 Eighteen-year- old Lucy doesn't know why she's haunting Springett Hall in Victorian England. All she remembers of her life is that she was trying to fix a terrible mistake. Now, a necromancer's plans threaten everyone in the house--living and dead--and her only hope of stopping him is enlisting the help of a servant named Philip--the one living person who can see her. But as Lucy delves into the mystery surrounding her death, she realizes Philip may have secrets of his own.
~ AMAZON ~ BARNES AND NOBLE ~
~ BOOKS AND THINGS ~
Q & A the Author: 1. When did you start writing, and was there a specific event or person who influenced you to become an author? I've been writing as long as I can remember, and I'm sure it helped that my parents read to me and sometimes made up their own bedtime stories (often with input from us kids), but I think it was Lloyd Alexander who made me want to write seriously. As a kid, I sent a letter telling him how much his books inspired me, and he wrote a really encouraging note back. I decided then I wanted to be like him (I'm still working on it). 2. Are you currently working on a project, and if so, can you tell us anything about it? I have a couple of projects in the works. My Renaissance historical fiction, Born to Treason, comes out in May, and I'm co-authoring a World War I novel, No Peace with the Dawn, scheduled for release in November. I have a Victorian fantasy about a group of outcasts fighting the Faerie Queen that's out on submission now, and a book about a treasure hunt making its way out of the rough draft stage.
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Snippet 2:
“Sunset,” Philip hissed.
A breeze stirred, whirling the dust into a funnel that glittered in the last light of day. How could something so beautiful exist in a place so foul? I glanced at Philip, hoping to share the moment, but his face was buried in his sleeve.
“Mr. Ketley?”
“It stinks, like sulfur and rotting meat.”
A rat dashed out of a dim corner and fled for the library.
The colors faded and the dust turned gray. The twirling breeze centered over the altar. The darkness beat like a pulse, flashing a black so deep it stung my eyes. I couldn’t imagine Philip not noticing it, but he scrambled to gather the papers from the floor and Sir Jason’s desk.
Dark mist materialized in the silver outline, thickening with each pulse, until the air in the circle roiled with black fog.
“Mr. Ketley!”
He glanced at the circle and swore. “Get out!” Scooping another armful of papers, he fled the room.
The black fog bubbled like a pot coming to a boil.
I hurried after Philip, grasping to pull the bookcase shut behind me. My hands slipped through. I covered my mouth, helpless to do anything against the darkness building within the circle.
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