Sneak peek of the Crone of Burning Shadows!

Hello my lovelies,

I'm about half way though the first draft of the Crone of Burning shadows, and have two other novels on the go, all at different stages (Diary of an Unauthorised Vampire is waiting for final editor feedback and you will hear more about it soon! And I'm also editing the second Kotahi Bay book with my wonderful friend and co-writer, Nova Blake).

For now, here is a sneak peek of the beginning of the Crone of Burning Shadows which is up for preorder on Kindle set for release on 21 January (good things take time!)

Delia

Delia wrapped her hands around her coffee mug and breathed in the morning—bacon from the stove, and that faint metallic scent from the dragon egg that had taken up residence on her kitchen. Through the doorway, she could see Torin suffering the indignity of being crowned with tinsel Merryn had foraged from the box of decorations Delia had tried to put away on several occasions already.

"He's the dragon king," Merryn announced solemnly.

"Dragons don't wear tinsel," Keyne protested. "They wear gold."

"This IS gold. Dragon gold."

Declan glanced over from the stove, catching Delia's eye with a look that said he found her grandchildren as entertaining as she did. It was dangerously domestic, this little morning scene. She took another sip of coffee to avoid thinking about how natural it felt.

"Oh good, actual food." Kitty appeared in the doorway like a glamorous ghost, silk dressing gown billowing. "I'm absolutely famished. Do you know what vampires consider fine dining? Blood temperature. That's it. That's the whole conversation. Roger spent twenty minutes discussing whether ninety-eight degrees had better 'notes' than ninety-six."

"Sit," Delia said, already getting up to pour her friend coffee. "You look like death."

"Flatterer. I look like someone who stayed out until three listening to immortal beings argue about Elvis." Kitty collapsed into a chair and immediately focused on the egg. "Still playing possum, I see."

"It's not playing anything. It just sits there, being expensively decorative." Delia sat back down, grateful for the familiar rhythm of Kitty's dramatics. "Agatha thinks it might be waiting for something specific."

"Aren't we all." Kitty reached for the sugar bowl. "So what have I missed in our continuing magical melodrama? Still no word from the Order?"

"Nothing. Complete silence for two weeks now."

"Well, that's ominous. Jerry’s probably building an army or writing a manifesto. Remember his poetry phase?"

Delia shuddered. "I've tried to forget. Though I'd take bad sonnets over whatever he's planning now."

"And our cultish friends in the Sisterhood? Still recruiting for mandatory meditation?"

Delia lowered her voice, though the children were thoroughly occupied with their Torin-dragon game. "All we know is that they must be planning something with that crystal chamber. Something about Ingrid's sister."

"Mathilda's still under all that rock?"

"In some kind of trance, apparently. Gwyneth keeps saying it's more complicated than that, but—"

"Do we trust Gwyneth?" Kitty interrupted, spooning an alarming amount of sugar into her coffee. "I mean, helpful friendly or not, she's still one of them."

"I honestly don't know anymore." Delia rubbed her temples. "Between that and the Bracewells—"

"Oh God, what now? Don't tell me Sabrina's actually made good on her threats about reclaiming her birthright."

"No, but Elamina left. Just packed up and disappeared last week."

Kitty paused mid-stir. "Really? Good for her. Though the timing's a bit suspicious”

"Everything's suspicious these days." Delia glanced at the egg again, sitting there like a red and gold judgment. "I feel like I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop. Or the other dragon to hatch. Or the world to end. One of those."

"Speaking of things that refuse to cooperate with our schedule..." Kitty gestured at the egg with her spoon.

"Don't." Delia pulled her grimoire across the table. "I've been through this thing a dozen times. Nothing about dormant dragons or reluctant hatchlings or—"

"Maybe she's cold!" Merryn had abandoned the Torin game and materialized at Delia's elbow. Without waiting for permission, she grabbed the chenille throw from the sofa and carefully wrapped it around the egg. "There. Now she'll be warm."

Delia and Kitty exchanged glances over the child's head.

"Darling, I don't think—"

"Granny doesn't know everything about dragons," Merryn informed Kitty seriously. "Nobody does. That's why we have to try things."

"Sound logic," Kitty murmured. "Though I draw the line at actually setting it on fire."

"I’ve wondered whether setting it on fire is exactly what it needs," Delia added, then wondered when her life had reached the point where that was a reasonable thing to say. “But it seems to risky to try out.

"Can I see?" Keyne scrambled onto the chair beside her, already reaching for the grimoire.

"Careful—"

"I know, I know. Older than dinosaurs." His small fingers turned the pages with surprising delicacy. "Oh! There's an egg!"

Delia leaned over to look. "That's a seed, darling. See the little roots?"

"What's it say?" Merryn crowded closer, dripping enthusiasm and what might have been melted snow.

"Something about soil and stillness for germination."

"We should plant the dragon egg in the garden!" Merryn's face lit up. "Under the apple tree where it's quiet!"

"I don't think dragons work quite like plants—"

"How do we know?" Merryn challenged. "Have you ever hatched a dragon before?"

It was a perplexingly valid point.

"Can we go back outside to play, then?" Keyne had already lost interest in magical horticulture. "We're building Torin a palace."

"Coats," Delia said automatically. "And gloves. And no throwing things at each other."

"That was an accident!" both children protested as they thundered off.

"Five minutes until breakfast," Declan called out, and Delia tried not to notice how well his voice fit in her kitchen. The tried not to notice the dark circles under his eyes, or how pale he looked. He had been through so much, and though he still had his powers, something inside him seemed to be waning. He wouldn’t say much, and Delia’s speculation had only led to fear and frustration which seemed like a wasted energy rather than any kind of solution.

"So," Kitty said as soon as the children were out of earshot, "speaking of things that might be frozen solid, how's Gillian?"

Delia's comfortable morning mood evaporated. "Still a vampire, I suppose. Being herself. Which is to say, telling me nothing much, while insisting everything's fine."

"Still won't say where she's living?"

"Apparently it's 'temporary' and she'll tell me when she's 'settled.' It's been two months, Kitty."

She caught herself looking at Declan again, remembering that immortality came in many forms, most of them complicated.

The phone rang before Kitty could pursue that loaded observation.

"Delia?” Marjie’s warm voice burst through. “Good, you're up. We're meeting at Ingrid's this afternoon. Can you make it?"

"I've got the children—"

"Bring them! Ingrid's been going on about her chickens laying rainbow eggs or some such thing. They'll love it."

"Rainbow eggs?"

"Don't ask me, I just report the news. Oh, and bring your grimoire. Two o'clock?"

"We'll be there." Delia hung up to find Kitty examining the egg's blanket arrangement with scientific interest.

Kitty raised an eyebrow, "Think Ingrid actually knows something?"

"She usually does. Whether it's helpful is another question entirely."

"Breakfast!" Declan announced, sliding plates of full English onto the table with the efficiency of someone who'd been feeding this particular chaos for weeks.

"Marvelous." Kitty inhaled deeply. "You're a prince among men."

"I'll remind you of that next time you complain about my coffee," he said mildly.

"Your coffee is adequate," Delia said, then softened it with a smile. "Your bacon is exemplary."

"Granny!" The children burst back through the door in a whirlwind of cold air and excitement. "Torin knocked down his palace but we're going to rebuild it better!"

"After breakfast," Delia said firmly.

"With fortifications," Keyne added, sliding into his chair. "And a moat."

"Very practical." Kitty helped herself to eggs. "Every palace needs a moat."

Delia looked around her kitchen—her best friend discussing architecture with her grandson, her granddaughter carefully tucking the blanket tighter around the dragon egg, Declan moving through her space like he belonged there—and felt that familiar tug between contentment and foreboding.

The egg sat silent at the centre of it all, wrapped now like a particularly ungrateful houseguest. But as Merryn adjusted its covering one more time, whispering something that sounded like "Don't worry, we'll figure it out," Delia could have sworn she felt something shift.

Not the egg itself. Just the air around it, like the breath before a storm.

"Right," she said, shaking off the feeling. "Eat up. We’ve got an adventure at Ingrid’s house later that may include magical chickens."

The children crowed delightedly and tucked into their eggs, beans, bacon and toast with glee.

"Just another Sunday in Myrtlewood," Kitty muttered, stealing a bean from Keyne's plate while he giggled.

Delia glanced at the dragon egg as she cut into the yolk in her plate. Apparently dragons had their own sense of timing. And that timing was probably extremely inconvenient.