Blurb:
Life is about to
change for fifteen-year-old Mike Prior. He’s to become a Guardian, a protector
of the gargoyle clans. With all the promise of sorcery, kinetic powers, and
magical-dueling, the new gig sounds awesome, for sure.
Except for a few minor
details.
First, his
ex-girlfriend. Seems she's trying to kill him. A shame, considering how well
things had been going.
Second, he’s heard a
rumor about a spy in the clan, and everyone thinks it’s him. Clearing things up
is definitely a priority.
Finally, this war
that’s apparently been brewing. Seems like the Black Brethren think Mike’s own
power is the best way to touch off an inter-species Armageddon, and they’ll
stop at nothing to get it.
Mike’s been dropped
into a web of assassins, spies, and necromancers, and no one’s even told him
the rules. And as much as he’d like to sit back and hone his flamethrowing,
he’s got to figure things out, and quick.
Because if the
Brethren don’t get to him, his closest friends just might.
Author:
Growing up with a
strange combination of Clancy, Crichton, Tolkien, and Rowling probably gave
birth to Seth Z. Herman’s YA/fantasy/thriller style of writing. Seth hails from
Queens, New York, where he grew up as an (admittedly sheltered) Orthodox Jew. A
lifetime of experiences later, he now lives in Jerusalem with his wife and two
children, where he poses as a rabbi teaching Judaic studies at an American
post-high-school seminary.
Excerpt:
Chapter One
Mike Prior hated it
when his girlfriend kicked his butt.
The wind left his
lungs as a sharp kick nailed him in the chest. He stumbled backwards,
surprised, his bare feet grasping for footing on the carpet. Another roundhouse
came, this time aimed at his temple. Mike ducked underneath it. He slipped a
hand out of his karategi-sleeve and grabbed Laura’s arm to pin her down, but
she was too quick. In one fluid motion, she grasped his arm and flipped him
onto his back.
Mike rolled left and
handsprang to his feet. Cheering filled his ears. Laura took a shot at his
torso, but he knocked it aside and countered with a similar jab. Then, after a
few seconds of punch-counterpunch, Mike landed a shot on Laura’s stomach. She
lurched forward, eyes squinted and mouth open in a stunned expression of pain.
He hesitated. This was
just something she’d goaded him into, so the kids could see some real—
Just like that, he was
on the floor. Laura slipped a foot inside Mike’s leg and pushed him backwards,
landing Mike right on his back. She crouched down and held a fist-blade at his
neck.
“Yield,” she said,
breathing heavily.
Mike swore in his
head. You filthy, cheating, insanely-gorgeous sleazeball…
The crowd erupted into
boisterous applause. Mike glanced at the twenty-odd students who’d stuck around
the dojo to watch the fight, all of them clapping and gesturing wildly.
He smirked. There
hadn’t been a single eight-year-old pulling for him.
Laura removed her
sparring gloves and offered a hand. Mike took it, noticing her sweaty palm,
then brushed off his karategi and tightened his green belt. Laura did likewise.
The two turned to each other, bowed, then did the same to the kids.
“Okay, everybody,”
Laura called with a hint of swagger in her voice. “Same time next week…”
Mike let Laura’s
wrapup fade into the background as he made for his gym bag, muttering under his
breath. He’d had her… but no, he had to hesitate like that… he shook his head.
Four in a row! How could he lose four in a row to her? He was faster, stronger,
much better look—okay, not true, but hey, it was close…
“Excuse me, who’s in
charge here?”
Mike turned to see a
middle-aged man peering at him from behind a pointed nose and thin-rimmed
glasses. He was wearing a three-piece suit, which must’ve been brutal in the
July heat. Out of the corner of his eye, Mike saw Laura shoot him a playful
grin and slide out of the way.
Are you kidding me,
woman? Mike thought. I will kill you for this…
Resigned to his fate,
Mike turned with hands on his hips, still breathing heavily. “That would be
me.”
The guy looked Mike up
and down, then raised an eyebrow. “And how old are you?”
“Uh, sorry, Jon
Miller’s the sensei around here, he’ll be back tomorrow.”
“Just answer the
question, kid.”
Mike blinked. Well.
Somebody tied his Brooks Brothers a little too tight.
“I’m fifteen.”
“I see.” The man’s
gaze swept the dojo. He looked bored. One of the karate students at the door
called for him – Jamison, a sweet kid, if nothing more than a punching bag –
but the man didn’t acknowledge. “And what’s your name?” he said to Mike while
still looking backwards.
“Mike Prior. Is there
anything you need me to—”
The guy snapped to
attention. “Wait, what was that? What did you say your name was?”
“Uh, Michael Prior. Do
I—”
“No, not at all,” the
man said quickly, nodding and staring at Mike like he was a specimen or
something. “Nice bout, kid.” And with that, the man turned and headed for the
door, taking his son’s hand as he left.
Mike’s first thought
was, okay, that was weird. But then something caught his eye. There was someone
staring at him, through the window, from across the parking lot. Some dude in a
t-shirt and shorts. Eyes squinted, mouth open, phone to his ear. As if he’d
just found something he’d been looking for…
Mike froze.
