For 12 years, I had managed to separate my personal life from my professional life, becoming one of the best reconstructionists in the world - and proving to myself that I could do so on my own merits. Then I’d been forced into contact with my family, reuniting with someone I thought I’d lost forever, and rescuing my best friend. Now I had to savor what little time I had left before the contract with the Conclave came due and my future was wrenched from my control. Except there was one last case to solve. One last set of puzzle pieces to collect, then assemble again.

I preferred it when life came in tidy packages. When it didn’t — when something went awry — I was exceedingly skilled at packaging it back up. It was my job to do so after all. I was a reconstructionist. I collected the puzzle pieces, then I gave those pieces to an investigative team to sort out. I didn't ask questions. I didn't offer answers. I saw. I recorded. I moved on. I didn't dwell or obsess. I didn’t hunt down suspects. I didn’t follow clues to find a killer. And I certainly didn’t work side by side with anyone.

Here be an oracle. Despair all ye who seek her. Magic will have its cake and eat it, too. Okay, well. So I was mixing metaphors. I was new to the gig. But as far as I could tell, there were three kinds of people. Those who wanted confirmation that they’d chosen the correct path. Those who wanted to deny there was any sort of destiny at all. And those who wanted to tear it all down. So why was it always the third type that showed up at the door to my 1975 Brave Winnebago, dragging me into their power struggles and using my past against me?

I wasn't even remotely interested in collecting the third instrument of assassination. It was far better for everyone involved - and Warner, specifically - if I just let it be. And since I was the only one who could retrieve the artifacts, I figured it was my call to make. I was wrong. And while that wasn't unusual, I was just so wrong about everything. I was wrong about whom I was protecting and why. I was wrong about whom and what I could control. And I was wrong about whom I was becoming.

Over a year and a half had passed since Jade Godfrey - aka the dowser - fixed my mother’s necklace. Since I’d thwarted the vision of the death of love. Since I’d made a deal with a devil and acquired a demigod for a mentor. I still didn’t understand or control my power or my magic, but it had been a great year. A year of rest. A year of love and light. But now the reprieve was over. Now it was time to see. Magic willed it so. This paranormal romance/urban fantasy is the second book in the Oracle Series by author Meghan Ciana Doidge.  

I had new cupcakes to bake, a new treasure to hunt, and a new dragon in town - literally. Who wouldn't be ecstatic filling their days with chocolate, trinket collecting, and martial arts training? Yeah...me. Because no matter how much chocolate I ate, I couldn't fill the dark pit in my soul. A darkness born from blood alchemy. A darkness that reeked of the black magic I now knew I was capable of creating. Maybe it was time to walk away. But what if there were important things left to do?

Three months ago I nearly lost my best friend while retrieving the first instrument of assassination. I also inadvertently released a rival who was definitely unhinged, way more powerful than me, and obsessed with harnessing the deadly power of the artifacts I'd been tasked by the guardian dragons to collect. Add a sexy sentinel and a nearly immortal vampire to the mix, and what could possibly go wrong? Knowing my luck, I was about to find out.

Three days. That was all the reprieve we got before one of the five showed up, injured and on the run. The snowstorm that had encased the property, as well as stifled the town, hadn’t even melted away. That wounded prey led our newest adversary directly to me. To Christopher. Inconvenient timing, but not unexpected. It was the betrayal forcing me to stay my hand against that adversary that shocked me. Betrayal from the least likely of sources. Or so I would have thought.

I knew that opening the letter from the sorcerer Azar would have deadly consequences. So we had prepared. We’d planned. We knew we might have to defend ourselves, our freedom. And that I might finally get a chance to exact the revenge I kept telling myself I wasn’t interested in exacting. What we didn’t know was that we’d find ourselves hosting a dysfunctional family reunion — the kind where everyone tries to kill someone at least once over dinner. 

We had chosen our place, etching our lives into a new land. Then, we had defended that land when called upon to do so. And we’d won. We’d maintained our freedom. But magic attracts magic. As they say. So, when the sorcerers showed up, holding my recent past hostage - along with a future I had dreamed I might build - it was just as expected. In fact, I might have been getting just a little bored playing at being Emma Johnson.

They called me an amplifier. And they had bred me, raised me, and trained me to be a killer with preternatural precision. I was capable of taking, holding, and transferring power that wasn’t my own with a simple touch. Skin-to-skin contact. Along with four others of my generation, I could infiltrate any magical organization, extracting whoever or whatever I’d been ordered to extricate. Then I could destroy all evidence of our passing presence. They had made me. They directed me. Controlled me. Then they tried to kill me.

I hadn't set foot in the human world for more than a few hours in over three and a half months. Sure, I was stronger and faster than I'd ever been before, and I had a shiny new sword, but I was seriously chocolate deprived. I don't recommend quitting cold turkey. And the new sword was a problem - to my mind, anyway. It represented all the expectations of a powerful father and a new otherworldly life. A life that wasn't the one I'd worked so hard to build.

Three months ago, I lost my foster sister, Sienna, to the darkness. As in blood magic and chaos and general mayhem. No one saw it until it was too late, but I should have. Now I have a wounded heart and soul that I can't even reveal to anyone around me, because I'm supposed to hate Sienna with the fiery passion of the justified - and I do.

After the Final War, after the appearance of the Bug aliens and their enforced peace, Shining Smith is still alive, still doing business from the old scrapyard bequeathed to her by her father. But Shining is now something more than human. And the scrapyard is no longer just a scrapyard, but a place full of secrets. This life she has built, while empty, is predictable and safe. Until the only friend left from her previous life shows up, dead, in the back of a scrapped Tesla warplane. Clutched in her cold fingers is a note to Shining - warning her of a coming attack. 

Supernatural Squad might be small, but we're growing in power. The vampires and werewolves of London are beginning to respect me more, and I feel like I know what I'm doing - even if I don't yet understand what I truly am. Unfortunately, there might be a few snags to deal with. I'm trying to avoid Lord Horvath, the black-eyed vampire leader who seems intent on a more intimate relationship. There's also Devereau Webb, who runs a small criminal syndicate and has offered me a mysterious gift that I'm certain I don't want.