Orsini witnesses it all. No lie can fool her, no glamour or illusion
can cloud her Sight. She sees through them all and wishes she could
close her eyes. Returning to face her past, Siobhan inherits her
grandparents’ house in California’s wine country. She encounters
a talking dragon, a hot fallen angel, a demon lord, a Valkyrie, and,
oh yes, her ex-boyfriend. And that is just in the first twenty-four
fallen angels, who seek to take the Earth for themselves. Using her
gift, she will have to make a choice that will decide humanity’s
the University of California at Davis and completed degrees in
Medieval History and Biological Sciences. A lifelong lover of books
and a scribbler of many tales from a young age (her first story was
completed at age five) she turned to writing full-time in 2011.
sea salt-yum!) and nickel slots at Vegas. Erika lives for time with
friends, a nice glass of red wine, “Buffy the Vampire Slayer” &
“Doctor Who” and good conversation. Her favorite things to do are
running, cooking, reading, needlework, gardening… and of course,
writing. Erika’s music of choice is heavy metal. To pick her out in a
lineup you should know that she is very short, fairly loud, and has
dark eyebrows. The rest, as her hero Anne McCaffrey once said in her
bio, “is subject to change without notice”.
three amazing kids, and their chocolate Labrador named Selkie. To
reach Erika regarding her books, wine recommendations, or to debate
which Iron Maiden album is the best (clearly, it’s Brave New World)
The memory has haunted me for years.
In the middle of a bright California summer, dark days came. My mother and grandparents spoke in hushed, serious voice, arguing about my absent father. Was it my fault he left? A soft whimper escaped my throat and my eyes burned. I needed a hug, but no one paid any attention to me that day. So I ran away to the refuge of my grandparents’ garden where I could hide among its statues and flowers.
My eyes lingered over the familiar garden ornaments. I passed the old birdbath, the statues of gnomes, and a cheerful squirrel. I ran one hand over the stone deer. Its brown paint had faded from years under the sun. Walking with quick steps down the gravel path, I made my way to the center of the garden, my special spot where my favorite statue waited.
A gnarled apricot tree grew there. Right now it was covered with tiny green apricots. Later in the summer the sweet fruit I loved would ripen. I would get to pick them with my parents, no, just with my mother. My lip trembled. My father wouldn’t be here.
The bright-green dragon lay curled at the foot of the apricot tree, partially covered by vines. My mother called the color jade green—the same shade as my eyes. As a child she talked to all the statues, but I only spoke to the dragon. I named her Daisy. Sitting down next to her now, the tears welled up at last, spilling over my cheeks. I wrapped my arms around my legs, making myself into a little ball of five year old misery.
“Child, why are you sad?” said a woman’s voice.
“Who said that?” I asked, wiping my cheek.
“Where are you?” I stood and peered at the plants and statues around me.
“Are not,” I retorted.
A soft laugh filled the air and the woman spoke again. “Perhaps you are right. Easy enough to fix, I suppose.”
The breeze picked up. The space beneath the apricot tree shimmered. Ripples warped the air like the heat over the barbecue when my father cooked. The sweet notes of wind chimes filled the yard. Grandma and Grandpa didn’t have any wind chimes. I whirled around to find the noise.
Under the branches appeared an enormous green dragon’s head.
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