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About the author
AmaranthMuse
Novel: Harbinger
Genre: Fantasy
41,469 words so far  

About AmaranthMuse

Location: Tir na nOg

Home Region:
USA :: Illinois :: Naperville

Favorite novels: The Name of the Wind, Best Served Cold

Favorite writers: Herodotus, Jacqueline Carey, Kim Harrison, Juliet Marillier, Patricia Briggs, Scott Lynch, Patrick Rothfuss, Stephen Erickson

Favorite music: Apocalyptica, Bloc Party, Florence + the Machine, IamX, Imogen Heap, Little Boots, Mozart, Muse, Pandora channels, assorted classical

Non-noveling interests: Life ;) Worrying about my writing.

Joined: Noviembre 6, 2007

This Year: Official Participant

NaNoWriMo History:
'07 '08

NaNoWriMo posts: 15

NaNoWriMo buddies: 11

 

Synopsis: Harbinger

A young graduate student struggles to complete the work of her missing advisor, whom friends and associates believe to be dead after he vanished while performing research in the Highlands eight months before. She is convinced that Eamonn, a respected professor in the prestigious Academy, a clandestine academic organization in Edinburgh, Scotland, disappeared for a reason and searches for support to locate him.

Against a backdrop of growing troubles wracking the city, a mysterious package exposes the seamy underside of a world concealed from the public eye. She finds evidence of black deals and desperation forces her into making treacherous alliances to a troubled woman stirred by unfathomable motivations, a damned hunter, and a fellow student concealing a terrible secret that would condemn them all if revealed.

The further Gwen descends into the darkness in search of her missing mentor, the more certain it is she won't escape with her life if she fails, and might not keep it even if she succeeds...

Excerpt: Harbinger

The empty street sank into a gelid standstill, the quiescence of the late hour courted by restless, keening wind, a living thing eager to sap out what little energy and motion remained long after the city plunged into a sepulchral slumber. The traveler's head rested at a crooked angle against cold stone, listless.

Caught at the fading cusp of sleep, something danced across blurred vision, a greyed out phantasm flitting between garbage piles. Wet, rhythmic panting broke through harsh winter lullabies sung by sobbing gusts, barely at the threshold of audibility, on a slow crescendo.

Jerked awake, the cotton hood fell back from a woman's face, pinched by cold and terror. Stumbling back on bloody, frozen feet, she rapidly turned and ran out into the road uttering words unheard for a thousand years.

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