A Bridge & Sword Prequel Novel #0.5


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Born in a cyber world. Hunted by an ancient cult.


Allie Taylor lives in a world populated by seers, a second race discovered on Earth. 


Psychic, hyper-sexual and enslaved by governments, corporations and wealthy humans, seers are an exotic fascination to Allie, but one she knows she’ll likely never encounter, given how rich you have to be to get near one.

Then her boyfriend has a band concert in New York.


In New York, seers are already visible fixtures on the sex club and business scene.


During her trip, Allie survives a terrorist attack, sees seers tasered on the street, deals with boyfriend troubles and someone leaving her cryptic and creepy notes.


Weirder still, a tall, black-haired guy with strangely colorless eyes keeps showing up everywhere Allie goes.

When a bizarre seer religious cult targets Allie for an end of the world ritual, her visit goes from bewildering to quite probably fatal.


From USA TODAY and WALL STREET JOURNAL bestselling author, a psychic warfare adventure set in a gritty alternate version of Earth. Contains strong romantic elements. Apocalyptic SciFi. Psychic Romance.


NEW YORK is a prequel in the Bridge & Sword series. It is also related to the Quentin Black World, and takes place in the wider history/world of the seers.





I WAS LOSING my boyfriend.

I was losing him––I could feel it.


I didn’t know why. Paranoid murmurings whispered through my mind, telling me it was happening without really supplying me with reasons, at least not reasons I knew how to fix. I knew it was likely just my imagination working overtime, screwing with my head, but those soft murmurs felt so real.


I struggled not to react to them as actual evidence.


At times, I heard those voices almost like feed station commentators, humming in the background of my headset––subliminal messages woven into the virtual network.


I swore I could almost feel his thoughts like that.


They say people get that way with significant others.


They start finishing one another’s sentences, knowing what they’re thinking before they’ve said whatever it is. I’d even heard the network could amplify that kind of thing.


Whatever this was, though, it didn’t feel like the good kind of symbiosis.


This came more like daggers to my head and heart, insights I didn’t want, that pierced through the bubble of the happy story I’d woven around Jaden and me.


Like a lot of people, I guess, the instinctive but counterproductive answer to that problem was to hold on to my boyfriend tighter.


I blame the animal part of my brain. The lizard brain, as my best friend Cass likes to call it.


The lizard brain is uncomplicated. It can also be pretty frickin’ stupid.


So when Jaden told me his band had a big gig coming up in New York City, all the way on the other side of the country, I told him of course I’d go.


It didn’t matter that I couldn’t afford the trip.


It didn’t matter that I couldn’t afford it by a long shot, given I was making the vast majority of my money at crappy waitressing jobs, and trying to survive on that in San Francisco, plus pay off my art college debt. It didn’t matter that I didn’t much like New York, the one and only time I’d been, or that I hated being around Jaden’s groupies and dealing with all the bickering and other b.s. that went along with hanging out with his band.


It didn’t matter that I’d seen just about every show he’d ever performed, including at laundromats and hole-in-the-wall burrito bars and coffee shops.


It didn’t matter that I’d heard all of his songs about a million times.


Apparently, it didn’t matter that going to New York meant I’d have to pass through racial-cat security, either, and likely get flagged for the billionth time because I had “weird” blood. Ever since they’d passed that federal law allowing states to set their own regulatory standards for seers, New York was like its own country. They even had their own division for Seer Containment––or “SCARB” as everyone called them, which stood for“Seer Containment and Regulation Bureau.”


SCARB checkpoints were now mandatory for domestic and international travelers, at all of the New York airports.


That meant I’d probably spend a few extra hours post-landing, cooling my jets in a holding cell while I answered the same damned questions I’d been answering since I was a kid. If it was anything like last time, they’d run a couple hundred tests on my blood, then finally verify my med-recs with authorities on the West Coast and make yet another note in my file that never seemed to do me much good the next time around.


Traveling with me was always a party.


More to the point, that lizard brain part of me ignored the signals I was getting off Jaden himself, in regard to me tagging along for the big New York show.


Meaning, I could tell he’d rather if I stayed behind for this one.


None of it mattered.


My lizard brain clung to that imperative to reconnect, to not let the mate-creature out of my sight, and I barely heard those softer but smarter voices in the background, telling me what a bad idea it was.


I was going. Damn it.


I guess I’m kind of dumb that way.


I guess most of us are.



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