October 14: The Chrysler Building, New York City: 8:00 p.m.

Bodhi Flinn sat at his desk, his back pressed against the wall in a spectacularly confined and isolated cubicle. He never worked in this space. It was beneath the analysts to slum with the new recruits. And why would they? The analysts had offices on the top floor, with long, sexy glass panes that overlooked the city. But when he needed to plug in somewhere with less chance of being traced, he’d slink down to one of the perpetually empty cubicles on the processors’ floor. The computers in the cramped, communal office spaces weren’t assigned. Each desk on that floor was used by a different programmer every day, so it afforded more concealment than even his personal laptop.

He wrung his hands as he looked over the dimly lit screen. Bodhi was working late, hours after everyone else had gone home. If any prying eyes still lingered in the office, they’d think it proof of his devotion to The Company. Bodhi was driven by success. He craved it, like some people craved power, or money, or sex. Bodhi Flinn desired affirmation.

He rubbed his eyes with his thick, heavy fingers, then continued to clack away at the buttons on his keyboard. There was something big happening, but Bodhi couldn’t quite piece it together. He went to work for The Company a decade ago, just after graduating from college. They’d scouted him, stating his qualifications were superior to others considered. Over the past ten years, they’d sent him on a whirlwind of assignments across the globe.

Bodhi wanted to be a government man for as long as he could remember. It took three years for him to grasp the extent of how poor and less attractive CIA and FBI agents were in real life compared to their Hollywood counterparts. The deal was broken in his mind, and when Bodhi realized the bureaucratic life wasn’t for him, he did an abrupt about-face and stopped deferring his college admissions applications. The Company contacted him immediately after he was accepted to Columbia for his undergrad.

They’d advised him on their preferred area of study, agreed to foot the bill for the education, and offered him a seven-figure income upon graduation. He accepted without even knowing what it was he’d be doing; what it was they’d be doing. It didn’t matter. He was sold. Six years later, armed with a Doctorate in Sociology, he went to work for the cloak-and-dagger organization.

The Company sent him on various assignments that seemed like small, inconsequential dots in the universe at first. Lately, Bodhi suspected these dots were to be connected, like a giant constellation hung over the world. The lights were being strung little by little, and people wouldn’t be able to see what was being built until the machine was turned on. It was unnerving, and the stress of wondering what he was really helping them do was starting to make him crack. He rubbed the stubble on his chin and sighed, then set his focus back on the computer screen.

Someone had been dropping him hints — warnings — from deep within the unexplored bowels of the internet. Bodhi was searching diligently, hoping The Messenger was a brilliantly devoted practical joker. But as the days and weeks wore on, Bodhi’s assignments from The Company became more intense and bizarre, and The Messenger turned unrelenting. A gnawing in his stomach told him this person wasn’t to be written off. So, Bodhi had taken to staying after hours in the communal office, where he would be safe from prying eyes. He looked for answers late at night, following breadcrumbs, trying to uncover whatever nefarious secret The Messenger was so desperate for him to know.

The first time he’d heard from them was six months ago. He’d been on assignment with The Company in India and an encrypted email from an anonymous account sent him down an internet rabbit hole. Bodhi was supposed to be meeting with the world’s leading behavioral psychologist — the man who oversaw The Project. They’d been working closely on the logistics of selling an idea to the public. Something that would revolutionize the way people contacted one another, conducted commerce — even how they worked and played.

The Company was quietly building a blockchain — the largest on Earth. In a matter of months, they’d be able to connect every person in the world with their own version of 5G or satellite internet with no interruption for a fraction of what the big tech companies were charging. Not only that, The Company’s service tied everything into one convenient system: home utilities, bank accounts, bill pay. Now that the foundation was almost complete, the work was down to acceptance.

The technology wasn’t a typical app on a smartphone. It came as a small stick-on QR code. Once applied, the adhesive allowed the device to absorb into your skin. This was marketed as a one-time, total convenience install with remote upgradeability and unlimited cloud storage capacity. Users didn’t have to charge or log in; no more identity theft or time wasted doing mundane things such as taxes or balancing their checkbooks. Access across the entire internet, protected from information larceny — all on a 1cm-squared surface.

Ideas like these had a tendency to spook the general population. All those sheep — always following, never leading, never thinking for themselves. They were fine taking in anything the federal government shoved down their throats, but the slightest whiff of a private company wanting automation linked up to anatomy, and the people ran scared. Bodhi, a master of manipulation, was the behavioral professional tasked with selling The Scancode to the world, and mostly, he’d been on board.

Until The Messenger made contact.

October 14: The Americana Inn, New York City: 8:00 p.m.

Nishti Kedo pulled the pony-o out of her long, black hair and shook it out, the waves falling down her back in layered sheets, before tying it back up in a low, taut bun. She stole quick glances at the laptop sitting on the nightstand every few seconds while packing her rucksack with painstaking precision. Nishti paid attention to detail. That was her gift.

She was born in India. Her mother was a Korean immigrant and her father was a government man, an analyst for the Indian military working on hostility prevention. His main focus was The Project, a program initiated to outfit the Indian government with state-of-the-art technology and equipment.

With her devout military upbringing, it was only natural that Nishti felt an unassailable draw to national service. Little games when she was a baby became practical training as she got older. But as Nishti became more entrenched in her father’s way of life, she began to see things that gave her pause…then alarm.

After excelling at Prahar Military School, she was sent to Cambridge for an extended formal secondary education with a strong encouragement — demand — of degree choice. The decade next, armed with joint doctorates, Nishti was brought back to her home in India and made to join the Air Force. Initially, she was assigned to a ground training group. Thanks to her familial connections, and her own dogged determination, she’d moved through military ranks at a staggering speed and, after only a year, was offered a spot on The Project working alongside her father. It was everything she’d ever dreamed of. Until she learned their true motivations: the real end goal. Nothing was the same after that.

Nishti took in the sight of her hotel room, shaking her head in a sharp sting of disbelief. She was accustomed to higher standards. Her father was paid handsomely for the work he was doing in India and Nishti was used to a life of luxury. But, while she was on assignment, she was cut off from communications, and too many passports and contacts had been burned through already.

She’d been sent to America with a single task, and if she couldn’t complete it by the deadline, they’d send someone else. So, she was in hiding, only able to spend cash, not leaving a trace. Forced to operate without raising red flags. Most nights, Nishti was ducking in and out of motels and hostels, or camping. Nice hotels required credit cards, and credit cards left easy trails to follow. Her survival depended on her ability to stay hidden.

Her time away on assignments used to be spent in high-end apartments and boutique hotel rooms. But that life had become a distant dream over the past year. She’d stumbled upon a truth, something so big she had no choice but to act. A crisis of conscience, and the horror of knowing, threw her into the arms of a shadow group called The Uprising. Suddenly, Nishti was a high-ranking member of an elite countermeasures team, thrust into the seedy world of double agents and government espionage.

The situation was constantly evolving. She longed for life to slow down, to have something familiar to hold onto, but that was a pipe dream. Nishti was being hunted. The leaders of The Project wanted her dead before she could share their secrets — what they were planning, what their technology was really going to do.

She kept the laptop open as she packed up her things, waiting for contact. The light on the computer screen blinked as she folded the top over on her canvas rucksack. Bodhi Flinn was online. Nishti sank onto the bed, her fingers dancing nimbly over the keyboard as she followed the trail he blazed through the web. When her task was complete, she stood and inhaled sharply through her dainty nose. This was it. She was meeting him in person. A part of her was nervous, but a part of her was excited — ready to finally meet the future head-on and see it through to the end, one way or another.

Nishti Kedo was as prepared as humanly possible, but there were still some things she couldn’t do on her own. She needed Bodhi Flinn. The American was the only way to put all the pieces of this puzzle together, and their best shot at stopping the collision course the world was on. Nishti had to make certain the information went public before The Company’s plan could come to fruition. She’d be damned before she witnessed the second fall of man.

Standing up from the computer, she stretched out her neck and performed a mental checklist. There was one hour before her face-to-face meeting with Bodhi Flinn; one hour before he learned the full truth of The Company’s agenda. If anyone saw, if anyone suspected — he’d immediately be implicated as an accomplice and his life would never be the same. Not that it mattered in the grand scheme of things. His life would be over anyway if The Company continued its rise. She was giving him a fighting chance.

October 14: The Chrysler Building, New York City: 8:20 p.m.

Bodhi Flinn was frozen in his chair. The Messenger wanted to meet… With urgency and in person. He was at a turning point. There was a decision to be made; would he follow The Messenger down the rabbit hole? The note he’d uncovered contained three words:

Lo Cristoforo 9

Cristoforo was Christopher Columbus’ real first name. Bodhi stared at the words on the screen, certain he knew what they meant. The Messenger wanted to meet in Columbus Circle, under the Christopher Columbus Statue at 9 p.m. He glanced nervously at his wristwatch — less than an hour to decide.

The Company was planning something. It had to do with their technology of the future — The Scancode. The device was built to consolidate world credit and allow for instant communication, something The Company had been after for decades. They had the product, but couldn’t perfect the transdermal technology needed for dispersal. Enter India, and their percutaneous RF-transmitting nanite ink.

Bodhi tapped his fingers on his desk. He couldn’t stop without hearing the whole story. There’d been enough questionable situations and information over his tenure to know some things weren’t adding up, and he couldn’t put this puzzle together on his own. He needed whatever information The Messenger could provide.

He took another look at his watch. Forty minutes to get to Columbus Circle. Bodhi went through the steps to wipe the hard drive on his dinosaur computer. He pulled on his overcoat and tossed his messenger bag over his shoulder before taking off into the brisk evening.

Columbus Circle was almost two miles from his office in the Chrysler Building. Normally, Bodhi would have taken a cab or the subway. Tonight, he chose to walk, hoping the cold October air would keep his wits in check. He needed to think, to decipher, to figure out what the hell this all meant. Plus, he didn’t want any records showing where he’d been, or who he’d met with. He checked the time again. The action had become a nervous tick. Thirty minutes left.

Bodhi quickened his pace, trying to stick close to large crowds, blending in so he didn’t appear to be walking alone. He could feel eyes on him as sure as he could see the city lights blinking in the night sky.

Someone was watching.

New Amsterdam Theatre was on his left. He disappeared through the double doors under the blinking marquee. Twenty-five minutes. The ticket taker was young, and not very pretty, with a splash of acne across her forehead and chin. Her hair was short and frizzy, and her eyes were set much too close together.

Bodhi wasn’t deterred. He was an expert at getting what he wanted out of people, and he knew exactly how to get under this girl’s skin. He leaned over the counter and smiled, motioning for her to do the same. She looked at him, unsure with her slanted, near-cyclops eyes, then awkwardly mimicked his movement.

He rubbed his hand down her shoulder, whispering in her ear, his mouth barely touching the corner of her cheek as he spoke, “I left my coat in the last show, can I sneak in and grab it? I’ll be quiet, I promise.”

The girl was speechless, her head bobbing up and down infinitesimally. He gave her a flirtatious smile, edging his way inside the theatre door.

Aladdin was on the stage in full braggadocious song, lying about his identity to a woman in order to trick her into falling in love with him. Bodhi crouched behind the back row of seats, slipping his messenger bag off his shoulder and rummaging around inside for his sunglasses. He poked the dark lenses out and gently pulled the coat off the seat in front of him, stowing away the contents of his bag in the interior pockets. Just as quickly as he’d ducked inside, Bodhi was back on the street. Now in a black wool jacket, glasses, and no messenger bag.

Fifteen minutes left, and one mile to Columbus Circle.

October 14: Time Warner Center, New York City: 8:45 p.m.

Nishti Kedo sipped her Argo Tea, carefully scanning the view of Columbus Circle below. It’d been a half-hour walk from the Americana on 38th to The J. Crew on the third floor of Time Warner Center. She carefully took inventory of the people on the street, checking pedestrians off her threat list as she observed.

Bodhi likely wouldn’t arrive until exactly 9 p.m. He’d use up time taking precautions to ensure he wasn’t followed. She would appreciate his diligence in that area; not having to train him would prove to be a blessing. There was much work to be done, and no time to be wasted.

Nishti watched a homeless man walk from Central Park to the bottom of the statue in the middle of the circle, his ragged coat spotted with holes and caked with grime. On her way into Time Warner, she’d found him asleep on a bench and tossed some coins into his cup. She’d also handed him a sack containing dinner, a prepaid handheld, a $100 bill, and a note.

Everywhere in New York City was too busy, with too many cameras. The Company would be waiting for her to contact Bodhi. She couldn’t risk being seen.

October 14: Central Park, New York City: 9:00 p.m.

The Messenger wasn’t there. Bodhi didn’t go directly to Columbus Circle. Instead, he stood on the side of the street, resting against the concrete wall dividing Central Park from the hustle and bustle of the city. There was no one standing beneath the statue. There was no one suspicious about. The hair on Bodhi’s neck stood on end.

Had it all been a trick?

His phone rang in his pocket and he scrambled to answer, the sound and vibration proof that he wasn’t ready to take on whatever this madness was. If a phone call made him jump, how would he ever confront the monster that was coming?

“Flinn,” he said into the line, his eyes still darting around the circle, until they fell on a homeless man sitting on the ground eating a sandwich, mayonnaise smeared across his dirty cheek.

“She said to meet her in the park,” the man said, hanging up without waiting for a response, and then laughing loud enough at his apparent good fortune that the raspy noise could be heard from across the street.

Well, at least Bodhi had learned something in the exchange. The Messenger was a she.

He sighed, but the decision was already made. Bodhi needed answers, and The Messenger had them. So, he didn’t waste any more time wondering. He pulled his overcoat close around him and disappeared into the dark of the park.

“Keep walking and don’t look around,” the voice came quickly, before he’d taken a dozen steps down the concrete path.

He obeyed. There was, truly, little choice in the matter. He was already in too deep; there was no turning back.

“Take the west exit and hail a cab,” she ordered.

He rolled his eyes, but followed her instructions without delay. A minute later, they were seated inside the back of a taxi, and he was finally able to take in the full sight of The Messenger. This woman, whom he’d been in contact with for months. This person, who’d turned his world upside down. She was younger than he thought she’d be, perhaps in her early twenties.

How had a girl like this gotten wrapped up in The Project?

“Where are we going?” he asked, but was shushed immediately with a hand wave and a severe look.

She was digging in his pockets, and the forwardness momentarily stunned him to inaction. By the time she’d located his phone and tossed it out the window, he’d come back to himself.

“What the hell?” He shoved her away.

“Not here,” she said again, in a hushed tone. “Weehawken,” she instructed the driver.

Bodhi sat back but said nothing, part of him seething over the casual loss of the phone, and the other part grateful that she’d had the wherewithal to do it. Of course The Company could be listening through his phone. Why had he even brought the thing? Habit? So stupid.

The ride across the river was quiet. When they arrived at the park in Weehawken, the girl paid the driver with a wad of cash. The cabbie sped off, leaving them alone in a dark green space overlooking the Hudson River. She started walking and Bodhi followed like a puppet on a string, or maybe a dog on a leash. The Messenger was tiny, nearly a foot shorter than Bodhi, but she held herself with a seriousness that even he couldn’t emulate. Her hair was pulled back in a severe bun and the light from her eyes had long since been extinguished.

“It works like a virus,” she said, foregoing any pleasantries and not even bothering to formally introduce herself.

“Who are you?” he asked, needing more information, while knowing she’d be loath to provide it.

“The Scancode,” she clarified without answering. “They’re not just introducing a technology of convenience. They’re going to infiltrate the minds of the users.”

He blinked in surprise. Not that he was taken aback by the words themselves. He’d suspected as much. But to hear her say it, so matter-of-factly… A chill worked its way up his spine and settled behind his ears.

“Within weeks of launch, the majority of Earth’s citizens will be under the complete control of The Company.”

“They’re making sentient weapons,” he said, all the details of the past few years finally clicking into place.

She nodded. “A forced coalescence between man and his handler.”

“To what end?” That was the one piece of the puzzle he hadn’t been able to figure out. Why?

She laughed sadly. “The reasons are always the same — money, power. If man has proved anything in his six-thousand years, it’s that he has an insatiable appetite, and he’ll never stop devouring on his own.”

They walked in silence for several steps, her words absorbing and breaking down and building back up all over again.

“India isn’t the only one,” she continued after a brief pause. “They’re the most active, but rest assured that America has a hand in this, too. Japan, Germany, France…all the major players.”

Alarm bells rang inside his head, all of his senses at full alert: the world governments were making a play to control the global population. Bodhi knew, based on his own job at The Company and the snippets of information he’d gleaned during his tenure, they might be too far down the path to stop it.

“Why are you telling me?” he finally asked, stopping so she’d be forced to wait. It was his way of exercising authority — taking control of something in a situation where everything felt chaotic and out of reach.

“Because you’re the only person we could find who has a reason to listen, and a motivation to help us shut it down.”

“Shut what down?”

“The Internet.”

He laughed. He couldn’t help it. The idea was absurd. It wasn’t like throwing a breaker or turning the lights out. Humanity had driven itself too far down the road of modernity to ever fully turn back. He gathered himself quickly. It was obvious she was offended by his lack of decorum.

“Sorry, it’s just…how would you even do that? It’s not like there’s a kill switch.”

“Well,” she said tartly, “it’s good to know we haven’t been wasting our time recruiting a complete idiot. At first glance, I thought you were too pretty to be smart.”

He frowned, slightly offended at the back-handed compliment. “How?” he asked, bringing her back to the point.

She sighed, shoving her hands in her coat pockets.

“The how doesn’t concern you. Just know that it’s going to happen.” She didn’t look at him when she said it, her eyes gazing over the river at the vast cityscape of New York. He wondered how many times she’d practiced this conversation and who may have coached her through it.

“What exactly do you need me for? Why are you telling me all this?”

When she finally turned to face him, he saw she was much older than he’d originally guessed. Her face wasn’t lined with wrinkles, but it was marked with a worry that wasn’t possible on someone younger — or it shouldn’t have been, at least.

“Watch this, then destroy it.” She passed him a thumb drive, and turned back to stare at the water once more.

He was glad she’d brought proof. There might have been an inkling inside of him, a wondering, after years of seeing things that didn’t quite add up. But that didn’t mean he was ready to play fast and loose with decisions that could cost him his life. The story might make sense, but he wasn’t in a rush to trust this stranger with no name.

“We need you to go back to work. Pretend like this conversation never happened, and keep your eyes open. We need data, and we have to move fast. You’re our only asset inside The Company.”

“I’m the only asset?” he repeated, dumbstruck at the enormity of the thing she was asking him to do. “It’s just the two of us, against…”

She laughed. “You’re the only asset in The Company, not the only asset there is. This effort is years in the making. As quickly as The Company’s been building, we’ve been working on the countermeasures necessary to stop them. But…” She shook her head, like the sudden show of vulnerability surprised her. “We may have waited too long to try and intervene. Looking for the right moment might have cost us everything. If we’re to stop this collision course we’re on, we have to move swiftly.”

“Who’s we?” he blurted, suddenly filled with more questions than he’d ever have time to ask. The idea shocked him, somehow, to know there was a network of people working against the monster that had been growing right beneath his nose.

“We call ourselves The Uprising. But the less you know, the better. Think of it like The Manhattan Project.”

He shook his head. “That is incredibly discomforting.”

She scoffed. “It means, if everyone only knows a part, then the whole can’t be stopped if one of us is caught.”

He swallowed hard. “And do you expect many of us to get caught?”

She turned back to the glittering skyline, like the answers might be found in the building lights reflecting off the water.

“The Company is going to launch The Scancode in a matter of months. If we don’t stop them, they’ll have a world full of people under their control. It’s not just a matter of turning off bank accounts or keeping citizens compliant. They can suggest you kill your wife, or your child, if they decide that’s what they want. They can make you do anything, be anyone. It will be the end of freedom. The end of humanity.” She threw her hands up in a sad, resigned gesture. “The end of everything.”

October 15: East Village Apartments, New York City: 7:00 a.m.

Bodhi woke with a splitting headache, and the distinct feeling that he was forgetting something important. He shook the thought away and went about his morning routine — brush teeth, a set of pushups and calisthenics, a quick shower, fresh clothes, granola for breakfast, and a cup of black coffee.

The commute to work went quicker than normal. There was no wait for the subway, and the crowd on the street seemed to part in front of him, all the pedestrians he normally had to fight through choosing to give him a wide berth.

Even the office felt different. The air was colder, and when he went inside, he felt eyes on him, like he was under a microscope. Glenn Anderson, the security guard working the entrance to The Company’s Manhattan high-rise, gave Bodhi an extra once-over, even going as far as checking his messenger bag and patting down his pockets.

On the elevator, one of his coworkers exited on the wrong floor, and when he actually got inside his office, Bodhi was greeted with a completely different computer from what had been sitting on his desk the day before. Interesting.

He picked up his phone, dialing the extension to his coworker, also the head of product design.

“Jean,” he asked the Frenchman whose office was next to his. “Did you get a new computer?” Bodhi leaned back in his chair so he could get a look at Jean through the heavy glass panes separating their offices.

Jean’s eyes went wide, and he mimed a stop action, his hand waving back and forth in front of his throat before hanging up the phone and typing furiously on his keyboard. Bodhi sat upright again.

Curious. He logged onto the host network, but the uncertainty of the computer, the looks from the security guard, even the reaction from the pedestrians on the street…it all worked together to create a pooling of dread in the pit of his stomach. Something was happening, something big. Bodhi just couldn’t be sure of what.

He did his work quickly, and escaped to the safety of the cafeteria for lunch, which did not feel safe at all. Jean was sitting at their usual table, and Bodhi joined him with a tray of chicken salad sandwiched between two slices of rye, something he’d done five days a week for more than a year. But the second he sat down, Jean left without a word.

The second half of the day wasn’t much better. Jean didn’t return to his desk at all, and Bodhi’s schedule was relegated to digital filing and scheduling logistics for the computer programmers. The dread feeling in his stomach grew heavier, and by the time he was supposed to clock out, Bodhi was near to a full-blown panic attack, anxiety creeping up his neck, jaw aching, hands shaking. He wanted to go home and try to sleep off the feeling. Even his skin was uncomfortable. It itched like a rash, and as the minutes ticked by, the feeling grew deeper, until Bodhi had to make a concerted effort not to claw at his arms and chest.

He took the subway home. The train didn’t stop, despite Bodhi knowing there were four stations between his office and his apartment. He locked the door behind him and rested his back against the wall. What the hell was going on? He slid to the floor, head between his knees to stave off the vomit threatening its way up his throat.

Something was very wrong, but it was like there was a lock on his mind. The information was there, but he had no power to access it. Something had happened. Something had changed. Bodhi just couldn’t remember what it was.

His phone beeped in his pocket. He left it at first, but the noise continued incessantly, refusing to be ignored. Bodhi relented, finally, pulling the device out of his pocket, only to realize it wasn’t his phone at all. It was a flip, an obsolete model that worked on analog technology. What the hell was going on?

He flipped the phone open, the message blinking twice before going out:

Lo Cristoforo 9

Bodhi stared at the blank screen, the words hanging in the air like an impression that refused to be erased. He knew what it meant, but couldn’t imagine who was contacting him, much less who might want to meet. But after the events of the day, he was undeniably curious.

He took extra care to get dressed. Something felt pivotal about the moment, like his life was about to go off-kilter one way or another, with no hope for things to ever be the same again. He wore a black shirt and jeans, somehow knowing he’d want to blend in, while also being able to lose himself in the darkness, if the need arose. Standard sneakers, a dark leather jacket, and his messenger bag, not because he needed it, but because carrying the thing made him feel less conspicuous, like the people on the street would see him and know he had a purpose beyond clandestine meetings and stifling anxiety.

October 15: Columbus Circle, New York City: 9:00 p.m.

Bodhi leaned against the concrete wall separating Columbus Circle from Central Park, watching the passersby for anyone who might stand out. No one looked familiar. No one piqued his interest. The little flip phone vibrated in his pocket, and he saw a homeless man with a sandwich bag and a smear of mayonnaise streaked across his face. The man was dirty, disheveled, and the sight of him with a cell phone pressed against his ear stood out like a sore thumb.

“She said to meet her in the park,” came a gravelly voice, muffled by the mouthful of ham on wheat.

Bodhi hung up the phone and followed the instructions, his hair standing on end, and chills working their way up his arms. Every step he took felt ominous, foreboding. His insides were screaming at him to leave, walk away, go back home and get in bed and pretend he never found that stupid little phone. But his body had a mind of its own. His body needed to know. His body wanted to solve the mystery; wanted to know who was trying to contact him, and why.

“Don’t turn around,” the voice behind him sounded too young to be wrapped up in…whatever this was. But he didn’t dare disobey. He continued walking, one hand on the strap of his messenger bag, and the other tucked into his pocket, trying to appear nonchalant.

“You know the drill. Exit west and call a cab,” she instructed, her tone clipped and anxious. Something about the way it wavered made him feel better about the entire situation. She was afraid, too.

Bodhi didn’t get a good look at the girl until they got into a taxi.

“Union City,” she told the driver.

They didn’t speak the entire way across the river, but Bodhi kept stealing glances her way. She was young, maybe in her early twenties, and of obvious Asian heritage. Her fingers fidgeted constantly with the buttons on her jacket and her rings. She was nervous.

When they’d crossed under the Lincoln Tunnel, the girl directed the cabbie to Old Glory Park, and paid the man in cash before leading Bodhi down a path swathed in darkness.

October 15: Union City, New Jersey: 9:30 p.m.

“I was worried,” Nishti said, once she’d gotten Bodhi to a place on the trail that was sufficiently lined with trees. She’d unleashed the tiny EMP in her pocket the second the cab pulled off. Hopefully, it was enough.

Bodhi frowned, taking in her features like he hadn’t seen her before. “Have we…”

Her eyes went wide. Someone had gotten to him after their meeting, before he’d gotten to his apartment, but they didn’t know who.

Had he only been threatened, or had he been compromised in some other way?

She had to know. Bodhi Flinn was their only asset inside The Company. They needed him. So, it was decided that Nishti would meet him again to assess the situation. Either Bodhi could still be trusted, or she would be forced to pull the plug.

But this? Him not remembering her at all? She hadn’t been prepared for this. Chills crept up her spine, and she reached for the holster at the small of her back, her fingers circling over the grip of her handgun. It gave her a sense of relief to feel the cool metal against her skin.

Bodhi clocked the motion, his eyes darting from her face to her hand and back again. In that moment, she knew they were too late. His pupils were blown wide. Instead of black, they were red, and shone like rubies under lamplight, despite the darkness surrounding them.

She ran, pulling the gun as she went, but Bodhi was on her within two strides. Nishti fell, her knees digging into the gravel, ripping her jeans and causing her to drop the weapon. It slid away, just out of reach. She turned to her back and he was on top of her, hands around her throat, squeezing the life from her before she could even scream.

It was the worst-case scenario. The thing they knew would happen one day, but had hoped and prayed for more time before it was possible. The Uprising would lose without the help of someone inside The Company; Bodhi Flinn had been the best choice. The only choice.

Instead, he had been activated; unleashed on her in this Godforsaken park in New Jersey — no one around to hear her fight, or yell, or cry.

Nishti wasn’t strong enough to throw him off, and the gun was out of reach. So, this was it. She supposed it was a better end than what would come when the rest of the world fell to the machinations of The Company. At least she wouldn’t have to watch as humanity burned.

She slapped ineffectually at Bodhi’s arms and chest, but he only grunted and pushed harder against her throat. Her windpipe was going to be crushed. She knew it before it happened, but there was nothing to be done. His strong hands clenched tighter and her airway was cut off. She clawed at his ears, at his eyes, at his chest, trying and failing to find a pressure point weak enough to make him release. Nothing worked.

Bodhi’s face was carefully blank through the entire ordeal, like he was bored with reruns on a television show; like it wasn’t him committing murder at all. The pressure on Nishti’s chest felt like lead, and her face itched and stung with the captured blood flow. Her heart was beating so hard she could feel it in her skin and hear it roaring in her ears like a freight train. Spit dripped off her lips as she choked and tried to retch, her body making a last-ditch effort at survival. Tears leaked from her eyes and she had the insane thought to be embarrassed that she’d wet herself. And then it was over, and everything went quiet. For one still moment, she existed without pain or fear.

It wasn’t just the death of Nishti Kedo. It was the death of the world as she knew it.

If The Company was far enough along that they could infect an employee on a lark, then they were far enough along to start on the general population. Most likely, it was already underway.

Bodhi Flinn was humanity’s last hope, and he’d been compromised — forged into a sentient weapon for the sole use of his maker. No one would be safe from what was coming. Nishti’s eyes blinked closed, her last macabre thought: how glad she was that she wouldn’t be around to see it.

The Coalescence is a part of a larger project called Sentient Weapons, presented by Nikole Callihan and The Fellowship of the Indie Author. Eleven stories. Eleven imaginations. One extraordinary theme. Tales from the Fellowship of the Indie Author: Volume II — Sentient Weapons brings together eleven original short stories from independent authors, spanning science fiction, fantasy, adventure, and horror. From the grim-coated alleyways of overpopulated cities to the untamed wilderness of extraordinary worlds, these tales explore the strange relationship between creator and creation, wielder and weapon, power and consequence. For when a weapon can think, remember, or choose, the line between master and servant begins to disappear. The weapon may be sentient. But who is truly in control?

Secret Coran-Stacy is an author, artist, and entrepreneur living the dream as a middle-class suburbanite in Central Arkansas. Her debut novel, the gritty, historical fiction fantasy, BETTE DONOVAN and the Battle for Wyoming is available for purchase here. She also has an extremely relatable work of woman’s fiction, called The Facts of Life — a five-book romance series. The first title, Life in the Quiet, can be picked up here. Find out more about Secret and her writing projects and artistic endeavors by visiting www.srstacy.com

Tiffani Sahara’s slow-burn romantasy is a return to the purist ideals of romance-infused fantastical fiction without losing itself to hyper-sexualized themes. A Songbird’s Tale is a soft song sang in the background that takes over by the story’s climax without you ever having realized it got the slightest bit louder.

A powerful coming-of-age story that manages to keep you on the edge of your seat while sweeping you off your feet at the exact same time. It’s hard-hitting while maintaining a soft hand. It’s fast-paced despite the slow burn. It’s an epic tale that zeroes in on a small thing blooming between two people who never saw it coming.

Jaren is a failed hero. Once a venerated warrior, he’s been living in solitude for a decade after having suffered the horrible loss of his entire monster-hunting crew, including his brother and sister-in-law. Jaren didn’t only leave the battle with emotional scars, he was also blinded. His guilt and shame have kept him from being able to move on past what happened to the people he loved. Day after day, year after year, spent in purposeful solitude, Jaren’s only companion in this new and lonely existence, is a small songbird.

The Indie Book Club

When a powerful fae demands Jaren face his past failures and go to battle once more against the beast who cost him his family and his eyesight, Jaren refuses. What can a blind man do to thwart an enemy that strong? But the fae won’t take no for an answer, and when Jaren digs his heels in, the magical creature asks for a volunteer to go in his stead.

To Jaren’s surprise, Songbird agrees to the task and is immediately granted her request. The fae turns the tiny bird into a human woman, who is way too confident and happy when she has absolutely no idea how the real world works. Jaren feels responsible for the fate of Songbird and reluctantly agrees to join her on her quest.

Jaren once lived the thrilling life of an adventurer, saving the innocent and slaying foul monsters all across Tigraen. But now, blind and haunted by past failures, he ekes out a lonely existence as a hermit in the forest. His only companion is a tiny, loyal songbird.

Fate is not finished with Jaren.

An ancient demon is rising to power once more; a demon Jaren believed defeated. Fueled by sacrificial offerings from a fanatic cult, the demon’s dark influence grows. If no one stops the cult from unleashing it, Tigraen will be consumed by war and hellfire.

Desperate to save his forests, a wild fey implores Jaren to recommence his life as a hero — for only Jaren holds the key to the demon’s defeat. This quest would be nearly impossible for an entire group of warriors, let alone a single blind man. But Jaren is not eager to revisit the darkest parts of his past.

With Jaren reluctant to take the quest, the fey transforms the little songbird into a beautiful maiden to send in Jaren’s stead. Armed with more curiosity than common sense, a naïve but determined Songbird is unwavering in her quest to vanquish the demon and save Tigraen.

Jaren is thrown into an impossible predicament — let Songbird charge forth alone to certain death or join her and take up his sword once more. Jaren will have to risk not just his life but his heart as well if he hopes to be victorious this time around. Can a broken warrior and a hopeful Songbird slay the demon and save the day, or are they fated to ruin and heartache?

Final Thoughts:

A Songbird’s Tale is a phenomenal take on fantasy romance by Tiffani Sahara. It’s sweet in places and endearing enough to reach a reader who desires a little more emotion in their epic fantasy stories, while maintaining the action and elevated atmosphere necessary to tell a truly inspired epic fantasy tale. It is what most fantasy stories that include a romantic subplot hope to achieve. Most fall short, but A Songbird’s Tale walks the knife’s edge between these two worlds in a way that other authors could learn from. It’s a fantastic story, and I can’t wait to read more.

Good for me (and you) there is, indeed, more. Although A Songbird’s Tale is Tiffani Sahara’s only full-length novel at current, the world in which A Songbird’s Tale resides does have two other book series available that you can check out, here. And Tiffani Sahara herself also has two novellas in the same universe called, Of Festivals and Fey, and Of Dwarves and Dragons and a short story, Of Silver Wolves and Songbirds.

A Songbird’s Tale is a make you laugh, make you cry, keep you page-turning til the end kind of epic fantasy, and just as you think you’ve got the whole story figured out, it hits you in the gut, harder than you thought possible for a tiny little Songbird.

Secret Coran-Stacy is an author, artist, and entrepreneur living the dream as a middle-class suburbanite in Central Arkansas. She writes books under the pen name SR Stacy. Her debut novel, the gritty, historical fiction fantasy, BETTE DONOVAN and the Battle for Wyoming is available for purchase here. She also has an extremely relatable work of woman’s fiction, called The Facts of Life — a five-book romance series. The first title, Life in the Quiet, can be picked up here. Find out more about Secret and her writing projects and artistic endeavors by visiting www.srstacy.com

The Eldritch Knight comes in like a whisper and builds into a storm. K.W. Bussard’s poetic fantasy debut is a beautifully written story, told patiently in a poetic cadence that allows the setting to develop into a character all its own.

Caelan is a magical orphan, taken from his family and forced into hiding at birth. Magic is illegal, and King Aldric will kill anyone suspected of practicing the dark art.

Lysandra’s mother is a healer and is taken by the king’s guards when they suspect her of practicing magic. Lysandra wanders the world for weeks, trying to figure out how to find and save her mother. But when her investigation turns up no clues, she decides on a different path, one that has her infiltrating the enemy’s ranks, and burning their organization down from within.

10 Minute Reads: Alchemised

The Eldritch Knight is an origin story, setting the stage for a collision when the two protagonists finally meet (presumably in book two). Told in a “not this, but that” poetic cadence that feels comforting and nostalgic. The world built around Caelan and Lysandra is full of life lessons and thought-provoking moral dilemmas.

“Magic is not something you command. It’s something you join.”

Refusing to be rushed, The Eldritch Knight operates on its own time, with its own pace, and the reader becomes a willing slave to the slow-burning narrative weaving its way through Caelan and Lysandra’s coming-of-age. It doesn’t boil, it simmers; developing into a slow-rolling ripple that grows into a wave, poised to crash at the start of the next installment in the series.

One tragic night shattered a kingdom. In the birthing chamber, a darkness older than time reached through the veil, faltering the magic meant to save a queen. Grief consumed King Aldric Ravenmark, but the shadow fed that grief into fear — and fear into law. Magic was outlawed. Its wielders silenced. The realm ruled by dread.

Years later, two lives rise against that reign. One, a boy marked at birth with a sigil from a time before the kingdom. The other, a girl driven by vengeance and the desperate search for her imprisoned mother. Their paths move ever closer to the throne and to the darkness that commands it.

Set in a world where myth bleeds into memory, The Eldritch Knight begins an epic saga of loss and discovery, vengeance and destiny. It is the first entry in The Ashen Throne Saga, an expansive fantasy universe exploring the cost of power, the burden of legacy, and the light that endures even in ruin.

Final thoughts:

The Eldritch Knight is like drinking a warm cup of coffee on a cold day, while you watch a Lord of the Rings reenactment narrated by Sam Elliot. It’s poetic in the right ways, and thoughtful in the right ways, digging out a place for itself at the intersection of epic fantasy and cozy literary fiction.

K.W. Bussard is an artist and a writer of epic fantasy. In addition to The Eldritch Knight, he also has a prequel novella called The First Glimpse available for purchase. Find out more about his current projects, here.

Secret Coran-Stacy is an author, artist, and entrepreneur living the dream as a middle-class suburbanite in Central Arkansas. She writes books under the pen name SR Stacy. Her debut novel, the gritty, historical fiction fantasy, BETTE DONOVAN and the Battle for Wyoming is available for purchase here. She also has an extremely relatable work of woman’s fiction, called The Facts of Life — a five-book romance series. The first title, Life in the Quiet, can be picked up here. Find out more about Secret and her writing projects and artistic endeavors by visiting www.srstacy.com

First of all, the cover for The Artist is gorgeous, and I always judge a book by its cover. The black background and distorted, burning face is a hauntingly beautiful depiction of torment that stays with you, even if you decide not to read the story.

What AJ manages to capture in ninety-three riveting pages, is a soul and mind in crisis. Through the deeply flawed protagonist, Arthur, we get a glimpse of what happens when you decide to let just a little darkness in — when you compromise your morals and integrity for the benefit of the short-term, with no thought to the complexities you’re creating for your future.

Arthur Brennan is an artist, and a damn good one. He’s talented and full of ideas and a desire to learn and be the best he can be. Told in a series of vignettes, The Artist follows Arthur’s rise and fall, from a bright-eyed art student to a man at the top of his professional game, and everything it cost him to get there.

Thomas Jefferson and the Tripoli Pirates

Some gifts should never be tested.

Arthur Brennan could paint the truth in a human face. It was more than talent. It was a gift — one that brought beauty into the world and meaning into his life.

Then a woman asked him a question that changed everything.

“But don’t you find beauty… limiting?”

Three years later, Arthur stands alone in his SoHo studio, surrounded by paintings that made him famous and a fortune that cost him everything. Tonight he will try one more time to paint the only face that ever mattered. Tonight he will find out what his gift has become.

Short, choppy sentences and sentence fragments lend to Arthur’s chaotic frame of mind without sacrificing readability. AJ Rhino managed to capture a juxtaposition of humanity that is often glossed over, if it’s seen at all. People are complicated, and no matter what they achieve, they’re rarely satisfied.

Arthur met his goals; he succeeded. He did the impossible in a career that doesn’t pay well and rarely offers accolades. And still…it wasn’t enough.

Arthur, like most of us, gives into the titillating pull of darkness, despite knowing happiness resides in the light. His excuses for why are plenty — he needed to provide a better life for his wife, he needed to move to a better area. But his real reason is validation. Arthur needed to feel powerful, important. So, he sold his soul.

Unfortunately for Arthur, his soul isn’t the only debt collected.

Final thoughts:

The Artist is a home run, and easily my favorite novella of the year. Dark, desperate, and deliciously different, AJ Rhino is one to watch! Not only does he nail a concept that that is often overlooked, he does so with excellent attention to detail. The plot and pacing flow, the story itself is well written, and the formatting is top-notch— grammar, prose, and style are all on point. I picked up the eBook with some of my Kindle points, but I will absolutely be adding the hard copy to my library at my earliest convenience, and you should too.

AJ Rhino has more books in this short-story collection that you can check out, here. (I definitely will be reading more from this author.) He is also an artist, and you can take a look at his paintings and other offerings, here.

Secret Coran-Stacy is an author, artist, and entrepreneur living the dream as a middle-class suburbanite in Central Arkansas. Her debut novel, the gritty, historical fiction fantasy, BETTE DONOVAN and the Battle for Wyoming is available for purchase here. She also has an extremely relatable work of woman’s fiction, called The Facts of Life — a five-book romance series. The first title, Life in the Quiet, can be picked up here. Find out more about Secret and her writing projects and artistic endeavors by visiting www.srstacy.com

Virtual Rebel by JZ Pitts is easily one of the best indie books I’ve gotten my hands on this year. This fast-paced, action-packed YA dystopian sci-fi is full of things to like.

I picked up this book off a recommendation from a friend. I am admittedly skeptical of most YA books and their suitability for more mature readers. Often, it’s hard to please an older adult audience with a cast of characters who are half their age. However, despite my initial reservations, I was beyond pleased with this story.

The book’s protagonist, Ava, is a great representation of a strong, young, female lead. She’s tough, resourceful, and smart. (Mostly.) Ava is a paraplegic in the “real world” and is confined to a wheelchair. But, when she plugs into the virtual reality of The Haven, she is whoever she wants to be. Ava trains in combat and the magical arts and she’s a formidable avatar across multiple games in the Haven.

Earth has been ruled by the ungulithi for seventy years, oppressing the people and forcing them into isolation, only allowing humans to gather in groups in the virtual reality world made for them. When Ava’s father is accused of terrorism and arrested, her mother loses herself to drinking and depression. Ava has to fill the gap. She is forced into the role of caretaker for her younger sisters and is the only person in the family possessing the wherewithal to figure out a way to help her father.

10 Minute Reads: The Manchurian Candidate

There was so much to like in this story. The protagonist is a great representation of physical disability without feeling like it’s pushing an agenda onto the reader. The plot is mature enough to appeal to an older audience and easy enough to understand to appeal to young adult readers. I have a book club with my kids, and I am always in search of stories I can read with them. My sixteen-year-old son loved Virtual Rebel. (His official review: This was amazing, but the bit with the spider was a little over the top. Haha!)

Something not always discussed in indie publishing is the formatting. Virtual Rebel is a beautiful book, from the cover to the chapter heads and all of the font size and spacing in between. It not only has some of the best indie writing I’ve experienced, it’s also a work of art with some of the best design elements I’ve seen in an indie produced book.

Every level is a test. Every monster, a challenge. It’s not a game anymore.

Teenage parapalegic Ava McNealy craves one thing: to escape real life. Conquering worlds in The Haven, a massive virtual reality program, is easier than dealing with real-world oppressive alien overlords.

But when her father is arrested as a rebel, Ava’s reality is shattered. And when a mysterious figure from her dad’s secret past appears, she must face a dangerous truth — and an impossible choice.

The Haven is not safe anymore.

Every move she makes inside the system has real-world consequences. Enemies are no longer NPCs. They are watching, hunting, and determined to keep their secrets buried.

This isn’t about leveling up anymore. It’s now a war for survival.

And in real life, there’s no respawn.

Enter the game. Join the rebellion.

Final thoughts:

Virtual Rebel is an excellent science fiction debut from JZ Pitts. The plot, the prose, the pacing — all well done from beginning to end. And best of all, it’s a book that crosses multiple demographics; men, women, and teens can all enjoy the story.

JZ also has a novella out called The Christmas Demon, which I will not read because I hate being afraid, but you should absolutely check out. It’s available here. For more information about JZ Pitts’ current and future projects, visit his link tree.

Secret Coran-Stacy is an author, entrepreneur, artist, and philanthropist living the dream as a middle-class suburbanite in Central Arkansas. Her debut novel, BETTE DONOVAN and the Battle for Wyoming is available for purchase here. Find out more about Secret and her writing projects and aratistic endeavors by visiting www.srstacy.com

The land of Moncroix is run by vampires. But not every creature hiding in the realm is created equal. There are witches, and ghouls hiding in the woods, and there is also a single human who has infiltrated the highest levels of the vampiric ranks — Davion.

Every aspect of the world Asher created lends to an immersive experience. The illustrations are dark and hauntingly beautiful, the cover is intriguingly gorgeous, and the story itself is not just well-paced, it’s well-written, well-thought out, and well-executed.

In a world where fantasy stories have been overtaken by the romance genre, The Fear of Moncroix uses its vampiric claws to scratch out a principal place for itself amongst a sea of fantastical similarity.

10 Minute Reads: The Manchurian Candidate

Where some authors lose themselves in lore and world-building, Asher gets to the point and stays there. Coming in at 250-printed pages, The Fear of Moncroix is on the shorter end of the fantasy spectrum, which I found to be a breath of fresh air amongst other titles that are bloated with unnecessary details and overly wordy prose.

All the Waywards have Fallen…

After a mission against the Royal Vampiric Court goes horribly wrong, all of the Waywards are slaughtered.

All except one.

Davion, the last surviving member, must consume potions to mask himself and hide amongst the very people who killed his brethren. After a decade of living this double-life, Davion has resigned himself to his new purgatory. But all will not remain calm for him or the Court.

An unknown swordsman arrives, and after killing several Royal Vampires, rumor spreads that he’s searching for anyone still belonging to The Wayward order.

Davion decides he must track down this mysterious swordsman. But will finding him bring freedom or his own demise.

Filled with action, adventure, and political intrigue, The Fear of Moncroix is fun in the right ways, gripping in the right places, and intriguing to the right readers.

Asher writes action scenes as well as anyone, combined with his ability to absorb his reader into his world of chaos and darkness, makes The Fear of Moncroix read like a Ted Dekker novel. The language, storyline, and visual stimulation easily place it amongst my favorite indie-published books.

I picked this up in a free sale on Kindle last week, and I was totally judging it by the cover — beautiful and haunting, and something I wanted to read before I even know what it was about. I immediately downloaded and got to to work. Since finishing, I’ve already put in the order for the paperback to add to my collection, because not only does Bryan Asher manage a brilliantly engaging story, but he does also so without any explicit language, or sexual themes. If there’s one thing I love more than finding incredible stories, it’s finding incredible stories I can share with my kids. My sixteen-year-old son is going to love this book, and I’m going to love getting to hear his thoughts and talk to him about it once he’s finished.

Overall, I found The Fear of Moncroix to be incredibly engaging, with a fast-paced plot and a quick hook that had me wishing for more by the time I turned the final page. There isn’t a follow-up, but Asher does promise that this is not the end of Davion’s adventures. (I will be awaiting that release wtih bated breath.) While we’re waiting, Asher has several other books available for purchase. Check the rest of his stories out, here. He also has a serial you can subscribe to, here.

Final thoughts:

The Fear of Moncroix was an excellent read. If you like fantasy books that don’t waste time with exhaustive world-building efforts and the muck and mire of hyper-sexualized storylines, this book is the ticket.

Secret Coran-Stacy is an author, entrepreneur, artist, and philanthropist living the dream as a middle-class suburbanite in Central Arkansas. Her debut novel, BETTE DONOVAN and the Battle for Wyoming is available for purchase here. Find out more by visiting www.srstacy.com

Murder, Mess, and the Tangerine Dress is a fun, witty, paranormal whodunnit that reads more like a low-stakes cozy mystery you’d curl up on the couch with on a cold weekend. Lynn Rankin-Esquer finds a solid stride in this entertaining series debut.

I picked this book up last year during Indie Pit (Sidenote: Indie Pit is an excellent event, check them out on Twitter.) and started reading it on a weekend when I was in the mood for something easy and cozy. I’d just finished reading several sci-fi and fantasy stories and I was craving something simple. My first big surprise was that MM&TTD is not just a murder mystery; it’s a paranormal murder mystery. As a reader with a strange aversion to time travel and ghost stories, I was immediately skeptical that this book could hold my interest, or that it would be too campy or childish.

I was pleasantly surprised!

The writing is sharp, the characters are fun and witty, and the storyline is interesting. I was immediately pulled into the world of sibling drama, work-place chaos, and strained family dynamics.

Rankin-Esquer does a great job drawing the reader in, which isn’t always an easy task in a cozy-mystery, where the stories tend to be slower-paced and have a tendency to teeter on the knife’s edge of boring. Not the case for MM&TTD, which was hard to put down once I got started.

“Izzy Bishop’s life is messy. Her house is chaotic, she’s headed for divorce, and she’s almost out of money. So, when Type-A-sister-boss Lauren’s organizing company hires her, Izzy vows to purge the past, master her organizing, and create a sparkling future… if only she can keep her pesky extrasensory abilities under control.

Not a chance!

When Izzy picks up her client Joanna’s tangerine dress, she receives a message from Joanna’s dead husband that someone is trying to kill his wife. Despite Lauren’s warning to keep her psychic silliness filed away, Izzy has no choice but to investigate.

Izzy soon discovers that everyone around Joanna has secrets, and someone is willing to go to any length to keep their dirty laundry hidden. Faking it as an organizer could get her fired, but faking it as an investigator could get her killed. If Izzy can’t figure it out quickly, she’s likely to be both. Although fired doesn’t really matter if you’re dead.”

Izzy Bishop is a hilariously flawed protagonist. She has trouble with her marriage, trouble as a mom, trouble with her relationship with her sister, and lots and lots of trouble at her job. She isn’t the most organized person anyway, not with her home, and not with her lifestyle. Izzy is a tad scatter-brained, and that leads to plenty of issues at work as well as at home.

She’s estranged from her husband, who’s been living in Paris, and her relationship with her son is lukewarm. (He’s not just a hormonal teenage boy; he also blames his mom for his dad leaving.) Izzy’s job is laughable. She’s great at dealing with people, but her skills as a cleaner and organizer are mediocre at best.

10 Minute Reads: Alchemised. A summary and review of SenLinYu’s… | by Secret Stacy | Medium

It’s relatable in an almost scary way, because Izzy has been wife-ing and mom-ing for years and she doesn’t have much work-place experience. Her situation speaks to the internalized fear of stay-at-home moms whose identities are wrapped up in their kids and spouses. When the kids grow up, or when the husband moves on, what’s left for the woman whose soul job has been to make sure the world keeps spinning? Well, now she has to keep it spinning, and figure out a 9–5 with no experience, and no resume. And that, folks, is scarier than being able to talk to ghosts.

Izzy’s sister, Lauren, is ready to help her sister out — kind of. Her organizing business, Organization Out of Chaos (OOC) is on the up and coming and she can use the help. Only, Izzy’s “help” ends up constantly requiring more work for Lauren. So, she’s not only at odds with her husband and her son, the stress at work is mounting up as well. (She gets fired for her hijinks… Repeatedly.)

The paranormal aspect of MM&TTD is less of a hoaky supernatural gag and more of a Long Island Medium meets Hoarders sort of vibe, wherein Izzy has feelings and visions of people who are deceased and she’s able to give some sort of closure to her organization clients. When it comes to one of her and Lauren’s largest customers, Joanna, Izzy ends up being able to channel Joanna’s dead husband when she picks up Joanna’s wedding dress.

Thomas, Joanna’s dead husband, is certain someone is trying to kill his wife, and is begging for Izzy to help. But he refuses to give any real clues. Izzy assumes this to mean that Thomas wants Joanna protected without the would-be murderer being revealed. Izzy immediately zeros in on Thomas’ kids, who would benefit financially if Joanna were to pass away. When no one believes her, Izzy’s forced to take matters into her own hands.

MM&TTD features a fun ensemble cast, and the subplots work together nicely to give you a well-rounded story and character arcs.

In a refreshing change from most murder mysteries of modern-day, there is not much of a romantic sub-plot. At one point, Izzy meets who she thinks could be her soulmate, but she (very responsibly) admits that since she is technically still married, (she and her husband are separated but not yet divorced) and dealing with some family drama concerning her son, it isn’t the right time for her to be dating. By the end of the story, when things are starting to resolve, Izzy does look toward the future, but it’s with a slow and purposeful lens, and makes the reader root for her and her happiness even more.

Where most authors would toss as many grenades on the pile as possible, I found the relationship restraint with Izzy Bishop to be a nice change of pace.

Overall, I found Murder, Mess, and the Tangerine Dress to be fun, and entertaining. It has an easy-to-follow storyline, with a to-the-point plot that I devoured in almost a single sitting. I would absolutely read another book by this author. (She has several, check them all out here.)

Final Thoughts:

This was a very fun read, and if you enjoy cozy reads like This is What Happy Looks Like by Jennifer Smith, or paranormal mysteries such as Gayle Foreman’s, If I Stay, then you’d probably enjoy Murder, Mess, and the Tangerine Dress.

Secret Coran-Stacy is an author, entrepreneur, artist, and philanthropist living the dream as a middle-class suburbanite in Central Arkansas. Her debut novel, BETTE DONOVAN and the Battle for Wyoming is available for purchase here. Find out more by visiting www.srstacy.com

Helena Marino is a healer in Paladin, one that is important to her side of the war because she doesn’t just heal with medicine, she heals with internal powers. Helena is a vivimancer, which means she can share her life force, enabling her to heal others quickly and efficiently. Using vivimancy is looked down on by Paladins because those who have the power to heal with their own life force, can also bring people back to life — a shadow of them anyway. This practice is called, necromancy, and because the Paladins are in a bitter war against the Necromancers, people like Helena are stuck in a strange, in-between. The Paladins need her, but they also resent her.

Helena’s main duty is to keep Luc Holdfast alive. Luc is her best friend, and the leader of the Paladins. He is prophesied to win the war, so long as his people don’t revert to dark means. So, when Helena uses necromancy to save Luc’s life on a mission, she is shunned by the Paladins and Luc himself, causing her to become emotionally unstable and isolated.

Kaine Ferron was born and raised in darkness. His father, Atreus Ferron, has always been on the Holdfast’s opposing side, no matter what the fight. The Ferrons are famous for their ironworks, a metal that the Paladins generally find beneath them. Over the decades, the Ferrons become rich and most of Paladin is built with their iron. When a famous Necromancer, Morrough, rises to power, Atreus Ferron joins his side. Morrough promises riches and immortality to his most loyal followers once the Holdfasts are overthrown.

But Morrough is no hero. His immortality is really a way he’s devised to make himself unkillable and more powerful than anyone else on Earth. He places a portion of his own bones in his followers through a corrupt, alchemical procedure. They become Undying, not alive, but not able to be killed by regular means. Morrough pretends this is a reward, but he is able to siphon power from them by their bone connection, making himself even more untouchable. When Atreus Ferron fails to end the war with the Holdfasts quickly, Morrough punishes him by taking his soul and placing it inside a dead body. Atreus is no longer an Undying. He’s now a Lichen, a zombie-like creature holding onto a shadow of his former power. He blames his son, Kaine, for his wife’s death and his own undoing.

10 Minute Reads: Behold the Dreamers | by Secret Stacy | Medium

Kaine’s mother fell severely ill in childbirth, but she actually died because Morrough tortured her in an effort to make Kaine loyal to his cause. Kaine joined Morrough’s ranks because he was trying to save his mother. Once she’s killed, he decides to burn Morrough’s cause to the ground. He reaches out to the Order of the Eternal Flame, Luc Holdfast’s organization. He offers to become a spy for them. He knows he will not survive the war, but he plans to make sure Morrough doesn’t either. He knows the Eternal Flame will never believe he wants to switch sides without a motive they can see and understand. So, he lies. He asks for a specific female handler, someone he remembers from his time schooling at the Institute. He asks for Helena Marino. Kaine knows the Eternal Flame will think his reason for asking for her is that he has feelings for her. He wants them to think they can manipulate him, that this girl can get him under her control. It’s the only way they’ll ever trust him or his information.

Kaine and Helena begin to meet in secret twice a week to exchange information. Helena is the only person unaware that Kaine isn’t meant to survive the war. Kaine thinks it’s funny that she could live through so much hardship and still be so naive. She heals him when he’s injured, and he trains her, so she isn’t a liability. He realizes that no one is looking after Helena, and it starts to make him angry. Part of his arrangement with the Eternal Flame is that they agreed to keep her safe. No matter that he didn’t actually care what happened to her originally, he doesn’t like being lied to. Since he doesn’t trust the Eternal Flame to do it, Kaine starts to look after Helena on his own.

The Eternal Flame believe it's time to get rid of Kaine Ferron. His influence over Helena is obvious, and they don’t like it. They try to orchestrate a situation in which the Eternal Flame will win a large battle and Kaine dies in the process. Helena doesn’t know any of this. The Eternal Flame wins the battle, and Kaine is punished by Morrough, who carves an alchemical symbol of personality traits into Kaine’s bones, meant to make him more loyal to the Necromancer’s cause.

Helena is horrified at Kaine’s post-battle injuries and is able to save him, but in doing so, she is forced to use a powerful artifact — The Stone of the Heavens. Kaine’s personality sharpens around the eight traits Morrough carved into him — calculating, cunning, devoted, determined, ruthless, unfailing, unhesitating, and unyielding. But because of Helena’s devotion to Kaine, and her selfless use of the Stone to heal him, those traits don’t zero in on Morrough or his cause, they zero in on Helena.

Over the next year, Helena and Kaine’s relationship of handler and spy morphs into something else entirely. He is the only person that knows her fully and accepts her as she is. She is the same for him. They find peace and safety in one another despite the chaos growing around them. They fall deeply in love, vowing that when the war ends, they’ll escape together.

The war is nearing a close, and Kaine has made arrangements to get Helena to safety. Part of their plan involves rescuing Luc Holdfast’s girlfriend, Lila, who is pregnant with his child. Kaine succeeds, but his cover is blown in the process. Helena refuses to leave Kaine behind. She attempts to cover-up Kaine’s treason but is captured while doing so. She kills hundreds of Undying in the process and alters her own memories to erase Kaine from them, so when she is interrogated, they won’t know he is the last remaining member of the Order of the Eternal Flame.

Helena is placed in a stasis tank for over a year. Her transfer papers are lost, and there is no record of her as prisoner. Meanwhile, Kaine tears the world apart searching for her. He knows she isn’t dead. He’d be able to feel it. He doesn’t give up, but he also doesn’t find her.

Fourteen months after the end of the war, Helena is found in a warehouse with hundreds of other female combatants who were captured during the final battle. Morrough finally has a use for them. He needs more alchemists, and more power, and he plans to breed the women who survived the war in order to achieve his aim. Helena is given to the High Reeve, Morrough’s most loyal soldier. She’s horrified to find that she knows him. She even went to school with him for several years. Morrough’s most loyal solder, the High Reeve, is Kaine Ferron.

Kaine has been hunting down any remaining members of the Eternal Flame. He kills them so they can’t be taken back to be used as slaves. Really, the entire operation has been a cover so he would be free to look for Helena. When he finally learns she’s been kept in a stasis tank for over a year, he’s beside himself. He was supposed to protect her, but he’s failed at every turn.

He positions himself to be given Helena as his prisoner. Morrough knows she’s hiding memories and he wants Kaine to get them for him. Since the war ended, someone has been hunting down and killing his army of Undying soldiers. It’s made him weak and vulnerable. He suspects there is a spy in his ranks and that Helena’s memories are the key to figuring out their identity. Kaine keeps Helena for a year and is forced to treat her terribly because Morrough is monitoring his house and Helena’s memories. He is forced by Morrough to cut off her powers and to rape her, which leads to Helena getting pregnant.

Helena’s pregnancy heals her memories, meaning, their time is up. Kaine has no choice but to get her to a safe location. Kaine makes plans for Helena’s departure, but because he still has a piece of Morrough’s bone in his arm, he won’t be able to leave with her. Morrough will look for him, and since he’s tied to Morrough, he can always be found.

Helena finds a way to split Kaine from Morrough, but it will take the sacrifice of a willing soul. Kaine has given up hope that he and Helena will have a life together after the war, but Helena is able to convince Kaine’s father, Atreus Ferron, to sacrifice his soul for his son. Morrough is weakened to the point of no return and eventually killed.

Kaine and Helena escape, reuniting with Lila and her son, Apollo. Helena forgives Kaine for the things he did during the war, but Kaine has a hard time accepting that she can still love him after everything. Their road to recovery is never-ending. They forgive and accept one another, but their bodies and minds are forever altered by the sacrifices they made to win the war.

Kaine and Helena are forced to raise their daughter, Enid, in isolation. They both did terrible things during the war, and if they were ever found out, they would be hunted down and killed. When Enid is grown, she is accepted to the Institute, the same school her parents went to. She goes, but the success is bittersweet, because she knows about the heavy sacrifices that were made so she’d have the right to learn, and she’s devastated that no one else does.

SenLinYu’s debut novel is deliciously dark, but it isn’t daunting. Perhaps that’s the biggest achievement of the book, being able to pull a reader in and keep them there for 1,024 pages without it feeling like a chore. The pacing is fast, despite the story being slow. The layers of their characters are formed over like an onion, and as the writer pulls each one back, the reader is rewarded with one secret after another, each one changing what they thought they knew about the story. By the end of the book, the reader is just as desperate for the world to know the truth as Enid.

Alchemised is a dark fantasy-tragedy that is well-written and gripping, pulling the reader in from the first page and not letting them go, even once the story has commenced.

Book Rating: 7/10

Have a book you’d recommend? Share your thoughts below and you may find a summary and review of your choice in an upcoming article.

Secret Coran-Stacy is an author, entrepreneur, artist, and philanthropist living the dream as a middle-class suburbanite in Central Arkansas. Find out more by visiting www.srstacy.com

This quarantine has me making a lot of changes to ensure my kids have a fantastic Easter experience without going overboard mentally or financially. As of April 9, over 7 million Americans are filing for unemployment. Everyone is feeling the pinch. Less income and increased prices of food and commodities are a recipe for financial disaster for many of us.

Family Favorite: Banana Pancakes

How are people coping?

A lot of us are stretching our dollars to the max while still trying to make sure the holiday season is extra special. Usually, my dad makes pie for Easter. Homemade pies are his specialty and a staple for us during the spring holiday. This year, basic ingredients are hard to come by, money is tight, and let’s face it, many of us just don’t have what it takes to make a pie from scratch. (I’m looking in the mirror here.)

Pretend Pie is the way to go.

For an easy and inexpensive alternative that’s sure to be a big hit, give this Pretend Pie a try for your Easter dinner. The entire dessert costs about $3 to make, and is a much healthier option than traditional pies.

Ingredients:

> 3 large flour tortillas

> 2 cups of your favorite fruit. We have made this with canned peaches, fresh strawberries, frozen blueberries, and blackberries from our back yard. There really isn’t a wrong way to do this.

> Cinnamon to taste

> 1/2 stick of butter

> Honey to taste

> 1/4 cup milk

Directions:

1. Combine fruit, milk, 1/4 stick of butter, honey, and cinnamon in a small pot or sauce pan and bring to a boil, then simmer until fruit is soft. (If the mixture is runny, drain excess liquid off.)

2. Coat baking pan with spray or butter. Place one large tortilla in the bottom of the pan, so the sides of the pan are covered.

3. Cover with a layer of fruit mixture.

4. Cut the second tortilla into smaller peices and layer over fruit mixture. Top with honey, cinnamon, and another layer of fruit mixture.

5. Slice the last tortilla into strips and decorate the top of your pie as desired.

6. Top off with remaining butter, cinnamon, and honey.

7. Bake at 350 until top starts to brown.

This pie is all the rage at my house right now. A fairly healthy dessert option that can be thrown together in endless combinations at a fraction of the price of a regular pie. Try it with vanilla ice cream for a little extra punch!

Want a healthy version of your favorite meal? Comment below with some ideas and you may find your dish in an upcoming feature!

Visit us at www.srstacy.com to find out more.

Secret Coran-Stacy is an author, entrepreneur, philanthropist, and artist living the dream as a middle class suburbanite in Central Arkansas. Her debut novel, BETTE DONOVAN and the Battle for Wyoming is available for purchase on Amazon.

“If enough people read and ponder the implications of Outliers, perhaps that can help begin the much needed process of turning around current counterproductive attitudes toward education and life.” -Thomas Sowell

Summary:

Intro-

Environment matters. After an extensive study of a population of immigrants from Italy in the 1950’s that set up a town in Pennsylvania, researchers were able to determine that despite being obese, and eating too much sweets and starches, the people in Roseto, Pennsylvania had a much longer life expectancy than everyone else in America and they were not dying of heart disease — a terrible epidemic at the time, and the #1 cause of death for men under 60.

The difference? The people of Rosetta cared more about one another. They ate family meals, had extensive relationships with multiple generations, cousins, aunts, and uncles. They cared deeply for their neighbors and stopped in the streets to have meaningful conversations. In short, their environment mattered. It mattered so much that it impacted their heart-health and life expectancy in a positive way, much more so than diet or exercise.

Chapter 1:

Most sports teams have a birth cut off date, just like schools. Without fail, when we group kids under ten — the kids who have birth dates making them the oldest in their peer group, are the kids who do better. What happens next is a domino effect in schools and sports.

The kids who have birth dates within the first three months of the cut off are bigger and more mature. Whether or not they’re actually smarter of more talented, these kids are funneled onto the AAU teams, and into the Gifted and Talented programs. Overwhelmingly, these kids are set up for success as adults in ways kids who don’t have birth dates near the cut off, could never be. These kids end up getting more practice times, better coaches, more advanced classes, etc, etc, etc.

Check out the birth dates of the professional soccer or hockey players. An astounding 50% of them are born within the first three months of their sports’ universal youth cut off dates. Under 10% are born in the last three months. If your child is extremely athletically gifted, it may behoove you to research and have them enrolled in a sport that offers a cut off date close to their birthday.

If your child has a late birthday in school, it may be to their advantage to start them a year later than is required. The other option, is a complete overhaul of the way we group kids in our educational system and sports leagues. Since bureaucracy is a tangled web, its likely to be something that can’t or won’t be legislated anytime soon. Setting your kid up for success, may mean taking matters into your own hands. Keep an eye on your kids’ birth date in coordination with their activity. It matters more than you realize.

Chapter 2:

It takes 10,000 hours of doing something to become an expert. And not just doing something, doing it to the best of your ability — for 10,000 hours.

The same idea as was shared in chapter 1 can be applied to the 10,000 hours idea. Sometimes it’s intentional, take Simone Biles for instance. In a sport that’s not determined by cut off dates, and allows athletes to advance individually, those 10,000 hours are intentional.

But sometimes, it’s happenstance. Bill Joy (wrote the code that enables us to the internet) happened to be enrolled in Michigan University in the first class that got to write computer code as much as they wanted to. By the time he’d graduated from college, these he literally had logged tens of thousands of hours writing code, whereas 99.999% of Americans had done none.

Bill Gates similarly went to a middle school with one of the first advanced computers in the country in the 1960s. He had written tens of thousands of hours of code before he ever went to college. In junior high school, he was logging a steady 20–40 hours a week coding. (By the time he dropped out of college he’d blown past 10,000 hours.)

“Achievement is talent plus preparation…. Their research suggested that once [someone] makes it into a top [program] , the thing that distinguishes one from another is how hard he or she works… the people at the top don’t just work harder than everyone else. They work much MUCH harder.”

Research project after research project has taught us that talent doesn’t happen by chance. The best don’t float to the top because of their natural ability. They increase their training hours little by little until they’re adults, honing their craft purposefully 30 hours a week. It takes roughly ten years to log 10,000 hours of practice or tutelage — by the time they’re 20, the best of the best have spent 10,000 hours or more honing their craft.

Chapter 3:

Just like everything else, IQ has a threshold. Experts agree that it’s about 120. Once you’re that smart, the playing field is basically level intellectually. Intelligence matters when considering success, but creativity matters just as much.

Chapter 4:

Knowing HOW to talk to people, HOW to charm people, HOW to be personal. These attributes are just as important as being smart, or perhaps they’re the same as being smart, just by a different measure. At any rate, “practical intelligence” or “social savvy” is just as important as “general” or “analytical intelligence”.

Chapter 5:

Sometimes opportunity is there, and sometimes it isn’t. One of the key components to success is opportunity. Studies show us that it matters little if you’re a genius or a prodigy, or even if you’ve put in your 10,000 hours. Natural talent has nowhere to shine if opportunity isn’t present.

The generation graduating high school during the Great Depression has very little opportunity to achieve success. A dire sign of the times, those people had half the number of children than the previous generation. Their kids, having fewer peers, graduating high school during a ripe for economic growth. Opportunity for them was everywhere. Neither group could help when they were born— opportunity is sometimes up to chance.

10 Minute Reads: The Manchurian Candidate

Chapter 6:

The traditions and attitudes of our fore bearers have a direct and incalculable influence on our personalities, our perspective, and our outcome in life.

Chapter 7:

If we aren’t willing to learn about, understand, and accept that we speak and behave in ways that are directly related to the culture we live in — we may be opening ourselves up to make naive, and catastrophic mistakes.

Researching multiple plane crashes, it was determined that co-pilots from some cultures were too afraid to speak up in front of their supervisors. When a person is too intimidated by their superior, or too set in their ways of passivity — mistakes are made, and lives are lost. Plane crashes that occur with good-working planes, aren’t the result of a single casual error. They’re the result of many errors that stack up, until the mistake becomes insurmountable. More often than not, if the first mate had spoken up assertively, the plane would have landed safely.

Chapter 8:

There is a correlation to the work-ethic we possess and what our ancestors did for a living. When administering personality tests, overwhelmingly, Asians out perform Americans in the category of “work-ethic”. A correlative line can be drawn between Asian ancestors whose ancestors farmed crops that were tended year-round, and American ancestors whose ancestors had a long break in the planting season.

The harder someone is willing to work, the better their chance of success in school, work, and life. There is no substitute for hard work and dedication.

“No one who can rise before dawn 360 days a year and fail to make his family rich.”

Chapter 9:

Because of this work-ethic/ancestral correlation, schools are operated differently from country to country. In America, students from various economic levels register as learning at relatively the same rate from the beginning to the end of the school year. However, over the summer, rich kids with more resources continue and expand their learning, while poor kids with less resources, spend more time on meaningless tasks.

The result is clear. By the beginning of the next year, the kids who continued their learning over the summer leaped ahead of the students who did meaningless tasks by an insurmountable margin.

Asian students who go to school year-round overwhelmingly outperform their American counterparts on standardized tests. Despite all the outliers for success, there is very little in this world that will get you ahead like long hours of hard work.

Outliers by Malcolm Gladwell is the story of success. Why are some people able to achieve when others are not? It’s not a question of IQ alone, (although being smart certainly helps) or family status alone. It’s determined by a hodge-podge of circumstance, chance, ancestry, and grit. It may not be enough to just come from a rich background, it may not be enough to be born in a specific country. Success occurs at the meeting point of hard work, opportunity, and ingenuity. Malcolm Gladwell draws us directional lines so we can more easily find the way.

Book Rating: 9/10

Have a book you’d recommend? Share your thoughts below and you may find a summary and review of your choice in an upcoming article.

Secret Coran-Stacy is an author, entrepreneur, artist, and philanthropist living the dream as a middle class suburbanite in Central Arkansas. Find out more by visiting www.secretstacy.com