Blue

Blue

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dark
reincarnation/transmigration
opposites attract
curse
mystery
loser
another world
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Blurb

More than thousand years in the making … Finally, a chance at redemption.

Declyn Rothchildes aka The Sandman, finds himself with two newborns on his doorstep. He hoped the day would come to put right what was messed up before … But even so, he is unprepared for this exact manner of reclamation and thus he seeks help from the local coven.

Blue Nobody (a name Eleanor Blackthorne chose for herself) is a donor in a formidable coven and quite the problem-child; or so it appears. The uptight Declyn chooses her to help him take care of the babies, and it upsets the order of the world as Blue knows it. In fact, it up-sets just about everyone around her too.

When the mortal world clashes with the immortal history, one should prepare for eternity.

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Prologue & Introduction
Prologue “I am not my mother’s daughter. I am time. The world measures its existence from the worn fabrics of mine, thus I learned to be invisible but present. Always … present. I am soul. The cosmos signs its existence on the torn scraps of mine, thus I learned to be silent but always heard. Always … heard. I am heart. The universe drums its existence through the offbeat rhythm of mine, thus I learned to be free but always tethered. Always … tethered. I am not my mother’s daughter. I am Earth and this is a tale of how I re-birthed a world.” *** Introduction I need help, I did not sign up for this. No way I am – argh! – Do they ever shut up?! Pale green eyes blink several times at the crib in front of him. Torn between what is right and his nature, he turns his back and marches out of the room. A door slams and reverberates through the upper level of the house. Two frightened babies shriek louder in shock. He curls both hands into a fist, agitated by the noise. His body tenses and it takes a lot for him not to put his knuckles through the nearest wall. The bitter snarl on his face edges the disgust in deep, bracket-like grooves around his mouth. He’d sooner murder those things than nurture them, but agreements are agreements and he is a man of his word. Logically he knows this; mentally his nature works against him. Long, determined strides rush him down the stairs and into a room filled top to bottom with books. He glares up at the ceiling, the snarl turns smug. In here, the noise is muffled even to his keen hearing. Momentarily he considers never leaving this space again, but the reality sets in quick enough. Babies, who in their right minds have them? I must get to the bottom of this before I do something regrettable. The chair groans under the force with which he throws himself into it. A quick movement brings the phone to his ear while he turns to look outside. The view of a foam- filled, rough river soothes his mood; the gentle light from the moon above pacifies and lulls his thoughts. “Maylee,” his voice is quiet and foreboding “I have a problem.”

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