From Tangled Roots Come Twisted Wings: ARC Available Now

From Tangled Roots Come Twisted Wings: ARC Available Now

ARC available now

Not the Same River: Book 2

When the river rises, there’ll be blood on my hands…

The coven is abroad. Creating new vaewolves. Attracting wraiths. Building an army.

An attack will come when the river rises. What Violet doesn’t know is why. The tree tapestry Mara spent a century seeking is the key, but the Penhaligons are running out of time to discover what it unlocks.

When the coven returns to England, allegiances are tested, sacrifices are made, and Violet’s best friend is changed forever.

Hell is here, and she brought friends.

Catch up with Violet and the Penhaligons in this exciting second instalment of Not the Same River.

WIP Snippet #6

WIP Snippet #6

WIP Snippet #6

Puddles in the Pavement

 

In honour of British Puddings Day, I bring you a snippet about my pudding-scoffing archangel sleuth, Uriel, from Puddles in the Pavement. Here, he’s just hoisted the newspaper and his pudding from the ground to his upstairs window by way of a bucket. This is the first story in which you’ll meet Uriel in the flesh, unless you subscribe to my newsletter and read the bonus story. Uriel will make a detective of you yet. And he’ll stuff you with pudding. Spotted Dick is not what it sounds like.

character art of Raven Albright. Young man with long black hair and makeup.

WIP Progress

Puddles in the Pavement: draft complete, 30,046 words

Series: Tales from the Noctuary (#2)

Stage: edited, ready for publication

Projected publishing date: Summer 2023

“They’ll be lining up from here to Bishopsgate if you keep giving them half a crown for a pudding,” said Bel.

“How do you know it was half a crown?”

“Please! I can tell exactly which coin and exactly how far down the bucket was. I have a knack for these things.”

“Pointless things,” Uriel huffed.

“You’ll be financing her move to Pimlico. Then who will make your puddings?”

“The boy needs new shoes. If he doesn’t have them within the week, you and I are going shopping.”

“You can buy my new boots while you’re at it.”

Uriel threw the newspaper at Bel. “Christ, it’s still warm.”

Bel let out a long sigh. “These rooms are stifling, and the sun’s barely up.”

“Yesterday you complained about the rain.”

“Why must the British weather try to fit in every meteorological phenomenon in a single month? It’s supposed to be spring.”

Uriel did not respond.

“I hate it here,” Bel tried.

Uriel remained silent. There were only so many times he could listen to his brother beg to open the Mayfair house before he gave in. Of all his brothers, Bel was the most persuasive and his favourite, two factors which, when combined, usually had Uriel giving in quickly. Just this once, he was determined to stand his ground.

He settled by the window, his breakfast bowl already waiting on the small mahogany table. He carved himself a portion of the steaming pudding with a giant spoon and doused it in custard.

Bel waited for Uriel’s first moan of delight before giving him the news. “There have been twelve reports of missing persons over the last two days.”