Okay I should be putting up new stuff but till I get further along I thought why not just put up little excerpts from my stuff on sale?  So here you go!


Joe made a face.  Like most of those in the know he knew who Bethie was.  Back in 1930 there was a massive fire that burned down most of the Crown Hill neighborhood.  Though the papers claimed no one died, Bethie was one of the three missing women.  Their bodies had been buried quietly by their families and not in Woodlawn.  No, being as they were not pure human their bodies were carted across town to be buried near the Middlesex Canal.  The full name had been dropped by most of the current residents of the city but then that was normal.  The flood that covered half the city later in the decade had moved Bethie’s body from her grave.  Being disturbed was not a good thing.

The nonhuman blood in Bethie’s veins came from the Irish and Scottish fae that had followed their human counterparts into the Merrimack valley centuries before.  If her body had not been disturbed she might have stayed in the summerlands but the flood and the following construction led to something only a few understood.  A Banshee.

Now most Banshees are horrid, pallid creatures, looking only to spread death but Bethie was different.  Bethie, while more than willing to snack on some scum that came down to the Canal to do things best not thought of, she tended to only take those who were not native to the city.  And native to Bethie meant you had family living in New Hampshire at the time of the fire and flood.

Lucky for me I came from a long line of natives.  Not as long as Joe but my family was one of the first whites to settle here.  Joe’s family of course had been in this valley long before mine.  But the Crow and the Banshee, well they weren’t too keen on each other.  “You don’t need to come along you know.”  I said to him quietly as I put the old truck in gear and cut across Main.

Joe snorted and shook his head.  “Leave you to deal with the crazy one by your lonesome?  Please I may be a bird but I’m not a chicken.”  Laughing at the derogatory term that Crows used for many of the other winged shifters I nodded and we rode in silence toward Bethie’s lair.