His Cemetery Doll: Chapter Three

He'd carved Maya the autumn after Shyla came to him. He'd never understood what motivated him to do it: besides not being very fanciful, Conall had never been particularly artistic, either. The inspiration must have come thanks to the baby.

He'd discovered the poor infant alone in his graveyard, tucked a sheltering crevice of an old boulder. He remembered thinking she'd been arranged as though in a cradle. Whoever left her did it with care, placing her in a spot where she'd be protected from rain, above any wildlife...and sure to be seen by the first human who passed by. Con later used the same boulder as the base for Maya's statue. Perhaps because those small, thoughtful, careful details might be all he would ever know about Shyla's real mother.

His Cemetery Doll: Chapter Two

During the day, dappled green and gold sunlight played around the graves in Conall's cemetery. Cool, quiet woodland bordered three broad, gated sections, tree branches overreaching a tall iron fence, vines growing through and around scrolled-iron bars. He kept the tombstones clean and neat, scraped the moss from the mausoleums, and trimmed the worst of the overgrowth. He'd never clear away all the natural brush, however. It gave his cemetery a breath of quiet serenity.

His Cemetery Doll: Chapter One

Conall...

Somebody was shaking him.

Gravekeeper...fallen soldier...

There is someone in the graveyard, Conall.

Conall Mackay woke with a start. Outside, the wind gave a haunting, low moan. He could hear the rustle and creak of trees in the graveyard outside.

He'd dozed off in his chair by the small cottage hearth, and the fire had long died down to sulky, smoldering coals. His daughter Shyla, bleary-eyed and wild-looking with her short blonde hair sticking up at all angles, shook him by the shoulder, mumbling sleepily.

"There's a strange woman, Dad. Outside."

Goblin Fires: Chapter One

I never break an oath. I can't break an oath, not one made to the Sidhe. A Knight cannot lie, cannot betray, and cannot go foul of a promise made.

Except one. One promise alone are we ever allowed to recant. One contract we can reject...but I never had cause to reject it.

Until we found ourselves—all of us, all the fae of the Four Courts—pulled into a war.

Until the last option I had left, to save the woman I loved, was to break the oath I made to protect her...

The warm aroma of blended spices—nutmeg, cloves, cinnamon, and a hint of black pepper—curled up in tendrils of steam from the simple blue mug on the table before me. I closed my palms around it, relishing the effusive heat like a nice hot bath, and inhaled the scent of Talaith's favorite chai tea with a soft sound of approval.

"Careful, sweetie," Tala whispered in my ear. She had a very eloquent, very refined accent, and she leaned over my shoulder to sprinkle a pinch of cocoa powder into my cup. "Don't want to burn your tongue now, do you? Not while I still have plans for it..."