her friend, Catalina must test the limits of her extraordinary powers, but doing so may cost her both her House–and her heart. Add to Goodreads Amazon * Apple * B&N * Google * Harper Collins

“Ilona Andrews” is the pseudonym for a husband-and-wife writing team. Ilona is a native-born Russian and Gordon is a former communications sergeant in the U.S. Army. Contrary to popular belief, Gordon was never an intelligence officer with a license to kill, and Ilona was never the mysterious Russian spy who seduced him. They met in college, in English Composition 101, where Ilona got a better grade. (Gordon is still sore about that.) Gordon and Ilona currently reside in Texas with their two children and many dogs and cats. They have co-authored several NYT and USAT bestselling series. They are currently working on urban fantasy of Kate Daniels, the paranormal romance of Hidden Legacy, and thjeir independently published series, Innkeeper Chronicles. Website * Facebook * Twitter * Bookbub * Amazon * Goodreads

ChapterOne
I was swimming through the warm water of the Gulf when someone knocked on the sky. The
bright little fishes following me scattered, the crystal-clear water vanished, and I landed on the
sand.
The sky above me shuddered. Boom, boom, boom.
The dream tore like wet tissue, and for a disorienting moment I didn’t know where I was. Slowly
the familiar contours of my bedroom came into focus through the gloom. The alarm clock on my
nightstand glowed with bright red. 2:07 a.m.
Someone was pounding on my door.
“Catalina!” my sister yelled. “Get up!”
Panic pierced me. I jumped out the bed, sprinted across the bedroom, and flung the door open.
“Did the plane go down?”
“What? No!”
I sagged against the door frame in relief. Our older sister, Nevada; her husband; and her
mother-in-law were flying to Spain for a funeral. Over the ocean. It caused me no end of anxiety.
“The plane is fine,” Arabella told me.
“Then what is it?”
Arabella’s face was flushed, and her blond hair stuck out from her head in weird directions. She
wore an old, stained Sailor Moon T-shirt, and her basketball shorts were on backward.
“Augustine is downstairs.”
“Augustine who? Augustine Montgomery?”
“Yes!”
I snapped out of my relief back to full alert. “Why?” Why in the world would the Head of House
Montgomery be downstairs, in the middle of the night?
“He wants to see you. He says it’s an emergency. Hurry up before Mom shoots him.”
She turned around and ran down the stairs leading from my loft suite to the rest of the
warehouse we used as our home and place of business.
Augustine was absolutely the last person I expected at two o’clock in the morning. Something
terrible had happened.

I looked at myself. I wore an oversize grey T-shirt that came to my knees and said “I ♥ Sleep.”
No time to change. I took the stairs barefoot and followed my sister into a wide hallway. The
light in the media room was on, casting a warm electric glow and illuminating the way just
enough to see.
The hallway led to a door on the left where a small section of the warehouse was designated as
the Baylor Agency’s office. The entire family congregated in front of the door, all except Mom.
Grandma Frida, thin, tan, with a halo of platinum curls, looked worried. Bern, my oldest cousin,
resembled a bear awakened halfway through his hibernation—big, muscular, his dark blond hair
disheveled, holding a tablet that looked too small for his hands. Next to him, Leon, his younger
half brother and complete opposite, leaned on the wall, totally awake. Lean and dark-haired,
Leon was a ball of wiry energy. And he still wore the jeans and T-shirt I had seen him in last
night. Either he fell asleep in his clothes, or he felt the need to be fully dressed at two o’clock in
the morning for some nefarious reason. Leon didn’t have any other kind of reasons.
Ahead of me, Arabella darted up the stairs and into her bedroom and emerged with a huge
Texas A&M sweatshirt. She threw it at me. “Boobs.”
Bern woke up enough to roll his eyes.
“Thanks.” I pulled the sweatshirt on, hiding the fact that I wasn’t wearing a bra. “How did
Augustine get here?”
At night, access to the warehouse was blocked by concrete barriers. Only one road remained
open, guarded by a checkpoint staffed with our security people, who were supposed to prevent
exactly this sort of thing from happening. Augustine was ruthless. He could have killed us all in
our sleep.
“Did our guards let him in? Did anyone call and say he was coming?”
“Funny thing,” Leon said. “We have this lovely footage.”
Bern turned the tablet toward me. A view from the surveillance camera inside the security booth
showed two guards, a Hispanic female in her forties and a white man in his mid-twenties with
dark hair. Lopez and Walton. A silver Bentley Bentayga pulled up to the booth. The passenger
window of the car rolled down, revealing me.
“Hello, Ms. Baylor,” Walton said.
The fake Catalina nodded.
“Check the log, check the log . . .” Leon sang out.
The log of arrivals and departures lay right there, on the counter. It would show that I was
already home.
The guard reached over, his hand passed above the log to the switch attached to the barrier
mechanism.

“Epic fail!” Leon announced.
Walton flipped the switch and a heavy metal clang announced the spiked barrier retracting. The
window rolled back up and the armored vehicle slid forward and out of view.
I couldn’t even. My ability to even was severely compromised.
Lopez frowned. “When did they get a Bentley?”
The male guard shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe it was a birthday present.”
“Dumbass,” Arabella said.
Augustine Montgomery was an illusion Prime. He could look like anyone, he could sound like
anyone, and he could pass both fingerprint and retinal scanners. And he just breezed past our
security like it was nothing.
“We’re in trouble,” I said.
“No shit,” Leon said.
“Catalina,” Grandma Frida said, “your mother is in the conference room with that ass and a
Desert Eagle. Get in there before she puts a .50 round between his eyes.”
I opened the door, walked into the office hallway, and shut the door behind me. This part of the
warehouse with its high-traffic beige carpet, a drop ceiling, and glass walls looked just like any
regular work space. The three offices on my right and the break room with a kitchenette on my
left lay shrouded in gloom. Only the conference room, just past the break room, was brightly lit,
and the electric light shone through the glass into the hallway.
I took a step and stopped. As of three days ago, when I officially turned twenty-one, I also
became the Head of House Baylor. We were a brand-new House, formed only three years ago.
Our grace period, a reprieve which shielded us from attacks by other Houses, was about to
expire. I had dealt with magical heavy hitters before in the course of our business, but this would
be my first interaction with another Prime as the Head of a House. And Augustine was a shark
in a four-thousand-dollar suit, a sleek, deadly great white with razor-sharp teeth.
I had to do this right. I couldn’t just barge in there. Emergency or not, I had to act the part.
My stomach fluttered.
Think Prime, Head of the House, Victoria Tremaine’s granddaughter, confident, dangerous, not
afraid, woken up in the middle of the night . . . annoyed. Definitely annoyed.
I walked into the conference room with a slightly irritated expression.
Augustine pivoted toward me in his chair. Louis Auchincloss, who wrote novels about polite
society and old money, once famously said, “Perfection irritates as well as it attracts, in fiction

as in life.” Augustine was deeply irritating.
Being an illusion Prime, Augustine crafted his appearance the way one would paint a
masterpiece. His face was beautifully sculpted with defined cheekbones, a square jaw that
communicated masculinity without implying brutishness, a straight nose, and a broad forehead.
His cheeks were slightly concave, just enough to communicate maturity. A virtuoso barber had
turned his blond, nearly platinum hair into a masterpiece. A thin pair of glasses was the only
imperfection Augustine allowed himself and it wasn’t enough. There was something ageless and
cold about him. He was about as alive as a marble statue.
At the other end of the table my mother sat watching him like a coiled cobra. Her right hand
stayed under the table, most likely touching the Desert Eagle .50, the largest legal caliber for a
handgun in the US. It was the closest thing to handheld artillery Mom could conceal under the
table. It could send a round through a full refrigerator and kill a person on the other side.
My mother spent almost ten years as a sniper and her magic guaranteed that she didn’t miss. If
she killed Augustine, Montgomery International Investigations, the firm Augustine owed, would
crush us. If he miraculously survived, he would kill her. As happened often in life, there were no
good options. I had to get him out of here.
I made my tone cold and annoyed. “Mr. Montgomery, while you’re always welcome in our home,
it’s the middle of the night.”
“I apologize,” he said. “It’s an emergency.” He reached into his pocket, pulled out a phone, and
showed it to me.
On the screen, an adolescent boy smiled into the camera. Bright red hair cut short, grey eyes,
pale skin, and the smug grin of a teenage boy who has just gotten away with mischief. He
looked vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t for the life of me remember where I saw him before.
“This is Ragnar,” Augustine said. “He’s fifteen. He has a dog named Tank. He likes detective
books and the Sherlock Holmes show. He plays a Ranger in Hero Tournament. Two days ago,
his mother and sister died in a fire.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Right now he’s standing on the roof of Memorial Hermann Hospital. He’s thinking of jumping
and he’s a Prime, so nobody can get to him. If we don’t hurry, his broken body will be the
leading story on the morning news.”
Alarm rolled through me in an electric rush.
“Augustine, you know that’s not what I do. I’ve never pulled someone off a roof before. If I fail, I’ll
be responsible for his death . . .”
“But you can do it. It’s within your power.” He looked straight at me. “Your sister asked me for a
favor once. I’m now asking you for assistance, one Head of House to another. He has one sister
left. Right now, she’s at the hospital praying he doesn’t fall to his death.”

And if I tried and failed, there would be a grief-stricken Prime who could turn all of her agony
and rage onto me. This was beyond reckless.
“I don’t know if I can help you. I may make this worse.”
Augustine’s composure cracked, and a human being looked back at me through his eyes. “He’s
just a child, Catalina. He already lost so much. He’s in the worst pain of his short life and he has
no idea how to contain it. He just wants to stop hurting. Please try.”
I opened my mouth to tell him no and thought of a boy standing on a ledge, all alone in the dark.
So desperate and hurt that he was willing to end it in the most painful way possible.
My father had stood on a ledge like that, except his ledge was cancer. We had tried so hard to
pull him from it. We fought for every minute. We sold the house and moved here, into the
warehouse, to pay for his medical bills. Then we mortgaged our business to Augustine to pay
for experimental treatments. My dad had built Baylor Investigative Agency from the ground up.
He viewed it as his legacy, a business that would feed and clothe us, and we had used it as
collateral to borrow money. It felt like a betrayal, and we hid it from my father, because it would
have killed him faster than any cancer. In the end we only delayed the inevitable by a few
months, but it was worth it. I would give anything for one more day with my dad. Anything.
Ragnar was only fifteen years old.
“Yes. I’ll try.”
“Are you sure?” my mother asked.
“Yes.”
“Take Leon with you,” she said.
“No.” If this situation turned ugly, I didn’t want him getting hurt.
“I’ll bring her back safe and sound,” Augustine promised.
My mother gave him her sniper stare. “You do that.”

Augustine’s silver Bentley sped south on Gessner Road. It was after 2:00 a.m. and even the
Houston roads lay empty. The chauffer squeezed every drop of speed out of the heavy armored
car. Normally, the trip to Memorial Hermann would’ve taken at least fifteen minutes. We would
make it in less than half of that.
Augustine rode in the front passenger seat, presenting me with a view of his blond head. I really
wanted to reach over and smack it. If someone told me this morning that I would end up in the
backseat of Augustine’s car in the middle of the night wearing a sweatshirt over my sleep T-shirt
and a pair of sneakers without socks, I would’ve asked them what they were smoking and told
them to seek professional help.

I missed my weapons. It made me feel naked.
Augustine was right though. Nevada did owe him a favor.
My father was born into House Tremaine, a small House consisting only of him and my
grandmother Victoria. A truthseeker like Nevada, Victoria could wrench information from a
person’s mind against their will. My father had no magic and Victoria was a terrible mother, so
when he turned eighteen, he had escaped and started a new life under an assumed name. In
her search for him, my grandmother had rampaged through the Houses all across the continent.
Just mentioning her name made powerful Primes back off.
Three years ago, before we became a House, Victoria came looking for us. Augustine knew
Nevada’s identity. He could’ve shared it with my grandmother and benefited from it, but instead
he had allowed Nevada to mess with his mind, so Victoria left empty-handed. I hated debts of
any kind. It would be good to get this one over with.
It didn’t change the fact that I had no idea what I was doing.
“How do you know the family?” I asked.
“Ragnar’s sister contacted MII in regard to her mother’s and sister’s deaths. She doesn’t think
the fire was an accident.”
“Was it?”
“I’m not at liberty to discuss the details.”
Right. “Did you take the case?”
“She knows our rates.”
“You turned her down. Augustine! She came to you and you turned her down, and now her
brother is going to kill himself.”
He looked in the rearview mirror, his expression iced over. “If I’m going to put my people in
danger, I have to properly compensate them. I’m not running a charity, Catalina. You of all
people should know how much can be at stake when one looks into a Prime’s death.”
Oh, I knew. When a team of hired killers stormed your home, sending tornados of fire and
summoning monsters into the slaughter, it tended to leave a lasting impression.
I glanced out the windshield and saw the futuristic crown on top of the Memorial Hermann
Tower, outlined with glowing red, white, and blue triangles shining against the ink-black sky from
the height of thirty-three floors. Almost there.
“Did you at least tell his sister what to expect if I have to use my magic?”
“I told her the boy would have to be sedated.”

The car pulled into the parking lot. A Hispanic man, his face frantic, ran to the car and swung my
door open. A blast of January air hit me. Winter in Houston tended to be mild, but a cold front
had come through and the temperature had dropped to below thirty. My bare knees shook.
“Did he jump?” Augustine barked.
“No, sir.”
“Come on.” Augustine jumped out of the car.
I scrambled out of the vehicle. Wind tore at me with icy teeth.
Augustine and I hurried at a near run to the doorway. The glass doors slid open, letting us pass,
and the warm air of the hallway bathed me. A group of people waited by the bank of elevators,
some in scrubs, others in professional clothes, and all wearing the same panicked expression.
They saw us and scurried out of the way, leaving behind a young woman with red hair. She
turned. Recognition punched me.
“Runa? Runa Etterson?”
Her tearstained eyes widened in recognition. “Catalina?”
Three years ago, at Nevada’s wedding, an enemy of House Rogan poisoned the wedding cake.
The only reason any of us were alive now, Augustine included, was because Runa purged the
toxins before the cake was served. She was a Prime Venenata, a poison mage. She could kill
everyone in this room in seconds. And the boy on the roof was her brother. Oh my God.
Augustine strode past me into the open elevator. “Catalina, there is no time.”
I had come this far. Poison mage or no, Ragnar was still a fifteen-year-old boy on the edge of a
skyscraper’s roof. If I didn’t try to save him, I wouldn’t be able to sleep at night.
I hurried into the elevator. The doors slid shut. The last thing I saw was Runa looking at me like I
was the answer to all her problems.

The elevator hummed, carrying us upward, brightly lit and perfectly normal. I caught my
reflection in the mirrored wall. I looked like I had just rolled out of bed. There was a touch of
surreal in it all: me in my sweatshirt, standing next to impossibly perfect Augustine in an elevator
of mirrors and electric lights and soft music. Maybe I was dreaming.
Runa’s mother and sister were dead. And Augustine must have quoted her an impossible price.
I had planned to simply walk away if I managed to get the boy to safety, but this changed
everything.
“You didn’t tell me he was Prime Venenata.”

“I told you he wouldn’t let anybody on the roof.”
Dread washed over me. “Did he kill anyone?”
Augustine sighed. “He’s a gentle child. He made them sick enough to turn back, but he didn’t
inflict permanent damage.”
“What did he do?”
“Don’t worry. You’ll smell it.”
The numbers in the elevator’s digital display crawled up.
“When the doors open, turn left,” Augustine said. “Go to the door marked exit, and up one flight
of stairs. There will be a metal door that will give you access to the roof.”
“That’s a terrible plan,” I told him.
“Ragnar will hesitate to hurt you. If he does, I’ll be there, and I’ll help.”
“If he sees you . . .”
“He won’t see me.”
The elevator doors swung open with a soft chime. I made a left and followed the hallway to the
exit door and up the stairs. My hands shook.
The air stank like acid and vomit. A trail of chunky stains marked the steps. I didn’t want to look
too closely at it.
The ice-cold metal door handle burned my fingertips. I pushed it and stepped onto the roof. The
dark sky unfolded above me, impossibly huge and black, with the crown glowing against it. The
frigid wind pierced my body, going straight through me all the way to the bone.
Ragnar stood on the very edge of the roof, a thin figure in faded jeans and a hoodie, balancing
on a concrete ledge. He seemed so very small against the night, like an ant on a skyscraper.
He turned and looked at me, his face lit by the neon glow of the crown. I saw certainty and relief
in his eyes. He wasn’t relieved to see me. He was relieved because he’d made up his mind and
decided to jump. I had no time.
“Tell Runa I’m sorry—”
I hit him with everything I had.
When the Keeper of Records named my magic, he called me siren, which fit me well, because
like the sirens of legend, I called people to me and they couldn’t resist. And like ancient sirens, I

had wings, beautiful magic wings nobody could see unless I let them. They snapped open
behind my back now, as the focused torrent of magic drenched Ragnar.
He froze. His heels protruded an inch over the ledge. One slip and he would die.
“Ragnar,” I called him, turning his name into a singsong lure.
He licked his lips nervously. “Hi.”
“Hello. I’m Catalina.” Magic stretched from me to him and I wove more and more of it around
him with every syllable.
“You’re so pretty,” he said.
“Thank you. It’s cold and dark. Do you think we could go inside?”
He nodded, fascinated.
I held out my hand. “It’s scary up here. Will you hold my hand?”
He moved, stumbled, teetering on the edge, his arms waving . . . My heart jerked, trying to leap
out of my chest.
Augustine materialized out of thin air next to Ragnar, grabbed a handful of his hoodie, and
yanked him back. Runa’s brother landed on the concrete roof.
Holy crap. My knees almost gave out.
Ragnar righted himself, walked over, took my hand, and offered me a shy smile.
I smiled back. “Let’s go inside.”
We went through the door and down the stairs with Augustine bringing up the rear. I scanned
him. Clean. None of my magic had hit him. I had focused all of it in a laser-tight beam on
Ragnar. Augustine could turn himself invisible. Nevada would lose her mind when I told her.
We boarded the elevator. Sweat glistened on Augustine’s flawless forehead. He was breathing
like he’d run up all thirty-three floors to the roof. Ragnar held my hand very gently, as if my
fingers were made of glass. It wouldn’t last.
Most magic users had to put some effort into doing magic. I was the opposite. I had to hold mine
in. When I was born, a nurse tried to kidnap me. She paid for it with her career. In the years that
followed, before I learned to control my power, perfectly normal people did insane things to hold
on to me. My elementary teacher attempted to smuggle me out of her classroom and into her
car. My classmates tore out chunks of my hair so they could keep a piece of me.
Other kids were encouraged to be cute, to perform for adults. If I smiled, the adults became

mesmerized, and if I wanted them to like me, they would love me with obsessive intensity. Their
children would cry hysterically when I left the playground.
Right now, Ragnar loved me, madly, beyond all reason. Soon touching me wouldn’t be enough.
He would want to hold me, crush me to him, rip out a lock of my hair to smell and taste. He’d
want a piece of me to stroke and to bite.
The Keeper might as well have called me Orpheus. Sooner or later those who tasted my magic
would want to tear me apart and they would love and worship every precious drop of my blood
and shred of my flesh as they killed me. Only my doctor was immune; we didn’t know why. And
my family. I didn’t need to magic them. They already loved me.
The elevator stopped. The doors swung open and Runa lunged to hug her brother. Her arms
closed around him, breaking Ragnar’s hold on me.
Ragnar screamed as if cut. It was a raw animal sound. His sister let go, stunned, and he dived
at me and clamped my hand in his.
A man shouldered his way through the crowd, carrying a small medical case.
“Ragnar,” I called.
He gazed at me with adoration in his eyes. I knew it was temporary, but even so, it made me
cringe.
“That gentleman is going to give you a shot. I’m scared of shots. Are you?”
“No.” He shook his head. “No, I’m brave.”
“Will you show me how to be brave, Ragnar?”
He held his arm out, his gaze fixed on me. Runa hugged him. I watched the needle go in. “You’ll
feel a little sleepy in a minute. It’s okay to fall asleep.”
“Don’t leave!”
“I won’t leave,” I promised. “I’ll stay here and hold your hand.”
Ragnar’s hold on my hand slipped. He sighed happily, closed his eyes, and sagged in his
sister’s arms.
I turned to Augustine. “I need you to transport him back to the warehouse.”
“He needs to be under observation,” Augustine said.
“No, he needs to be back at the warehouse, so I can purge my magic from him. If he wakes up
and I’m not here, he may escape and try to find me. And this time, people will die.”

Augustine turned to Runa. “It’s your call.”
I met her gaze. “You know me. You’ve seen what I can do. Please trust me on this.”
“Let’s go,” she said.

The trip home was taking considerably longer. The chauffer seemed in no hurry, and the
Bentley all but crawled up the dark street. Runa’s rented Nissan Rogue had no trouble keeping
up. She had insisted on following us with Ragnar in her car.
I sat on the backseat next to Augustine. The adrenaline had worn off, leaving behind a soft
fatigue. If I wasn’t in the vehicle of a dangerous Prime, I would have closed my eyes and gone
to sleep.
“Well done,” Augustine said.
I didn’t need his approval. “Nevada’s debt to you is paid in full. We’re even.”
“Agreed. Although technically it was a favor to House Etterson.”
“Your dealings with House Etterson are between you and Runa. I’m surprised you cared enough
to get involved tonight.”
“I know what it’s like to be responsible for a younger brother.”
Oh. Humanity from Augustine. Unexpected.
Augustine tilted his head. “House Etterson may prove a valuable ally for you, if they survive.
They now owe you a favor they can’t refuse. You need allies, Catalina. The reprieve granted to
your House is about to expire. People will be coming for you and yours. You’re powerful but
inexperienced, and because of your sealed records, you are an unknown. Unfortunately, being
an unknown isn’t enough of a deterrent.”
“What are the terms?” I asked.
Augustine raised his eyebrows.
I counted off on my fingers. “You separated me from my family. You’re aware that my older
sister and my brother-in-law are out of the country and are unable to advise me at the moment.
It’s the middle of the night and I’m tired from expending magic. You’ve complimented me, you’ve
mentioned the danger facing my House, and we are driving at barely fifty miles per hour. You
have an offer for me. Let’s hear it.”
Augustine cleared his throat. “Good. Skipping extended explanations and hand holding makes
things easier.”

I waited.
“I offer a strategic alliance between House Montgomery and House Baylor. Occasionally, cases
which are uniquely suited to the talents of your family cross my desk. I’d like you to handle
them. In return, I offer generous financial compensation, access to MII’s resources within the
scope of those particular investigations, and the benefits of an association with my House.”
He was offering protection and guaranteed income. More, he offered contacts and data. The MII
maintained an extensive network of informants and observers. Very little took place in Houston
without Augustine knowing about it. He hoarded sensitive information, holding on to it until
someone paid or threatened him. Access to that database was truly priceless.
Augustine was also a master at determining precisely what people needed most. It didn’t take a
genius to recognize that our most urgent need was security.
I had to make a decision.
“House Baylor is flattered by your generosity. However, at this time, we must regretfully
decline.”
Augustine chewed on it for half a minute.
“Why?”
“You have made a similar offer to Nevada three times. I’m aware that she declined, and I share
her reasons for it.”
“Indulge me,” Augustine said.
“Very well. The real value of this partnership for us wouldn’t be in money.” Although we could
certainly use it. “It would be in the connections and the elevated profile that comes from working
with a Prime clientele. A way for us to enter Prime society and forge relationships and alliances
that would anchor our House.”
And of course, the database and access to the MII surveillance agents, who were legendary.
We both understood that, so there was no need to mention it.
I kept going. “I want to underscore that I fully understand the value of your offer. However,
currently there is a massive power imbalance between House Montgomery and House Baylor. I
have seen how MII operates. If we agree to your proposal, you’ll expect us to abide by your
contract, which may require us to compromise our ethics. We’re a family business. All we have
is our name and our reputation. We follow only three rules. First, we try not to do anything
illegal. Second, once bought, we stay loyal to the client. And third, at the end of the day we have
to be able to look our reflection in the eye. Those are the principles my father laid out for us,
they are the rules my older sister followed, and I will follow them as well. If we have an alliance
with House Montgomery, we’ll enter this alliance as equals, not as vassals or subcontractors,
and we will adhere to our own norms of behavior.”
The silence stretched out between us.

Augustine opened his mouth. “We’re not equals.”
“Exactly. House Montgomery is a behemoth and we’re small and new. As you have said, we
may or may not survive. But we must stand on our own. We worked very hard to move out of
House Rogan’s shadow and I won’t trade that independence for an easy paycheck.”
Augustine’s face was impassive. “Thank you for your honesty.”
“There may be a time I’ll come to ask for your help,” I told him. “If I do that, I’ll be sure to bring
information of equal or greater value.”
The Bentley turned onto our street.
“Then I’ll leave you with this piece of advice,” Augustine said. “It’s free. Do not become involved
in the Etterson case. I know exactly what you’re up against, and the price I quoted her was a
gift. Sometimes when you search the night, you’ll find monsters in the dark. You’re not ready.”
“I’ll keep it in mind,” I told him.

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