Title: Power Surge
Series: The Evanstar Chronicles, Book One
Author: Sara Codair
Publisher: NineStar Press, LLC
Release Date: October 1, 2018
Heat Level: 1 - No Sex
Pairing: No Romance
Length: 79700
Genre: Paranormal, fantasy, urban fantasy, Demon hunters, Angels, Demons, Elves, mental illness, non-binary, pan, YA/NA
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Synopsis
Erin has just realized that for the
entirety of their life, their family has lied to them. Their Sight has been
masked for years, so Erin thought the Pixies and Mermaids were hallucinations.
Not only are the supernatural creatures they see daily real, but their
grandmother is an Elf, meaning Erin isn’t fully human. On top of that, the
dreams Erin thought were nightmares are actually prophecies.
While dealing with the anger they have
over all of the lies, they are getting used to their new boyfriend, their
boyfriend’s bullying ex, and the fact that they come from a family of Demon
Hunters. As Erin struggles through everything weighing on them, they uncover a
Demon plot to take over the world.
Erin just wants some time to work
through it all on their own terms, but that’s going to have to wait until after
they help save the world.
Excerpt
Power Surge
Sara Codair © 2018
All Rights Reserved
Chapter One
“They don’t like the sunlight, but that
doesn’t mean they won’t venture out in it. Demons aren’t like Stoker’s vampires
or anything else you read about in civilian novels. Even the Bible isn’t
accurate when describing the denizens of Heaven and Hell.”
-A letter from Gertrude Bearclaw to
Genevieve Evanstar, 21 Jan 1921, archived in the Vault under St. Patrick’s
Church in South Portland, Maine
The cold March air burned my lungs and
my legs itched as I sprinted by boarded-up beach houses. Mel may have turned
our warm-up into a race, but she was not going to win it. Grinning, I ran
harder in an attempt to close the space between us. Despite my efforts, her
footsteps grew softer and the ones behind me grew louder.
I glanced over my shoulder. The man
behind me was closer. Steam rose from his pale nose as it peeked out from under
the black hoodie. I shuddered. It wasn’t unusual to see another runner follow
us around two turns, but this one had followed me around five.
I sucked in the icy air as I crossed a
bridge. The metal grates groaned under our feet. Water rushed below, blanketing
brown muck with blue, breathing color and life into the field of dead marsh
grass. Mel was so far down the winding road I could barely make out her short,
muscular form.
I glanced at my phone. It was dead. Mel
was too far ahead to hear me yell, and there was no one else around. I wasn’t
exactly defenseless, but I was tired and hadn’t been in a real fight in almost
two years.
Still, a small deplorable part of me
hoped the man would catch up and he’d want to hurt me. I imagined myself
ducking as he reached out to grab me. I’d jam my elbow up into his stomach and
crush his face with my knee. I almost heard his jawbone crack, saw the shock in
his eyes, and felt the pure bliss of adrenaline coursing through my body. I’d
win. He’d end up hospitalized or worse, in the morgue. The last time I was
forced to defend myself against someone who wanted to hurt me, Mel had to pull
me off his unconscious body. The ghost of the rage, the rush and the guilt made
my stomach churn.
I was a monster.
I couldn’t let this man catch up to me.
It was too dangerous for him.
My calves cramped. My side felt like a
knife was jabbing into it. Mel vanished around a bend. I growled. She was
shorter than me and worked out more, but she was my cousin—the daughter of my
late father’s twin sister—not some kind of professional athlete. If she could
go that fast, then so could I. A few seconds later, I rounded the same bend.
Our finish line, the gate for Foster Park, came into sight.
Picking up more speed, I closed the
distance between me and the run-down guard shack. Mel got to it first and
jogged in place, facing me until I arrived. I glanced over my shoulder and
didn’t see the man. Relieved, I nearly toppled over, gasping for air with my
hands on my knees.
“Erin, you need to cool down before you
stop.” Mel wasn’t even out of breath, and she had a smug smile on her perfect
pink lips. I didn’t see a drop of sweat on her face. Her gray spandex was dry;
mine had soaked through my base layer to my baggy T-shirt.
I stood up straight, filling my aching
lungs with big gulps of air as I looked around again. An iridescent blackbird
leaped from a leafless maple with its wings slowly flapping as it flew across
the path in front of us, but the man was nowhere in sight. “What was our time?”
“I didn’t have my timer on.” Mel walked
down the dirt road.
“I really want to know how fast I went.”
Every part of my body throbbed as I moved. The bare birch branches around us
were filled with warbling blackbirds; their screeches needled my eardrums.
“Not fast enough,” snapped Mel. Her
voice hurt more than the birds.
“Seriously?”
“You can do better. How is school
going?”
“Mel, I don’t think I have ever run that
fast in my life.”
“How is school going?”
I glared at her.
“How is school going?” she asked for the
third time.
Shivering, I scratched my neck. “My
teachers are determined to dispel the myth that senior year is easy by piling
on hours and hours of homework. It takes forever without ADHD meds.”
Mel frowned. “You thinking of going back
on them?”
“We’ll see how I do on my English test
tomorrow. I don’t want any of my college acceptances getting revoked.”
“What does your mom think?” Mel’s frown
made deep crevices in her usually smooth forehead.
“Mom and the doctors want me to try a
different kind. I think they forgot I took that in middle school and it made me
equally sick.”
“Both drugs stop your dreams,” muttered
Mel, staring at the gravel.
“And how is that a bad thing?”
Heavy silence hung between us as we
approached our Jeeps. Hers was an orange Wrangler with a soft top, a spotless
paint job, and a lift kit. My ancient Cherokee resembled the offspring of hers
and a station wagon, pockmarked with battle scars from shopping carts and
telephone poles. She opened her door, took out two water bottles, and handed
one to me. “Are you still dreaming every night?”
“Yeah.” I drank half my bottle in one
long gulp.
“Did you try my suggestion?”
The Thursday before, Mel had told me to
try focusing on one thing before I went to bed, so instead of dreaming of
burning cities, gory battles, and apocalyptic storms, I would only dream about
that one—hopefully more pleasant—thing.
“Did it work?”
“Sort of. Did you bring the sabers?” The
whole purpose of the meeting wasn’t so much the run but the subsequent sparring
match. Since I hadn’t found a good Kendo dojo in Portland, Mel was my only
sparring partner.
“Of course.” She pulled two bamboo
practice swords out of her Jeep and handed one to me. “What does ‘sort of’
mean?”
“I focused on a person. The dreams
stayed chaotic, but that person was in all of them.”
Mel smirked as we walked across the
grassy hill leading down to the pebble beach. “Which boy did you focus on?”
“I didn’t say boy.”
Mel arched her eyebrows. “I’m pretty
confident we can rule out all the girls at St. Pat’s. Who was it?”
“José.” My cheeks burned.
Mel barked out a laugh that was
simultaneously musical and abrupt as she stepped onto the beach. “And what did
you dream about the boy who you won’t admit you’re in love with?”
“We’re friends. I’m not in love with
him.” I stopped walking, leaned my sword against a rock, and stretched.
“Tell me what you dreamed.”
I watched rippled waves roll onto the
black and gray stones. Once wet, they glistened in the afternoon sun. Two
cormorants floated around the jetty while seagulls perched on the rocks.
Looking up, I stared toward the sun without blinking and imagined my eyes
drinking in its warmth. It made them water, but my face relaxed.
When I couldn’t take the light anymore,
I turned my attention to a splashing at the end of the jetty. Minnows leaped
out of the water followed by the stripers that were trying to eat them.
Suddenly, a humanoid head covered in Irish moss burst from the surface,
devouring a striper in one bite. I stumbled backward. A green tail flickered
where the head had been, spraying water at the gulls. The head leaped back up
and lunged toward the cormorant, sinking its fangs into black feathers and
pulling the bird below the water.
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Meet the Author
Sara Codair lives in a world of words, writing fiction in every free moment, teaching writing at a community college and binge-reading fantasy novels. When not lost in words, Sara can often be found hiking, swimming, or gardening. Find Sara’s words in Alternative Truths, Helios Quarterly, and Secrets of the Goat People, at https://saracodair.com/Website | Facebook | Twitter | Instagram | Pinterest
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