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About the Book
Emma seemed an ordinary girl, but she had secrets. Not only did she have the ability to transform into a winged monster, she was also wanted for murder. After a series of unlikely events, she finds herself on the run from London’s most revered detective with only a circus filled with paranormal misfits to keep her company. Emma must find her way to freedom, but will she be able to do what is necessary to leave her past behind once and for all?
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Keep reading for an excerpt:
London, England, 1810.
“SHE’S DEAD!” A frantic woman cried, waking her husband from his slumber, “There’s been a murder on our street!”
“What in God’s name are you going on about, woman?” He croaked, wiping sleep from his eyes.
The portly Mrs. Martin scowled at her drowsy husband. She had spoken plainly and did not like having to repeat herself.
“That butcher’s daughter killed her mum, she did,” Mrs. Martin screeched, “saw it happen outside our very window.”
The old man sat up with a start, his eyes alert as he processed what his wife was telling him.
“How do you know this?”
“Come,” she beckoned, “look for ye’self.”
His body groaned as he swung his legs over the side of his bed. He crammed his knobby feet into house shoes before shuffling to the window behind his hysterical wife.
The full moon reflected through the glass as the two peered from their second story window. There in the night, a body lay on the ground across the empty street.
“What did you see?” He asked, “And be very specific.”
“I was having trouble sleeping and so I thought I’d do a bit of knitting and--,”
“I mean about the murder,” he said, his impatience made obvious by his tapping foot.
“Well, all right, but that’s not the beginning of it,” She retorted. “I saw the butcher’s wife run out her front door. She looked very upset, I might add. Her daughter followed her… They were arguing.”
“And?” He urged.
“There was something strange coming from the young girl’s back,” she continued. “They were like… wings.”
“Wings?” Mr. Martin’s eyes jumped out of their sockets.
“Yes, and then she looked up at me window, must’ve seen the light from the lamp,” she said, barely taking a breath.
“So you blew it out?”
“No,” she shook her head, tears swelling as she relived the moment, “She stretched her hand towards me window and… and the light… she made the light go out of it.”
“How is that possible?”
Mrs. Martin shook her head, not knowing how any of it could have happened.
“Then she took that same hand and wrapped it around her mother’s neck,” She shivered, fear etched across her face. “I saw her hand blazed hot red, smoke billowing from her mother’s neck like it was a pot of water boilin’.”
The old man could hardly believe his ears. His mind was racing.
“You’re mad,” he stammered, “that’s not possible.”
“She burned her mother alive,” Mrs. Martin cried.
He didn’t believe for a moment his wife was in her right mind, but he couldn’t deny the dead body in the street. For that, he would have to alert his fellow Watchmen.
