I’m in the final few weeks of writing the first book in The SPI Files — my new urban fantasy/thriller series. And I now have details to share with you all. Yea! Thank you for being so patient!
The first three books are : The Grendel Affair, The Dragon Conspiracy, and The Brimstone Deception. The action in The Grendel Affair centers around New Year’s Eve in Times Square, so the book will be hitting the shelves and e-readers on December 31, New Year’s Eve. The cover is being designed now, and when I have something I can share with you, I will. I also have celeb look-alikes for my main characters, and I’ll be sharing photos with you soon.
To let y’all in on what I’m working on, below is the premise for the series, and below that is a synopsis for The Grendel Affair. I see no reason why y’all shouldn’t be allowed to see them both. : ) Enjoy! I’m SO excited about this new series, and I hope you will be too. And let me know what you think — you know I value your opinions.
The SPI Files: Series premise:
Creatures from myth and legend are real.
That really ugly guy you flipped off on the Queensboro Bridge this morning? Icelandic troll. And for a troll, a middle finger is a lot more insulting than you ever thought it was. It was nothing short of a miracle he didn’t get out of his truck and flip you and your Beemer into the East River.
Convinced that politicians can’t possibly come from the same world as the rest of us? Quite often, you’d be right.
That red-haired vice president in corporate who looks too good to be true? Irish sidhe.
Such creatures have always lived among us, but only in the last few decades have humans become irresistibly interesting to them—and beings previously known only in the fantasy section of a bookstore have become a very real problem for us.
Most of them come here wanting the same things as the rest of us: a good job, nice house, 2.5 kids, and a dog. The others? Well, their powers are stronger here, their greed is bigger, and any treaties or bindings that might have made them behave back home don’t mean squat here. They don’t just want their slice of the American Dream; they want the whole pie, and they don’t care what they have to do, who they have to kill, or how many city blocks they have to level to get what they want.
That’s why we’re here.
Someone has to even the odds.
We’re Supernatural Protection & Investigations, also known as SPI. We battle the supernatural bad guys of myth and legend. We’re recruited from various alphabet agencies, top police forces, and military special ops, and are supported by the sharpest scientific and academic minds.
Then there’s me.
I’m Makenna Fraser. I’m a small town reporter who’d come to New York with the dream of running with the big dogs at the New York Times. All I could get was a job at a seedy tabloid. If a story was the truth, great; if not, lies worked just fine—and the weirder, the better. My stories had been the truth, and had the dubious distinction of having been on the front page more than once, which had been good for keeping food in the fridge, but bad for my professional pride.
I could write about the weird and the spooky because I could see it. I have what my grandma called an inborn bullshit detector—which was her way of saying that I see things for what they really are. I can see through any veil, ward, shield, or spell any supernatural can come up with as a disguise.
Implying that a mob boss on trial was less than human didn’t make anyone bat an eye. Making the mistake of telling my now ex-editor that said mobster had horns and a tail, and that his lawyer was a literal bloodsucker had made me the darling of his black, profit-loving heart.
As luck would have it, that same story had also put me squarely in SPI’s sights. By that point, any job that’d let me regain my self-respect was a job that I’d gladly take. When they’d made me an offer, I’d literally skipped to my tabloid editor’s office to resign.
I’m what the folks at SPI call a seer. My job is to point out the monsters, then step aside so our commando-ninja-badass-monster fighters can take them down. It’s good work, regular pay, and the job description includes three of the most beautiful words in the English language: full medical coverage. I’d hunt Bigfoot with a butterfly net if it meant having a dental plan.
My partner at SPI is Ian Byrne, who came by way of the NYPD. His partner was gutted by a ghoul during a robbery gone wrong. Ian wanted to get the thing that killed his partner, but that was next to impossible to do if the people you work for don’t officially acknowledge that said perp even exists.
Working for SPI, our jobs really haven’t changed all that much. Sticking my nose where it doesn’t belong used to get me the story; now it gets me the monsters and the magical mobsters they work for. Ian still protects the citizens, and brings SPI’s special brand of justice to those who deserve it.
In the city that never sleeps, there’s plenty of weirdness for everyone.
For SPI, business has never been better.
THE GRENDEL AFFAIR (Book 1)
Tagline: Monsters, vampire CIA agents, and ghoul commandos. It’s just another day at the office.
A killer is loose in New York.
The police think it’s a sickle-wielding serial killer.
We know that it’s something far worse.
Prowling beneath the city’s subway tunnels is a descendant of Grendel. Yeah, that Grendel. We don’t know who smuggled the thing into the country or why, but it’s a short list of supernatural sickos.
We’re Supernatural Protection & Investigations (SPI). We battle the very real monsters of myth and legend—and those who would unleash them. We take down the monsters and we cover up the truth. Because when it comes to monsters, the truth won’t set anyone free—it’ll incite a global panic attack.
This thing’s ancestor was, shall we say, notorious for its intolerance of drunken revelry in King Hrothgar’s mead hall. Carnage is the nicest way to describe how it would stop loud parties. Unfortunately, its descendant is a chip off the old claw.
The timing of the modern Grendel’s release is no accident.
In less than 48 hours, New York plays host to the world’s largest party—New Year’s Eve in Times Square. A million people there, and billions more watching. Unless we find Grendel before midnight, when the ball drops, the secret’s out and time’s up.
The countdown has begun.