Mrs. Groscow observed her seventeen year old daughter as she walked down the stairs a visible scowl on her lips. Her tongue flicked through her teeth and the wine glass was swooshing dangerously on her fingers.

Jeans booty shorts and of course a purple tank top. Mia stopped at the end of the stair and crosses her arms.

"So you've resorted to flaunting? I see you gave up on your face." The first thing she uttered to her, kicking up her left leg across the right one.

Mia rolled her eyes and shifted her weight to her right foot.

"You're too fat for those shorts."Her mom points out blankly taking another sip of her drink. " You got a lot of mirrors to check that out for yourself, don't you?"

"I know. And that is why apps were created." She whispered but her mom caught  it, a small smile tugging at the end of her lips. The older woman's brow creaked app and she mused at her words.

"Why didn't you go to school today?" She chose to change the subject leaning back on the couch.

"My face." Mia obviously stated. She had vowed not to ever apply make up... Although she wanted to; apply concealer on her zits, mascara, a little lipstick perhaps.

'Oh my goodness Mia!You look like an undercooked turkey!' Her mother's words.

"I don't give a hoot miss! You have to go to school whether you look ugly, or uglier."

Luke Groscow got in at this moment. A male servant took his coat, briefcase and car keys. According to Annah, no female hand shall lay her hand on her man.

She was right to be protective, after all Luke was a male model, a really good looking male model younger than Annah by three years.

"Hey honey." He greeted his wife and made for the little drink area. "Hello Mia."He voiced to her daughter lifting the drink to her in some sort of a toss. She gave him a small smile.

He then walked back across the room and slumped down the comfy white couch. Pure fur.

"Your daughter missed school, again!" Annah started going back to the random act of flicking her tongue inside her mouth.

"Why?"

"Puberty. Look at her ugly face."

"Annah!" Luke raised his voice a little. He nervously watched Mia at the corner of his eye.

An uncomfortable silence enveloped them for about a minute.

"What's wrong with that? She's bright." Luke said in a monotone. A little low this time.

"That doesn't mean she can miss school, Luke."

"I need a shower." Luke announced downing his drink.

He walked to Mia and cupped her cheek. "You'll be fine. At least now everyone will want to look at your pretty face."

Mia smiled. Her dad always gave her hope. Always made sure she was smiling.

Yet her mom was the complete opposite. She is the one who got her a full make up set... Indirectly telling her you're ugly, yet she's still the one who hated the same make up on her.

"Just give me a minute and we'll go get that mirror, okay?"

Mia nodded. Yester night she was so mad she punched her bathroom mirror six times, getting hurt in the process.

Because she let her mother's words get to her.

•|•

They drove out of their expansive house onto a private road for five minutes before joining the main road.

Mia looked outside the window as they passed the mall. She didn't want to get her mirror from the mall because most of her schoolmates hang out there... and she wouldn't be seen dead with her pimply face.

They were going to an old shop downtown belonging to an old black man. She found the place after getting lostin the area. Of course she had to glance around before asking for directions.

"Here we are." Her dad announced stopping the car.

"I'll go alone." Mia quickly stopped her dad from unbuckling his seat belt.

She didn't want him to see her posing in front of mirrors, possibly giving herself a complimenting speech and other self embarrassing acts. "Just wait here. I will try not to take long."

"Well, okay..."

The door chimed on opening and the shop was visibly empty. No shopper appeared to be present apart from her.

"Hello?"She called looking around. The reception area was also empty. She decided to walk around the isles, admiring the fancy, plain and artistic mirrors.

"Hello?"She called out again. Last time he was here. The man was odd and always zoned out in his speech and it spooled her a little but he was no threat.

"Careful young girl, your voice might break the mirrors!" Mia whipped around immediately a little startled. The old man closed the door, made of a mirror that it actually looked like he was coming out of it.

He had the same old tired but warm smile on his face.

"Good evening Mr.William you do remember me?"

"Well of course!" He laughed and walked to her to shake her hand. "You're the crazy one, right?" His hands were rough and crusty and he possessed a firm grip. He released her hand finally and walked behind the counter.

Entirely reflective.

"What can I interest you with miss Groscow?" She was a little amazed that he remembered her awkward second name. Nevertheless, she spoke up.

"I need a bathroom mirror."

"Just that? Oh we have a lot... Framed perhaps? Slitted?"

"I need your most clearest mirror."

"Clearest?"

"Yes clearest, doesn't matter really, it'll still work."

"Well,all my mirrors are clear as you see, but you do want the clearest?"

"Yes."

"Okay then." The sir walked from the counter and walked to the door he had come out earlier.

"Come on, you have to pick for yourself... I have two of them, nobody really seemed interested in having the clearest mirror so they stay up back.

Mia nodded. She half trusted the man enough to set her teaser at 60V, not too much to kill him or paralyse him.

The back of the store was like a workshop. Wood and mirrors, noise from the glass cuter worked by a man and a set of boys preparing a frame.

"Here we are." Mr.William announced walking past the two boys.

He opened a closet and called one of the boys to help him take them out. Mr.William stood them on the width side leaning on the wall.

They were clear, more than Mia ever imagined. The surface seemed like a calm river, promising a ripple if the surface was gently poked.

But one had a slight crack on the left corner, and given the angle of a perfectionist by her mother, she picked the other one.

It was framed with dark brown wood and carved into a beautiful pattern. It looked ancient,and she fell in love with it. She took one last look of herself and smiled.

She turned and waited for Mr.William to finish showing the boys how to smoothen the edges.

"Which one will it be?" Mr.William asked still helping his boys out.

"The framed one."

"You got it, give me a minute."

Mia wanted to turn and look at it once more. Her reflection on it was beyond perfect, it was beautiful. It gave her a sense mysterious sense of security. She opted to look around the place, placing her hand over her lips.

If only she would turn then maybe she would change her mind, because her image was still smiling.

Beauty can be overwhelming sometimes. Mia punishes herself for being what the society calls 'ugly' striving to create a picture perfect image. She builds up an odd obsession to mirrors.

But no matter the clearest mirror she'll get, she's still the same old face. This time however, the mirror is not only the clearest, it's the scariest... She ends up being thrown into a world belonging to the dark forces, and she has no choice but to choose survival, that is until she is able to escape and claim her old life and stolen identity back.

Charming Luscious, a demon in training has other plans and so does a few who come to learn of a mortal in their world.

The flames dissipated, and Zidane no longer found himself standing on the concrete surface of the plaza. The energy of this place alone was more than he needed to have in order to identify exactly where he was.

'It's been... A very long time since I've been in this room.' 

It hadn't changed much in the ten years, either. The walls were still the same red coloring, decorated with black-framed mirrors and web-like designs running along the edge where the wall met the ceiling. A ceiling that was also made up of a mirror. Zidane only had to see the beginning of it to know she had added in this reflection. He looked away from the mirrors on the walls and ceiling, attention going to the large portal in front of him.

The portal hadn't been opened yet, resulting in what looked like a crack in reality. A long, jagged line separating the wall behind it, distorting everything above and below.

Ezyta turned around, as if finally sensing his presence. She stared at him, light eyes taking in the uniform he was wearing-studying him from her towering height. Her chin lifted, eyes narrowing and bringing her disturbingly long eyelashes close together.

"You're mucking up my floor."

Zidane fought every urge to wipe his boots hard against the carpet. He stayed standing, cooling down his frustration as much as he could... But it was hard, being in this room with her again...

"I figure you could've just pulled him out yourself," he said, referencing the portal in front of them.

Ezyta blinked slowly, those eyelashes touching for a moment and sending a flash of sickness into Zidane's gut. "Pulling him out," she began, "if you do mean energetically forcing the host to us, would rip its body apart. It doesn't look pretty. Rather messes up the product, as well."

"So..." He rose onto the balls of his feet, at a loss for words. "You're sending me to go get him?"

"You're the only one who can, Zidane. Its puny mind will recognize you as familiar, given what similarities you share..."

"Right." He'd forgotten about that detail.

He rotated his wrist, stretching out the muscles that were weighing down with fatigue. As his hand completed the circle, the yellow book fell into his grasp, landing between two fingers. His other hand found his pocket as he held the book up to her, turning the text until the cover was displayed.

"So this is for getting back, right?"

"Yes. If our product stays alive that long, of course."

A dark energy swept down his back; near his shoulder blades like shadows descending downwards. She kept talking like he wasn't even a living thing...

'Can I really expect anything different from her?' 

He didn't answer his own question, knowing full well who Ezyta really was. His focus trained on the portal again, and he felt the energy begin to pull him as he walked towards it. Zidane stopped a little more than arms length away, the memory of Zooka holding his hand through the doorway coming back.

His eyes closed, focusing on the sight of her face. The worry, the laughter as he wiped the concern away.

"I need you to make me a clone." The words came from his mouth, spoken easier than he thought they would be.

"Hm." Ezyta was interested-anything to attribute a longer life of suffering for him. "How much more can you run away, Zidane?"

His eyes clenched a bit tighter, pain flicking into him. He let out a breath through his nose, determined to deny her question.

'I'm not...' He focused on breathing normally, focused on swallowing down the emotions trying to suffocate him again. 'I'm not running... I can't...' 

But he was. He knew he was still doing what he did best.

He felt Ezyta's fingertips pulling against the fabric of his jacket. And soon, he could feel the pressure like a hollow copy of his own body, slowly sliding out of himself. The feeling was odd; something he had never quite experienced before. He felt the details of his own face slip out of the back of his head, felt his fingers pull away from the back of his hand. And then the pressure fell away.

Ezyta made another sound of brief interest. "I'm almost surprised I got everything right."

She was expecting him to turn around, to look at the clone. But Zidane only stepped forward, feeling the portal try and draw him closer.

"Send it to Zooka," he told her. Part of him was almost scared, speaking to Ezyta like this. But... After what she had done... No; a few commanding words were more than justified.

"I'll need to conserve all the energy I can."

He expected Ezyta to shoot a comment back. He expected her to do something, but he only heard the sound of fire ripping around the clone. A slight moment of fear dropped into him.

She was closer to him now; the feeling of her aura almost making him visibly shrink away. The energy was dark, sending a color deeper than black into his mind. He focused on Zooka again, remembering her smile, the angelic white of her energy.

Zidane could feel the words before they came, the tension like a gun being pointed at him. He stayed still, barely even breathing as she walked up to him, long heels soundlessly moving her to his side. She spoke, the words dripping from her lips like black ink.

"And Zidane?"

He turned, blue eyes meeting pale golden ones.

Ezyta smiled.

"Betray me again, and I will destroy your existence."

A shred of feeling and the portal opened, suspending Zidane in blackness.

____________
A/N: And Ezyta is introduced! What do you think of her so far?

Aspiring musician Lance awakes one night to hear a voice. Someone warning him of danger to come. Someone telling him to start running, now. Lance has no choice but to shrug off the event as something of his own imagination, but upon falling unconscious, he is kidnapped and injected with deadly cells from a race kept hidden from humans, a race kept secret. Zidane is a crossbreed of Razalek and Spiro, a breathing hybrid that shouldn't exist. There's too much hatred between the races; there's too much bad blood in his veins. But he needs to save Lance's life. He has too much death on his hands already. However, Lance isn't so easy to trust him. So, with a question, he's teleported into Zidane's mind and introduced to a world of magic, racism, and everlasting love. Memory by memory plays, giving Lance answers to his question. Giving him every reason to trust. He has no choice, after all. ________PREVIEW_________ Lance only felt Zidane's pain, aches that added to his own. If only they'd tried harder... As the last few layers of his skin began to regrow, Lance knew the statement was empty. The words had lost every meaning, replaced with nothing but agonizing reality. They'd lost, plain and simple. It just wasn't an easy thing to face. _________________________ COMPLETE

Prince Zosar cleared his throat, coughing lightly, and said, "your princess will stay in her room and prepare a guest room for me."

The maids were terrified, listening to his words. They kneeled to him and pleaded, "we are sorry, prince Zosar. You can only stay in the guest room if the princess is not present. We are strictly warned by her not to allow you to stay in the guest room and to treat you equal to her."

'I was so bold in my past, not bad. Even though I don't remember how we met, but it seems I was so fond of this shy prince,' Parhthena thought to herself.

"Okay, okay. Prince Zosar will stay with me in my room, you people go. Once the chefs prepare dinner, call us," saying Parthena dismissed them.

"Yes, princess! We have already prepared your clothes," said maid Panya and they respectfully retreated from there.

Even though Zosar knew she was always like this, he felt happy and content looking at the same behavior of hers.

When they reached, Parthena opened her mouth in 'o' shape, looking at her room. Unlike the princess rooms in movies, the room is plain white, and there were Lillies of all colors placed on the bedside table.

The cot is made of bronze and a soft mattress on top of it. The side walls are decorated with ancient Egyptian language, whereas the roof is covered with a half-moon.

The front and balls had paintings of the ancestral figures of the Nabil family.

The wardrobes are similar to nowadays but made with heavy metals. Unlike present-day mirrors, their mirrors are not exact but a bit clumsy.

Parthena's personal maid prepared a beautiful dress and placed it on the neatly tugged bed. 

Looking at the clothes placed on the bed, Zosar felt shy even though he lived with her in the same room. He still remembers how her dressing would be.

"I will go and take a bath, okay..?" saying Parthena went into the bathroom.

Zosar went towards the large open window at the bedside and stood there, feeling the low wind blowing on his face. His green eyes scrutinized the area outside the window as longs as they can while his blank mind wandered on its thoughts.

Seth went to his room and popped on the bed. He just looked at him from top to bottom and thought to himself.

'Hmm, I have never thought that I will come back to my previous life in a pair of jeans and a t-shirt with Adidas shoes. If someone says to this me, I could have laughed out until my stomach hurts, but now I believe. I hope Diana also believes and fulfills her responsibilities.'

When he turned to his left, Seth noticed his bedroom is filled with the paintings of his ancestral. Sighing to himself, he looked up and saw his eyes were pitch black.

On the other side of the Nile river, the golden palace looked more lively, and the servants were standing at the entrance to welcome someone prominent.

Even the Pharaoh Shepseskaf is also present along with his two wives. The first wife, Bahiti, had two sons named Kafit and Nenkhsekhmet.

The second wife, Fukayna, is a commoner. While his visit to the town, Pharaoh Shepseskaf noticed this woman and made her one of his concubines. She has two daughters named Berenike and Chione.

The third wife is somewhat mysterious and never came into public. As her name says, Dalilah is a delicate yet intelligent woman. Pharaoh Shepseskaf was not fond of her.

Dalilah has only one son, prince Zosar Rameses, named after Rameses, the son of God. The high priests in the palace believed he was born on the same day with the same zodiac sign sharing with the son God.

Compared with all his children, Zosar is more intellectual and strategist and the son of Pharaoh's least favored wife, Dalilah. This made all of his other children jealous of Zosar, and they bullied him ever since he was a child.

Today they were all gathered to welcome the wife of the first prince Kafit, Aneksunamun.

When Zosar was waiting in Parthena's room, an eagle landed at the open window with a piece of linen cloth attached to it secretly.

The cloth had the information about Aneksunamun and how prince Khafit won the war against their neighbor town.

Looking at the picture drawn by his trusted spy, Zosar remembered how that woman framed him of something he never would do.

'This is the time I entered into the palace and, like a silly child, trusted my brothers and sisters,' Zosar shook his head, thinking to himself.

While he lost in his thoughts, Parthena shouted from the bathroom, "hey prince, give me the dress that is placed on the bed."

With a smile, he took the dress into his hands and moved to the bathroom. He knocked on the door slightly and said, "here is the dress" he hesitated a bit but continued, "do you remember how to dress in these clothes..?"

"Of course I remember to dress, give it to me. Don't tell me you are planning to enter," Parthena mischievously said while opening the door.

"No, no. why would I..?" He hurriedly replied and gave the dress to her.

She laughed and took the dress. Looking at the dress, she felt, 'aah! Why is it covered with so many layers? Forget it. I am in my past life now.'

Her feathery tail and bunny ears were disappeared, and she looked like a human now.

At the same time, Seth finished bathing and was struggling to wear his clothes for a long time.

At last, he wore the dress and looked at himself in the golden mirror. 'I thought it would be embarrassing like hell to wear ancient clothes, but it seems not that bad. Hmm, I quite like it,' he spoke loudly to himself.

Her maid knocked at the door and said, "Prince Zosar, the dinner is ready, will you come to the dining hall..?"

"Athena, dinner is ready. Will you come out..?" He politely asked Parthena.

"This dress I so frustratingly long. I am done and coming, " saying Parthena came out of the room.

Looking at her, Zosar didn't know what to say. Even though Zosar knew the woman in front of him came from the future, in their clothes, she looked so pretty and evil at the same time.

Her blue eyes were hiding mischief while her smirk depicted ignorance.

Zosar hugged her, saying, "my precious Athena, I never longed for anything apart from you" and tightened his hands around her waist.

She hugged him back, saying, "I am here in front of you. What's there to worry about? By the way, is Athena my other name..?"

Set in the ending of 20th century, where smart phone, automated running cars are introduced.

The technology development is so fast that people are so fascinated in learning about their ancient history. 

When most of the young generation are running behind computers, fashion Diana chose to be a archeologist. 

Diana Ruth, an archeology student, went to Egypt, precisely Alexandria, for an internship.

As an archeology student, she is more interested in the history of the country. She always wondered about the process of mummification.

To her surprise, her team found a historical mummy that looked like an ancient kingdom's prince.

Does he a Prince for real...?

After getting him out of the coffin, is Diana in danger..?


Author Note:

At the starting chapters, you will learn more about Egyptian culture as it's required for the story so please be patient.

Bones leapt from my arms and slithered around the legs of a decorative table to the door. His tail sashayed as he slinked against its extravagant frame. Natural wood molding framed the sides with two curved pieces carved into cattails atop the entry. A cardinal sat majestically in between the two cattails. I was in awe at it's beauty and didn't dare move forward. The room smelled familiar but I couldn't quite place it. It was a flowery fragrance and brought back memories of home. The image of my mother spending long Summer days tending to her gardenias came forth to my mind. It left me quickly as I noticed Bones scratching at the elegant door. 

"Don't do that," I said crossing the room, "Your claws will leave marks." I guess it doesn't really matter though since this is my dream anyway. I scooped him up just as the large door swung open. A man, Arkis, met my eyes. His handsome face a perfect replica of the photos on his profile. Damn my memory is good. I stood hunched over gawking at his gorgeous blue eyes. He peered into mine then lowered his gaze to Bones. My heart twinged at the awkwardness. 

"That is the cutest cat I've ever seen. I had no idea we were bring pets or I would have brought my cat Bravo. Can I pet him," he said excitedly, his voice deep and endearing. He reached for my cat, who hopped freely into his arms. 

"Um...hi." I fumbled, standing straight up. A knowing smile spread across his face as he pet Bones. He stepped to the side inviting me in. My body moved stiffly, hand over foot, hand over foot.
Then the door shut behind us. I now stood in a large suit. Off the the side I could see a set of French doors left open to see a large king side bed.  In front of me a sitting room with frilly furniture and the other side a kitchen. The kitchen extended out into a dining area where another set of French doors led out to a balcony. My brain felt overwhelmed.

"How was your trip?" He asked letting Bones down. Arkis turned to face me but my eyes were still locked on my little traitor. Words had left me. 

"Since she seems unable to answer I will, our trip was fine." The cat spoke in a monotone voice. The cat can talk. A cat can speak. Speaketh doth the cat. 

"I don't think she knew you could speak my friend. You're scaring her look at her face. She's gone pale." Arkis scolded the talking cat. My talking cat. 

"He talks. Since when does he talk? This is the weirdest dream of my life. I need to wake up from this dream." I pinched my arm fiercely. Pain. Arkis reaches for my hand swiftly. A deep red mark was left behind. It would probably bruise.

"Don't do that. He can't normally talk. Don't freak out." He calmed though it didn't really do anything.

"He just talked. I passed through a mirror from my apartment and came to an elevator. It's a dream. Tell me this is a dream. You can't walk through mirrors with your talking cat sidekick. That's like not a thing right." Word vomit spewed from my mouth. There was no controlling it's spillage as I began to process.

"It's not a dream. Though I am dreamy," he snickered, I glared at him, "Right not the time for flirting. Your cat can't like speak English. He's just speak in his native tongue. My home has the latest translation technology. I am also not speaking English but I sound like I am. Listen to me carefully, I know you're a little bit confused since this is your first time using Portal."

"Confused!? The cats talking and you're telling me I'm confused. My mind is blown. Translation technology, I've never even heard of that." I interrupted. He stood quietly for a moment. The gently he took my hand and guided me to sit on one of the chair in the living area. He placed a small blanket on my lap. Maybe he thought I was cold because I was shaking so much. Then he took his seat next to mine. A small table sat between us holding a small fake plant. I looked around for Bones but he had run off somewhere to hide.

"Well the cat talking isn't the only big change for you. Right now we aren't on Earth," he paused long enough for my face to shift though several emotions, "Portal allows users to meet people from different planets. You are on Nova. That is my home world. Nova is also the base world for Portal. If you read the terms and conditions it would give you all this information. I mean seriously what's with Earthlings." He fell silent. I suppose it was so I could process things.nothing he said really made sense to me. Maybe he's delusional. Can I even trust this guy?

"No one reads the terms and conditions. Anyone who says the do is a bold face liar. Why would you put it there. Who wants to sift through eight pages of legal jargon. No thanks." I spoke calmly. His eyes glistened under the bright sun. No suns. I could see the outline of two in the distance, though I didn't  look directly at them.

"If you read it in this instance it might have saved you some trouble." He flashed a sarcastic smile. My heart fluttered for just a moment but my skepticism returned. Something about him made me want to trust him. He was extremely charismatic and that is a quality I really like in men.

"So like, if that's true how do I get home?" Now somewhat worried this would be a long term thing. I still had to finish my rough draft for the article and rent was due soon. 

"You just click return home on your app. Don't worry I'll walk you though if. I understand if you want to reschedule since you seem a little bit overwhelmed by everything." He said confidently.

Swipe right for interstellar travel? What an odd description. Kayla Reeves thought she’d seen it all while exploring different dating apps for her latest blog produced by a bait content company. Portal was the latest dating app created worlds away that allows its users to connect on a modern level.


When I walked back into our quarters, I found the girls awake and piled onto Sian's bed, chatting.
'Where've you been, Cat?' asked Loi.
'Yakov gave me a tour of the rest of this floor.'
I wandered over and climbed on the bed, then told them about the beautiful picture. It inspired us to make a trip to the libraryfinallyand we spent the rest of the day there. It made for a good distraction with us nervous at the idea of starting our new, official lives and it gave me something else to think about when I fell into bed that night.
We didn't say much when we woke and dealt with the usual morning stuff then walked to breakfast together. The Great Hall buzzed with activity as we neared it. Servants worked on opening the walls between the ballrooms and the throne room. The castle had two ballrooms divided by the main corridor, and the walls on the corridor were bi-folding so that the two rooms could be linked for large events. The throne room linked to the outer most ballroom, which overlooked the woodland area between the castle and inner gate. Stacks of the long, tall, silver framed mirrors that we'd seen in one of the ballrooms leaned against the walls.
'Those must be going to line all the walls,' Loi said while we watched the frenetic activity in awe. 'Looks like it'll be quite a night.'
The butterflies in my stomach seemed to be changing from nerves to excitement, and I smiled at the others.
'I think I'm looking forward to it.'
We made our way to our normal seats, delighted to see Citaan and Gredel there.
'Hello. We wondered when we'd see you.'
Citaan looked amazing, like usual, with her baby bump more pronounced. She smiled. 'We thought it would be easier to come over early on and get ready in the Griffon Guard quarters. That way we can avoid the rush and dealing with security.'
We settled down to breakfast when Kassie glanced up and gave a tiny squeal. I looked up to see the men had walked in and felt a huge grin break out on my face.

ALEK FELT THE TENSION THAT had bothered him dissolve at the sight of Cat's delighted smile. She raced over and threw her arms around his neck, pulling his head down for a kiss. Loud clapping and cheering brought him back to his senses and he gave a sheepish smile to their audience when they parted.
'Happy Birthday,' she beamed up at him.
'Thanks,' he smiled. 'Are you excited about the ball?'
She wrinkled her nose, making him chuckle. 'I wasn't, but I am now.'
'Awww, did you miss me?'
She threw him a coy sidelong glance. 'Maybe.'

BREAKFAST FLEW BY AND AFTERWARD we headed to the solar. Alek and I were last, following Gredel and Citaan up the turret. Poor Gredel stressed about everything it seemed and insisted on holding Citaan's arm while she climbed the stairs. When we reached the top he rushed to get her a seat at the table. She flicked a glance our way that read both exasperation and love.
I wandered over to the windows and looked out at the Anguem range. The view of the mountains looked amazing, they really had situated the castle well. Spying a small door set in one of the windows, I peered out; it led to a narrow balcony I hadn't noticed before. 
'What's that for?' I glanced at Alek.
He looked to where I pointed. 
'That's for archers, in the event that the enemy makes it past the inner gate.'
I nodded and stepped closer to the window for a better look. 'It looks rather narrow.'
'It isn't a design feature, Cat. It's for just in case. Do you want to have a look?' He opened the little door and led the way out. The others edged along behind us and we stood in a row. If I thought the view good inside, it didn't compare to this. I clutched tight to the waist high railing and looked over the edge. The forest that grew in the space between the castle and inner gate didn't seem so dense from up here; I could just make out the guards on patrol. A squeak from Sian and a shuffling motion from the guys announced Audi's arrival as she squeezed past them. Reaching my side, she carefully stood with her front paws clinging to the rail, so she could see what we looked at. It started everyone chuckling. Sabyn reached out to ruffle her ears.
'Nosey creature,' he scolded her. 'Nearly shove us off just to satisfy your curiosity.'

THE MORNING WENT BY FAST and it seemed far too soon that they had to go and get ready. Kassie clung tight to Rumal for a moment when he bent to embrace her.
'Not long,' he said, his molten eyes creased in affection.
She nodded back, unable to speak due to the lump in her throat. Not long. It brought the jitter of nerves back but they were whirled off to get ready. The Beautens bustled with people when the girls walked in.

I CAUGHT SIGHT OF THE snooty Countess I'd met when we'd first arrived; she pointedly ignored me. Not a problem, I thought, I'd rather not have to talk to you anyway. 
It wasn't until they moved me to the hair stylist's seat that I realized Melanite sat beside me. 
'Melanite!'
She laughed. 'I saw you all when you first came in, did you only just notice me?'
'Oh I'm sorry, I'm totally away with the fairies at the moment.'
Drat. I'd forgotten they exist here. 
The confused look on her face amused me; she shrugged away my weird comment. We chatted away and I noticed Loi and Sian talking to a couple of the girls we'd met in Gartoll. 
'How big an event is this usually?'
'I would expect a couple of thousand to attend. Dignitaries from all over Elion and even further will come.'
'Really? How will they travel here?' I asked.
She thought about it. 'I know that those coming from Delanta and Lanion arrived in Elion last week. They'll be getting ready in the town, and there may be a few who are brought in by the Griffon Guard.'
The stylist tapped my shoulder and I had to turn away.

LOI ADMIRED HER HAIR IN the mirror. The stylist had teased the top of her hair and smoothed it over then clipped the top half of her hair back. She preferred to have her hair loose, so this made a good compromise and meant she could have a pretty clip too. The stylist ushered her over to a couch where Sian sat, so she could move on to her next client. Sian's hair had been teased like hers, and drawn into a high pony tail, highlighting her cheekbones.
'You pleased?' Loi arched an eyebrow at her.
Sian smiled and ran a hand over it. 'I am, it's very sleek. It'll look great with my dress.'
They both fell silent, observing the chaos as stylists raced around, tripping over one another, clients voicing loud opinions about each other's hair and make-up. 
'It nearly reminds me of our last night on Earth,' Sian said nostalgically. 'Just crazier.'
Eventually Kassie and Cat were done, and the four of them walked back to their room. The corridors and turret were crowded with guests and staff dashing about. Slipping into their room they closed the doors with relief. Ada had dropped their dresses off and they hung from each of their dressing table mirrors, a pair of matching shoes below.




Nicole MacDonald is a thirty something year old Kiwi who loves to read and moonlights as a novelist. An avid reader from a young age, writing only occurred to her a few years ago after reading a book that didn’t quite hit the spot.
Daily scribbles eventuated into the BirthRight Trilogy, an Epic Fantasy Romance with women who know how to wield a sword, AND swing a punch. A literary journey that included six months of long sword training, as well as ju-jitsu lessons, and self-defence lessons for Nicole.
When not writing Nicole loves to watch all manner of documentaries, escape to her family's cabin in the woods, and spend time with her other half and their fur critters.

Bound by love, drawn by magick, happily ever after won’t come without a fight.
Looking for love, four friends cast a spell. Thrust into a terrifying new world, they find themselves fighting for their lives, until help drops in. Now, alongside the Griffon Guard, they must learn to use powers they never knew they had, to save a world they never knew existed.

Love might be an option, but only if they defeat an ancient darkness hell bent on ruling the world...

Heels clicking on the pavement. The beeping of a pedestrian crossing. The rumble of cars. Subin opened her eyes as the din faded to the background. Like a polaroid picture coming into fruition, her vision sharpened and her eyes adjusted to the light. Disoriented, Subin blinked several times.
Where am I?
The first thing Subin noticed was that she was in a room of some sort. On the walls were several posters, most of which looked like handwritten notes. An unmade bed with a pile of dirty laundry and stuffed toys was to her left, and to her right was a wardrobe with mirrors as doors. Subin searched the room, not quite believing her eyes. Through the window, she could see an overcast sky, but despite the ominous, grey clouds looming overhead, she felt strangely comforted. From the mountain of books on the desk to the laptop charging on the ground, Subin had no doubt as to her whereabouts. She smiled as her eyes brimmed with unshed tears.
She was home.
Not wanting to waste a second longer, Subin turned to the door. "Dad?" she called out excitedly. "Yoongi?" She ran out of the bedroom, her heart like a drum in her chest. It had been so long since she had last seen her family, so long since she'd heard her dad and brother's voices, that the first thing she wanted to do was to hug them both. "I'm back!" she shouted, her grin growing wider with each step. "I'm home!"
But as she searched from room to room, she soon realised that the two people she wanted to see the most were nowhere to be found.
Her heart began to sink. "Where are you?"
Just when Subin thought of searching for her mobile phone, she suddenly tripped on a tower of takeaway boxes. Subin cursed under her breath as it tumbled, creating a mess. As she stooped to clean it up, she noticed the familiar chicken logo printed on the boxes. They were all from the peri-peri chicken place she and her brother used to frequent. Recalling how their dad used to complain about the blandness, Subin curled her lip. Has Dad changed his mind about their food since I've been away? But before Subin could investigate further, she heard the jingling of keys come from the front door. Subin immediately got up. "Dad! Yoongi—"
"Why's it always so cold in here?"
Subin froze. Instead of her dad and older brother, a pair of strangers came inside, the gust of wind having nothing to do with the chill that bolted down her spine. From where she stood, she saw that one of them had a bulky frame and the other was shorter and thinner. Dressed in thick coats and woolly scarves, the pair proceeded to make themselves comfortable. Subin hid from view.
Who are these people? And what are they doing here?
Subin peered at the strangers from her hiding place and noticed they were armed with what looked like hockey sticks.
Are we being robbed right now?
"I'll go and turn on the radiator," the bulky one spoke and Subin pressed herself closer to the wall.
With her mind clouding in panic, Subin's breath quickened. She needed to call for help but she didn't know how. Not when their landline was disconnected, and she didn't know where her mobile was.
Okay, she thought, as soon as the coast is clear, I can run next door and—
"Oh, put the kettle on too while you're at it," the other said, catching Subin off-guard. "I'm chilled to the bone."
Subin swore under her breath when she heard the bulky-framed stranger change course. As their footsteps grew louder, Subin frantically searched for somewhere to hide. With their kitchen being small, there weren't many hiding places large enough to conceal her.
"Calm down, Subin," she whispered, her voice barely audible over her wild heartbeat. "Think. What would Yoongi do?" Spotting something she could use to defend herself, Subin grabbed a broom. If her brother were in her place, Subin knew he wouldn't be afraid to confront a pair of thieves. Yoongi wasn't scared of anything. Well, Subin thought afterwards as she clutched the broom tightly, apart from asking someone out.
"Which tea do you want?" she heard the bulky-framed stranger ask, bringing her back to reality. Subin readied herself as the stranger reached the door. "Tetley? Yorkshire?"
"Yorkshire, please!" the other replied in what Subin thought was a feminine voice. "No sugar. I'm on a diet."
Subin heard the former scoff. She raised the broom just as the door opened and the stranger came into view. "Don't- Don't move!" Subin heard herself shout, her voice coming out squeakier than she would've liked.
The stranger halted. Without coats and scarves obscuring her view, Subin realised that the stranger was a young man. He frowned and looked around as if displeased by the state of the kitchen.
"Stay where you are!" Subin screeched when the man raised his hand to scratch his nose. Her hands trembled as she aimed the broom at him. "Stay back! I- I'm not afraid to use this!" But despite her warning, the man took a step forward. In as little as two strides, he was within reach of her. Panic-stricken, Subin swung with all her might, but instead of stunning the stranger, the man passed through as if neither she nor the broom was there at all. Subin gasped. "What…?" She turned to the man and watched as he proceeded to make tea as if nothing happened. "What- what just…? How…?"
You're fading away.
Subin jumped at the sound of a wispy voice. She turned to the doorway, where the other stranger stood. It was a woman. Thinking it was she who had spoken, Subin asked, "What do you mean? What's happening? How did he suddenly pass through me?" But no reply came. As if the world had gone mute, Subin observed as the pair conversed with no sound. The silence was deafening.
You're fading away from their memories.
Subin looked over her shoulder as the voice spoke again. "What do you mean?" she called out. She searched the ceiling, half-convinced there were hidden cameras watching her. "What do you mean I'm fading away? Who are you?" Fear replaced by bewilderment, Subin turned to ask the strangers but found they had vanished. Like a photograph fading with age, her surroundings were disappearing.
They've moved on without you.
"You're lying!" Subin ran out of the kitchen. "Dad!" she cried, "Yoongi! Where are you?"
They've left you behind, the voice taunted as it grew in strength. They've forgotten all about you.
"No," Subin retorted, her voice wobbling. "Dad and Yoongi wouldn't. They- they would never leave me behind."
Subin ran into her room and locked the door. Like moments ago, everything was as she left it. The unmade bed, the mountain of books, the posters on the walls. The layout was the same. And yet, why did none of the things inside feel familiar? It was as if she had entered a replica of her room. Absent was the warmth of familiarity. Perhaps it was never there to begin with. Subin's steps faltered when she realised nothing inside was hers. Like a room in a hotel, everything appeared staged, every trace of her erased. Succumbing to despair, Subin fell on her knees.
Maybe Dad and Yoongi have moved on without me.
With this final thought, the corners of Subin's sanctuary began to fade. Like the lifeless ash at the end of a cigarette, Subin watched her world crumble as the voice echoed her deepest fear.
"You don't belong here anymore."

Transported to an unknown era, Subin, a teenage girl raised with western values, wakes up in the body of a serf. In this unknown land, she encounters the aristocratic Kim brothers and finds herself entangled in the webs of deceit; woven by rivalry, politics and hunger for power.

Desiree gasped, and raised a hand to her mouth in shock. Where her bungalow had previously stood, there was now a large half-timbered building. She frowned in confusion. Was she going mad? Her home had been a simple one-storey bungalow with plain, whitewashed walls, identical to the other buildings in Walnut Close. But what stood before her was a large, three-storey building, with a black timber frame surrounding a pale plaster infill. As she gazed upon this new structure, she wondered where it had come from, and what had happened to her bungalow.
She looked around. There still did not seem to have been any reaction at all from any of her neighbours. Surely they must all have heard the impact as the falling piece of sky crashed into her bungalow? Had not one of them even looked out of a window to see what was going on?
But the cul-de-sac was still deserted. Not one of her neighbours had emerged from their own modern semi-detached house to investigate the loud crash. Not one of them was staring in horror at the debris that now littered the road. Not one of them had rushed out to check that she was alright.
She frowned angrily, annoyed by the implication that none of her neighbours cared about her well-being. What if the falling piece of sky had destroyed their home? She would certainly have rushed out of her home to check that they were alright, and to offer any assistance she could. She sighed. Perhaps they were all too worried about what would happen if they were seen outside during the day. But surely the authorities would be understanding, given the circumstances?
She shook her head. Confusing thoughts were hurtling around her head. The bungalow had been destroyed. Her bungalow! The sky was falling in. The sky! Her head was pounding, and things were not making any sense, so she closed her eyes and tried to think rationally.
How could the sky crack? It was the sky, not a glass bowl! How could a piece fall from the sky and destroy her home? That was clearly a ridiculous notion. Even if the sky were actually a glass bowl that had cracked, a small piece of glass would not be enough to completely destroy her home. And where had this large timber-framed building come from?
She felt a sudden gust of wind, and heard the soft rustling sound of the leaves in the trees. It sounded like they were whispering furtively among themselves. Her head pounded. Was this all a delusion brought on by her headache?
Desiree opened her eyes, and looked around once more. There was a nagging thought in the back of her mind. She couldn't quite put her finger on it, but there seemed to be something different about the world. She looked upwards, confused. There were no cracks in the sky. How could there be? How could she have imagined that there were? Now she was absolutely certain that she was going mad.
She sighed in resignation, and looked around at the fragments of debris that were scattered across the road. Clearly, something bad had happened. Had something crashed into her home? Or was she imagining the debris as well?
She rubber her temples. Her headache was still pounding away. She tried to concentrate, and focussed on the large timber-framed building that stood before her. As she cast her eyes over the structure, taking in every structural and ornamental detail, a wave of relief washed over her. The slate roof was still intact, and the timber frames did not appear to have suffered any structural damage. None of the windows appeared to have been broken. There was some minor damage to the plaster infill, but that could easily be fixed. Whatever it was that had fallen from the sky, it didn't appear to have caused any serious damage to her home.
Rubbing her forehead once more, she stumbled wearily along the path leading to the front door of her house. She stepped absent-mindedly over the small pieces of debris that were scattered across the path. As she opened the door and stepped inside, these small fragments of brick, tile, plaster, and glass all seemed to melt into the ground, as if they were cubes of ice left outside on a hot summer day.
Desiree closed the door and leant wearily against it. Her head was still throbbing. She wasn't certain that she knew what was going on any more, or even if she believed what she had seen with her own eyes. She sank to the floor in despair, and placed her head in her hands. Was this what going mad felt like?
Inhaling deeply, she attempted to pull together all the disparate thoughts that were running around in her head, to try to make sense of everything that had happened. Had she seen cracks form in the sky, or had she imagined it? If the cracks had been real, what had happened to them? Did a piece of the sky fall to the ground, or had she imagined that as well? And why was there still that nagging thought in the back of her mind that something had somehow changed?
She clambered unsteadily to her feet, using the door handle as a support, and staggered into the front room. She carefully made her way around the coffee table, worried that she might collapse at any moment, and slumped into her rocking chair. Still breathing deeply, she reached forward and picked up her mug. She took a sip of the tea. It was stone cold. She sighed with disappointment, and struggled to her feet.
She noticed that the book she had been reading was lying on the floor next to the fireplace. She groaned as she bent down to pick it up. Her back still hurt from her earlier fall.
As she stood back up, still groaning, she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the small mirror above the fireplace. She frowned. Something wasn't right. She stared at her reflection for a moment, puzzled. Certainly it was her. 45 years old. Dark skin. brown eyes. Long black hair. And yet, there was something not quite right. Weren't there pictures above the fireplace?
She looked around the room. Everything seemed to be in order. Her rocking chair sat next to the coffee table, opposite the brown leather couch that lay against the wall to her left. The wall to her right contained the sooty, blackened fireplace with its ornate mahogany surround. Within the fireplace sat a small mound of chopped wood, ready should she ever need to light the fire for warmth. Directly in front of her, against the back wall, sat the ornately carved oak sideboard and the solid oak bookcase stuffed with tomes on a variety of different subjects.
She frowned. There was definitely something not quite right about the room, but she couldn't work out what it was. She glanced down at the book in her hand, and smiled ruefully. Sighing deeply, she tossed the book on to her rocking chair and headed out of the room, along the hallway, and into the kitchen.
She tipped the contents of her mug into the kitchen sink. As the cold tea swirled down the plug-hole with a soft gurgling sound, she shuffled wearily over to the worktop behind the door, where the kettle stood waiting to be used. She placed her mug on the worktop, and retrieved a fresh tea bag from the nearby caddy. She dropped this into the empty mug, and inspected the kettle. There was clearly not enough water left to make a mug of tea.
She picked up the kettle with a mournful sigh, and shuffled back over to the sink. Holding the kettle under the cold water tap, she filled it with just enough water for a fresh mug of tea. A thought suddenly occurred to her as she shuffled back across the kitchen. Why do kitchen sinks have separate hot and cold taps? Surely having a single tap would be better? That way, you could easily mix hot and cold water to get the temperature you wanted.
She placed the kettle back on the worktop and switched it on. Suddenly frowning again, she looked back at the sink. She could have sworn that her kitchen did have a mixer tap. But the evidence was there before her eyes. She shook her head sorrowfully. She must still be imagining things. Like the cracks in the sky earlier. Had it all been brought on by her headache? 
She looked around, frowning once more. She was beginning to get the same feeling in the kitchen as in the front room. Something was not quite right. For one thing, she couldn't remember where she had put the painkillers. She pulled open the nearest drawer, and peered inside. There were a variety of items within the drawer; batteries, food bags, even a torch. But no painkillers. She rooted through the other drawers in the kitchen, her search becoming ever more frantic. Was she losing her mind? It seemed that she was losing her memory, at least.
Soon she had searched through all the drawers in the kitchen, without locating any painkillers. She was certain that she had some left, that she hadn't already used the last ones. In desperation, she flung open the door of the cupboard containing the glassware and other drinking vessels. Ah! There they were! Nestling behind one of the spare mugs. She shook her head, a mix of relief and confusion etched on her face. What on earth had possessed her to hide the painkillers there?
As she retrieved the small box of pills from their hiding place, she sighed in resignation. Perhaps this was just another side-effect of her headache. Or perhaps she was going mad. Either way, there wasn't much she could do apart from take some painkillers and wait for her headache to subside. She opened the box and tipped two small white pills out on to the worktop, before placing the box back in its hiding place among the tumblers and mugs.
While she waited for the kettle to boil, she leaned wearily against the worktop and looked around the kitchen. Perhaps if she worked out what was wrong in here, she would be able to work out what was wrong in the front room as well.
It was a reasonably well-appointed kitchen, with a free-standing gas cooker and large fridge-freezer. The sink sat in the corner by the window, separated from the cooker by a small draining board. Jars of herbs and spices lined the worktops that ran along two of the walls. Various culinary implements hung from hooks on the wall. Some of them she had rarely used. Others she barely recognised. She sighed again. She still couldn't work out exactly what it was that was wrong. She turned and glared at the kettle. It seemed to be taking a long time to boil.
Sighing impatiently, she looked out of the kitchen window. The garden outside was in need of some attention. She screwed her face up and tried to remember when Martin, the gardener, was next due to come round. It must be in the next couple of days, judging by the length of the grass, but she couldn't remember exactly when. She sighed again, and looked back at the kettle. It still hadn't boiled. Why was it taking so long?
Suddenly, she froze. She was sure there had been another splintering sound, similar to the previous ones only much quieter. It had seemed to come from one of the rooms upstairs. A puzzled expression crossed her face. But her home was a bungalow, wasn't it?
She moaned in anguish and shook her head violently from side to side, to try to banish the confusing thoughts that were flooding her mind. Of course her home wasn't a bungalow. Her home was a large three-storey house. Why was she imagining that it was a bungalow?
She sighed and rubbed her temples again. If only this blasted headache would go away, she would be able to concentrate properly. She thought she had better go and investigate this latest noise. In any case, the kettle still hadn't boiled yet.
She strode purposefully out of the kitchen, heading along the hallway to the bottom of the stairs. As she passed the line of family photographs that hung on the wall, they started to sway gently in the light breeze generated by her passage. In the front room, the rocking chair started to move slowly back and forth, creaking softly with each change in direction.
She tilted her head to one side as she climbed the stairs, listening for any further noises. But it was still deathly quiet. She stopped at the top of the stairs, and looked out of the window. The branches of the nearby trees were swaying gently in the breeze, but she could not hear any birds singing, or any sounds of traffic on the nearby main road.
She groaned. Maybe the pounding of her headache was drowning out all other sounds in her head. She rubbed her forehead, and pushed open the door to the bathroom. She glanced inside. Everything appeared to be in good order. Nothing was broken. She pulled the door shut behind her, and moved along the landing towards her daughter's bedroom. She could now hear a soft, fluttering sound, like a piece of loose fabric flapping in the wind.
She pushed open the door, and looked inside. The bedroom had lain empty for the past few months, as her daughter was away at university. She looked around the room. There was a thin layer of dust on every surface, but nothing appeared to be broken, or even out-of-place. She frowned as she looked at the large mirror on the side wall. Behind the mirror, the paint was flaking off the wall, in places revealing the bare brickwork. She had intended to repaint the entire wall at some point, but had never quite got around to it.
She turned and walked out of her daughter's bedroom, closing the door behind her. She pushed open the door of her own bedroom, and peered inside. The room was dark. She was briefly overcome with panic, as she wondered why the room was dark, and what terrors were waiting for her in the darkness.
She took a step backwards, and the feeling of panic subsided as quickly as it had arrived. She shook her head and tutted, chastising herself for her gullibility. Get a grip, Desiree! She had simply forgotten to open the curtain that morning. She strode purposefully over to the window and pulled the curtain back.
Light flooded into the room. She looked around, and sighed with relief. Nothing appeared to have been broken. The mirror on the wall was crooked, so she straightened it. The ornamental owl on the bedside table was facing the wrong way, so she turned it around. Nothing else seemed to be out-of-place, so she turned and headed out of the room.
As she moved along the landing and approached the door to her mother's bedroom, the fluttering sound became louder. Nervously, she gently pushed at the door, suddenly worried that a window had broken and a bird had flown into the room.
The door swung gently open, and she hesitantly looked into the room. There didn't appear to be any birds flying about, or any loose pieces of fabric flapping in the breeze. But the fluttering sound definitely seemed to be coming from within the room.
She cautiously entered her mother's bedroom, and looked around. The window was thankfully not broken. She couldn't see anything else that could have caused the earlier splintering sound, nor anything that could be causing the fluttering sound that seemed to echo around the room.
She shivered, although there was no breeze in the room. Just standing in her mother's bedroom made her uneasy. As she turned to leave, she caught a glimpse of herself in the large mirror on the wall. She stopped, as if frozen in place. The fluttering sound seemed to be emanating from the mirror itself. As she stared at her reflection in the mirror, it seemed to move and shimmer, like a piece of fabric caught in a stiff breeze.
She blinked, and the image reflected in the mirror suddenly changed. She was no longer staring at her own reflection, but an image of her mother. She frowned uncertainly. For some reason, that seemed to make sense. She was in her mother's bedroom, after all. But how could that make sense? Mirrors reflect what is there, in the room. She sighed with despair. Maybe she was going mad after all. 
She glared suspiciously at the reflected image of her mother. Her mother seemed to smile back at her. Nervously, she approached the mirror and placed her hand lightly on its surface. Her mother did the same. The mirror seemed to vibrate in response to her touch, or to her mother's touch. One or the other.
Ripples began to form on the surface of the mirror, radiating outwards from her hand. She frowned. She knew that these ripples were no more than an illusion, the light playing tricks on her mind. Like the reflection of her mother. She was seeing things that clearly were not there. She could feel the mirror beneath her hand, a simple sheet of crystalline glass, solid and unyielding.
As the ripples moved back and forth across the surface of the mirror, they began to merge together, forming a regular, rhythmic oscillation. The reflected image of her mother warped under this oscillation, changing shape like a reflection in one of those distorting mirrors often found at funfairs. She thought she could hear her mother's voice, chiding her. "Be a good girl," the voice seemed to whisper.
She lifted her hand away from the mirror in shock. Almost instantly, the ripples faded from view, along with the reflection of her mother. In its place was an image of a sturdily-built man in his late forties, with dark brown skin, brown eyes, and tightly-cropped black hair. He was standing before a mirror in the hallway of his home, adjusting his tie.
Desiree smiled, and nodded in understanding. She knew what needed to be done.

Wildbridge was a sleepy town. Nothing much happened there. Well, not since... Martin. And that suited Serina just fine. But everything was about to change. Or had it already started changing, and all that was about to happen was that people were going to start noticing? Well, it's difficult not to notice when people start turning up dead. Murdered. Especially when you're a senior member of the Serious Crime Investigation team.

Meanwhile, many light years away on the non-aligned planet of Jahanna, changes were already afoot, and there were whispers of rebellion and revolution on the streets. But death is not far away here, either. As the well-oiled machinery of the bureaucracy begins to stutter and creak under the weight of murder and betrayal, just how far will the Council go to maintain the status quo?

How could the events in Wildbridge possibly have any bearing on Jahanna?

And what exactly happened on Bershevah?


When I came to the Terre Celeste entrance a drone guard took my disc pass but had me wait as he processed my information.When he finally felt convinced that I was who I claimed to be, he switched the red sensor light from red to green, meaning I had exactly thirty seconds to pass through the now-you-see-it now-you-don't gate.The gate came attached to those invisible walls that surrounded the community, all equipped with laser sensors to keep the vermin out and the residents safe.I suppose that if you lived up here you didn't want regular stone or brick walls to mar the pristine ambiance.Plus the sensor patterns changed daily so that anybody wishing to trespass would have a hard time trying to figure out how to outwit the circuits, a system far more effective than say real towers with armed guards. 
Earlier, when I took the thorough-way to the second tier bridge, I waited twenty minutes for the gatekeepers to process my pass.The fact that I had been summoned to investigate a murder up here didn't seem to faze them, and I had to wait behind as the guards fed my information into their ISO links for approval.Thankfully the traffic remained light, and while I waited I made a note of the residents of Terre Celeste as they passed me by in their shiny, expensive hovers affixed with their special seals to bypass all of us peons.Whether drivers or passengers, the men came spiff and tidy in their suits, the women clad in their chic outfits and glittering jewelry.I could almost smell their designer fragrances, and hear their kind of music through their discreet car stereos, a neoclassical, soft pop fusion with the occasional spiritual and psychological "feel good" message squeezed in between.People paid good money to hear "you are someone special," "you are worthwhile," and "you are loved" a dozen times or more until eventually, I assume, you begin to believe in those little, white subliminal lies.
Now when I finally processed through, I revved the cruiser's engine and started along the main boulevard.Silver plaques with fancy script lettering identified the streets on either side.They all seemed to come with celestial names like Moonbeam, Saturn, Cosmic, Galaxy, and Eclipse.Eventually the streets made several loops around the parameters until they converged and returned to the main gate, but this trip through the privileged kingdom seemed well worth the wait.Somebody up here was missing an opportunity to sell tickets to the masses, a chance to gawk at the elegant and stately residences that populated the blocks, stories upon stories of glass, marble and steel.Some intrepid planner made sure these architectural wonders not only pleased the eye but tickled the rest of the senses as well.And all of the dwellings contained state-of-the-art fixtures and energy saving features, a big selling point at about a hundred million or more per manor house.
The apartment towers came grouped together along a common crescent-shaped drive between Luna Terrace and Serenity Lane.I found a parking space in the underground garage since outside parking lots had been outlawed because they lent no intrinsic value to the overall ambiance and marred the panoramic view.People paid good money to live here in the midst of verdant parks with their plethora of flower beds and trees, the aesthetic sculptures by noted artists, and the cool fountains.Elysian Towers had a large, three-tiered fountain fronting the entrance.Nearby a thirty-foot bronze monolith rose to a trapezoid top, the rays of the sun picking up the verdigris patina of its hammered surface. 
The minute I met the manager in the lobby I knew I wouldn't like the guy.For one, he was a drone with smarmy features and a bad wig in a caramel apple color.He wore a double-breasted maroon coat with flouncy epaulets more apropos for a doorman than the overseer of a hundred-plus apartments.Of course, he blended right in with the regal ambiance, the walls papered in a rich red with gold stripes, the mirrors framed in gilt rococo frames, the settees and chairs made in the sumptuous French regency design, and the tables laden with ornate ceramics and vases of silk flowers.
When he offered his hand I shook it briefly, his skin dry and papery.He joked about having to do body scans on all the tradespeople who came here from down below, but since I represented law enforcement and had the right credentials he'd skip the search.I suppose I should have been grateful, but I found him and his body scans repulsive.Still I tried to be as nice as possible when he told me to call him Morrison, at my service whenever I needed him.
"I'll keep that in mind," I assured Morrison."Now if you can tell me how to get to B624, I'd appreciate it."
"Just take the elevator to the sixth floor and turn left along the B corridor.I believe one of your uniformed officers is standing guard outside Mr. McAllister's apartment."
I hung back a moment."Perhaps you can tell me, Morrison, how long Mr. McAllister has been a resident here."
"Seven years at least, and he's been an excellent tenant, doesn't complain or throw loud parties.Last year he served as president of the tenant association.Oh-"Morrison caught himself."I should say he was, as in the past tense."The drone shook his head."Such a sad affair.I hope you catch whoever did this to him."
"I hope so too."




Marva Dale is the pen name for author Debra McReynolds.  Retired from the public relations field, Debra now spends her free time indulging in her passion for writing.  "I used to fill my school notebooks with stories," Debra relates, "and then add artwork to go along with them.  My second grade teacher, Mrs. Daley, predicted that I would be a writer one day."
A fan of the mystery genre, she enjoys crafting tales with a twist of suspense, a touch of romance, and a bit of humor. 
Debra and her husband, Dale, make their home in El Paso, Texas, with their dog, cats and rabbits.

In the 22nd Century, Los Angeles Detective Cadye Parrish has been called in to help in the murder case of Gavin McAllister who lived on Terre Celeste, the wealthy second tier, and who worked for the Senesco Institute. Digging deeper, she finds a terrible plot involving an age-inducing drug produced by the institute and the unwitting victims of the conspiracy who all danced at the Midnight Lace Club. During her investigation, she meets Dane Merrick, the public relations man for the foundation. And now as she becomes intimate with Dane, Cadye finds she just might be falling for a mass murderer.




Closing the third door along the hallway that was not the powder room, Haven moved on to the next, desperate to find the one room in the corridor where she could freak out unnoticed. Frustrated with the bunching of her less than well-fit, borrowed gloves, she pulled them from her hands. The next door in the hallway was the room she sought. Tossing her gloves on the hallway table, she entered and closed the door behind her.
Gazing at her flushed appearance in the mirror, she fought the urge to high five her face. Hard.
What the hell is wrong with me? 
She didn't feel right. Her new emotions and urges were out of place in her personality. Since when did she go out of her way to cruelly insult people, especially other guests at a party? That wasn't her. Sure, she'd get bitchy with people when they got mouthy with her, or deserved a well-placed kick in the ass, but she never picked a fight with another person simply because they looked at her wrong. There had to be something else going on, something deliberately creating tension and situations where there weren't any.
Her reflection paled as a thought struck. Could all of this mayhem be the work of the spirit inside the watch?
Damn watch.
She was glad she'd found a hidey hole for it in her armoire. Earlier, upon inspection of the large wooden hulk, she'd discovered several little drawers where she could hide something as precious and important as a magically empowered, spirit possessed, golden pocket watch. With all of the emotional and psychological warfare, albeit one-sided, going on, she was reminded that though it was tucked away, the spirit dwelling inside was free to float and interfere wherever it wanted. 
God damn meddling troublemaker. I will not be jerked about on invisible strings like some sort of puppet. 
Petulance rose to poke against her better judgment. "I'll show you." She'd been her own woman, free of the poisonous influence of others for years. She refused to go back to being ruled and manhandled by anyone, physical or immaterial. Her life and future depended on it.
Determined to finish the evening without the burden of a guilty conscience, she turned to leave the powder room. She intended to make her way to the music room, bite back her desire to scratch out Kroger eyes, and apologize. 
She froze.
A prickling tension slammed into her heart. Skittering ice spiders stole the breath from her lungs, weaving diamond hard webs of fear and uncertainty through her chest. 
Someone was watching her. 
She spun slowly, and scanned the interior of the powder room which held several elaborately framed mirrors, four plush chairs and a reclining couch, two large bowls, three pitchers of water, and a door-the door to the hallway. 
Someone was in the corridor waiting for her.
"Who's there?" She intended to sound fearless, even if she wasn't, but her voice was hoarse, raspy, and terrified.
Silence.
She swallowed. "Hello? Who's there?"
Nothing. She stood in the middle of the room, as still as death, and waited, listening for any sound indicating a presence; someone lurking outside the powder room, hoping to catch her unaware and vulnerable. 
Was the spirit, once again, orchestrating this?
No, this was different. Dangerous. 
She waited, hands at her chest, feet cemented to the floor, breath lodged in her lungs.
Minutes passed.
The clock in the hallway chimed the hour and her tension ebbed. 
Is the danger over?
Sick of trembling in fear of the unknown, she commanded her feet to move for the door. Slowly. One foot in front of the other, sweat gathered between her breasts, hands shook, mind screamed, and her stomach rioted. Step. Step. Step. When she reached the door, she took a deep breath and pulled it open.
The empty corridor greeted her. 
She poked her head through the opening, and turned to glance one way, and the other. 
Utterly alone. A heavy sigh escaped, and she put her hand to her forehead to stave the flow of moisture rolling from her hairline. When she turned to inspect the powder room again, something just outside the door caught her attention.
She glanced down at the table. One of her gloves was missing. 
The blood drained from her face. Her naked hand flew to her throat. Someone had been there. Anxiety crawled under her skin; tingling in her scalp, and shivers up her neck.
A shudder of unease rocked her as she picked up her remaining glove and dashed back toward the main hallway, away from the quiet corridor teaming with brooding shadows.
***
Turning the corner leading to the music room, Logan nearly collided with a clearly preoccupied Haven. She stopped short and gasped.
Her already flushed skin deepened to a rose blush. Her expression was one of anxiousness, and she wouldn't meet his gaze. Questions, immediate and vital, dashed against his brain: where had she been, and what had she been doing? Suspicion reared its ugly head reminding him that beautiful women couldn't be trusted, especially beautiful women from the future. 
"Oh, I'm sorry. I should've watched where I was going, but my mind was elsewhere." 
Bowing, he smiled in an effort to alleviate some of the tension following in her wake. "No reason to apologize, Miss Edwards. Please, let me escort you to the music room." At his words, Mr. Kroger stiffened, his body straightened, and his expression hardened. The suspicions pricking Logan's conscious minutes before were now swinging axes. When she thread her arm through his, he saw one of her gloves missing. The heaviness in his belly was quickly replaced by sourness. 
He couldn't understand the intensity of his anger. Yes, she'd been alone and in a hurry. Yes, her glove was missing. Yes, her expressive face turned his insides to ice-cold stone, but that didn't mean she'd done something. Did it?
He escorted her to the seat beside his aunt. After giving him a look of shy appreciation, she sat. Aunt Mildred smiled brightly, stood, and announced, "Well, now that we are all here, I would like to invite Miss Minerva Hughes to play for us. She has graciously volunteered to make the conclusion of our evening together a musical one." Turning to Miss Hughes, she continued, "My dear, please proceed."
Logan took a seat in the back of the room, and Divinia Kroger sat beside him, her fan in her lap, and her gaze on his face. He avoided eye contact. Offering her a polite nod and bland smile, he turned his attention to the woman seated to his front left. Haven appeared nervous, fidgety, which wasn't something he expected. Hating the direction of his focus, he looked away.




Author:
Jackson D'Lynne is the pseudonym for a hardworking wife and mother of four, transplanted from California and now stuck in small town Pennsylvania. Always an avid reader, she's been devouring books since middle school. Nowadays, when she's not reading, she's writing sweet historical romance as Lynn Winchester, sexy historical romance as Rosamund Winchester, and sexy contemporary romance as Eve Black. Basically, she writes whatever her muse commands.

The Diva and the Duke


Haven Edwards is a 21st century diva with an "exotic" career. Wanting nothing more than to move past her ugly divorce, she attends an adults only Carnal-val where she's compelled to steal a strangely glowing pocket watch. Overcome with its power, she winds it and thrown back in time to 1817 where she crashes into the life of the very proper, very sexy, Logan Dunham. A duke with a deep distrust of beautiful women, Logan can't understand his staggering desire for the woman with the quick wit, and jade green eyes--the woman who haunted his dreams long before they met.

Haven is determined to find a way home, but she can't shake her hunger for the dark, brooding duke. He's a duke, he's out of her league, right? So why does her heart beat a little faster whenever he is near? Why does her mind conjure images of happily ever after?

One touch, and they are consumed by their desire. But before they can untangle their feelings for one another, a sociopath with a god complex and a knife fetish sets his evil intents on Haven. In order to save her life, Logan must destroy the demons of his past, and learn to trust a power he doesn't understand. What happens when he arrives too late? Will the time-swept diva be lost forever, or will the diva get her duke?


The Rancher and the Renegade

When a heartbreaking tragedy rips undercover DEA agent Marisol Sanchez’s life apart she has nothing and no one left. With the cold steel of a Glock 21 in her mouth, she’s resigned to taking her own life. Before she can pull the trigger, a strange power interferes, compelling her to wind a mysterious golden pocket watch—a watch that propels her backward through time to 1856 Texas.

Harvard lawyer turned cattle rancher Tyrence Barrett is in a battle he can’t win as desperados raid the settlements along the creek, burning and murdering their way through the land. On a routine inspection of his property, Ty stumbles upon a beautiful migrant woman who seems out of place, completely irresistible, and strangely compelling…

When evil threatens to destroy the ranch, Mari must use her wits and determination to help beat back the raiders. With Ty by her side, Mari must learn to forgive herself, rely on the strength of others, and to love despite the overwhelming fear of loss.

Can a displaced renegade help a Lone Star rancher defend his home against an encroaching evil? Will the time lost Mari give in to the desperate sorrow devouring her heart? Or will Ty show her that a rancher and a renegade can find love and a happily ever after?

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