I can’t take it anymore, my friends. If you follow me on my socials you’ll know I kind of already quietly dropped the Order of Crows book 3 title, but today I’m making it official. I don’t have a release date, yet, but I will have a cover very soon, and I’m working on fixing the interior file from my proof. If I can make the release happen in February, I’m going to, but I’m thinking no later than March.
Before I say anything else, I want to say this: I am extremely proud of this book. I know, I always say that when I release a book. And it’s always true. But this one is special. This is my first book 3 of any series, and the Crows series holds a place in my heart that’s separate and above the others. Back in 2010, when the first iteration of the first Crows book was published, I had no plans of there ever being a third book. I thought I could finish the story in two. Well, that was entirely wrong. Eventually, I accepted there would need to be a book 3 and, foolishly, believed it would be a trilogy. Well. Also no. But I digress. In short, this series is my adult life’s work. Because I refused to give up on it, because I put the work in to rewrite and revise all the old words I had written, I am now to this point of releasing book 3 and still actively working on book 4 (which I accidentally titled in the revision of the third book, but that’s another blog post).
So, I’m proud. To everyone who wanted more Crows sixteen years ago, sorry it took so long, but I did get there. If you’re new here, Order of Crows is an ambitious, dark, contemporary fantasy tale of a magical and divine order tasked with protecting the heart of the planar structure. They are faced with a mysterious alliance of otherworldly creatures and forced to learn how to work as a team. This story has a little bit of everything–gods, fey, angels and demons, vampires, and some beings that I simply made up. It’s a grand mix of supernatural and fantasy elements and even has a dash of forbidden love (shhh). The first two books, The Murder Meets at Dusk and The Song of the Sparrow, are available on Amazon or anywhere I happen to be.
Now, without any more wait, I present…
A Place With No Dawn
Casper Lekkas is tired. Not just tired, bone-weary to the point where he can barely stand. Wide eyes look around. It’s storming? That seems like something he would’ve noticed before now.
Where am I?
The wind is howling. There’s dirt flying all around him. Not dirt. Sand? His first instinct is to shield his face with his arms, but then he realizes none of it is hitting him. His arms slowly lower and he studies the scene.
As the sudden fear fades as quickly as it came, he can feel the storm itself. It’s incredible, top-notch pure chaos swirling around him. He reaches out a hand but he still can’t touch it.
What is this place?
He looks down. With a gasp, he sees he’s not standing. There’s no ground beneath his feet. He’s floating or flying.
Dreaming.
The answer comes to him with startling lucidity, a quality usually lost to him in his nightmares. He has never flown before in his dreams. No, his dreams are always running, stumbling and falling, always just out of reach of the things that hunt him. This one doesn’t look like one of his. It must be, though.
Someone is screaming. Is it him? Trembling fingers brush his closed lips. It can’t be him, so who? Casper can’t see anything past his arm’s length, so he’s not sure.
The raw power of the storm calls to him. His gate opens in answer. The chaos is in his veins and his head. Magic fills him completely, and it feels so right he wants it to never end. Yet he can’t see it on his surface. Nothing comes out of him. The energy just wells up to the brink.
His hand is still reaching for something, but he can’t feel it, just as he can’t feel the skin-to-skin contact of his fingers on his lips. That’s how he knows he’s not awake. He doesn’t care. He’d stay here forever.
Someone is close, he realizes with a start. He jerks back as his eyes focus. Not someone … exactly. It’s a black equine head with long ears and a serious black eye trained on him. Casper can see the sloping neck and midnight mane. The rest of its body is obscured by the storm.
Where did it come from? Was it there moments ago?
It feels like forever of them just staring at each other. There’s some emotion in the horse’s eye, something that feels huge. Casper’s magic goes still.
“Now is not the time. Here is not the place.”
The horse doesn’t speak but Casper hears those words all around him. The hand extended before him reaches a little farther toward the horse. Awe overtakes any other emotion he was feeling.
“Who are you?” he whispers.
Casper bolts upright, gasping. Everything around him is a blur and familiar panic washes through him. He struggles against a restraint that isn’t there. His hand hits something solid. It’s the sound of glass shattering that brings him out of the fog.
It takes a while for him to still himself and, after a few paralyzed moments, he affirms that he’s breathing. The area around him is quiet, dimly lit, empty. There’s a tang in his mouth that he knows is the aftertaste of his magic.
His eyes fly open and the world comes into sharp contrast. He’s on the old couch in what was once an office in the old theater where he lives. There are no windows, nor a clock, so he’s not sure what time it is.
He doesn’t remember falling asleep here. Sometimes he goes for a couple of days before he can sleep. When he does, it’s filled with half-dreams and memories, and, always, the nightmares.
This one was different.
His gaze rolls around the space. He’s searching for his phone but what he sees is a radius of singed material around him. The couch is dark, melted, and still smoking in one spot. The floor is sooted and the paint on the wall behind the couch has bubbles in it.
He vaguely remembers calling on his magic. It didn’t work, though. Did it? Yet he’s surrounded by evidence to the contrary. The rest of his dream goes spiraling into the unknown.
Ding.
It was the most unobtrusive notification tone on the phone. It’s still annoying. Moments later, his active thought breaks through the habitual anxiety that rises when his phone makes noise. He was looking for that, right?

