Boston needs protection…
The witches of Kennedy’s coven put rambunctious Fae in their place…
Solely for the sake of peace.
Sounds easy, maybe fun, it isn’t. The task is in the shadows and thankless.
Kennedy often finds herself alone, outnumbered, and outgunned.
Light. Dark. Outcast. No matter the flavor, they all love to torment humans.
Kennedy has a mission ahead.
If you love Urban Fantasy where spell slingers fight to keep humanity safe, you’ll adore where this tale takes you.
Get Kennedy Reborn now.
Genre: FICTION / Fantasy / ContemporaryI am an author with over 30 novels in various SF/F sub-genres, I wish to increase my exposure on an international scale.
Growing old sucked. Finding balance in this new body proved difficult. Kennedy never expected the change from child to adult to be so… taxing. To have it imposed upon her in the beat of a bat wing— After ten days, she had still found no stability.
The stately rooflines of the Beacon Hill mansions gave an impressive view of Boston Common. They made for an easy escape route if Kennedy needed to hightail it away.
Just down the street sat the golden dome of the State House. Much higher, Kennedy would have loved to perch atop it like a cat but shunned the added security. Better to not mess with the state troopers. They rarely had a sense of humor. For observation, it was nearly as important not to be seen as it was to observe the target.
Spring was on the way. In the city’s gardens, crocuses bloomed, pushing up from under what little snow remained from the Saint Patrick’s Day storm. Soon it would be time to celebrate Summer Solstice. Love would be in the air. Who cared, love had no use.
Since that night, over a week ago, she’d lived on the streets, never venturing far from Frog Pond and the entrance to the Elven veil. The twins, her covenmates Trinity and Dani were still missing, Kennedy assumed locked up by the Seelie Court for her involvement in the bitch Elf Sybil’s death.
Her gaze shifted to the buttermilk clouds over her head. The half-moon gave her plenty of light to see by and made her tiny silhouette nearly impossible to spot on the roof. Outfitted in a new black hoodie and black jeans, she looked more like a thug than the little scamp she appeared as before the Saint Patrick’s Day incident. At least her high-top sneakers still fit. They were irreplaceable.
The incident… There was no other name she could call it. The memory of everything that happened was too painful. She lost so much that night and, in a way, gained so much more.
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Portuguese
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Already translated.
Translated by Iolanda Cândido
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Author review: Thank you. |
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Spanish
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Already translated.
Translated by Carmen Blázquez
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Author review: Outstanding thank you! |
