Selected praise for Michelle Sagaraâs
CAST IN
SHADOW
âIntense, fast-paced, intriguing, compelling and hard to put down, Cast in Shadow is unforgettable.â
âIn the Library Reviews
âMichelle Sagara has created one of the most intriguing worlds I have ever read.â
âFallen Angel Reviews
âDeep, dense and passionate â¦â
âRomantic Science Fiction and Fantasy
âNo one provides an emotional payoff like Michelle Sagara. Combine that with a fast-paced police procedural, deadly magics, five very different races and a wickedly dry sense of humorâwell, it doesnât get any better than this.â
âBestselling author Tanya Huff
Michelle Sagara has written fourteen novels since 1991, when her first book, Into the Dark Lands, was published. Sheâs written a quarterly book review column for the venerable Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction for a number of years, as well as dozens of short stories (or novellas, to be more exact).
In 1986 she started working in an SF specialty bookstore, where she continues to work to this day. She loves reading, is allergic to cats (very, which means they crawl all over her), is happily married, has two lovely children, and has spent all of her life in her native Torontoânone of it on Bay Street.
She started reading fantasy almost as soon as she could read, and fell instantly in love with Narnia; her next fantasy discovery was Patricia McKillipâs Forgotten Beasts of Eld. She moved on to The Hobbit, which led to her discovery of the life-changing The Lord of the Rings.
Her greatest hope for her writing is that someone will read it and be moved by the same sense of magic and mystery that she finds in the books she loves.
She will talk about writing, bookselling and books forever if given a chance. Youâve been warned.
This is for Chris Szego, who read it first, and gave me exactly the encouragement I needed at exactly the right time.
Acknowledgments
Terry Pearson, Tanya Huff and
Rhiannon Rasmussen all read the initial proposal and outline while I fretted, because Iâm good at that. The fretting. They even wanted to read more, and did. Also, my editor, Mary-Theresa Hussey, for giving the book a home, and for asking the right questions to keep it on track. Consider them the away team for this book.
The home team: My husband, Thomas West
(whose last name I also write under), my children, my parents and my sonâs godfather, John Chew, and his wife, Kristen; my brother Gary and his wife, Ayami. The Tuesday night and Thursday night crew.
Thanks.
Black circles under the eyes were not, Kaylin decided, a very attractive statement. Neither was hair matted with old sweat, or eyes red with lack of sleep. She accepted the fact that on this particular morning, mirrors were not going to be her friend. Luckily, she didnât have many of them in the small quarters she called home. She got out of bed slowly, studiously avoided the short hall that led from her bolted doors to the kitchen, the closets and the large space she lived in otherwise, and lifted clothing from beneath a rumpled pile, examining it carefully.
It sort of looked clean.
She pulled the linen tunic over her head, cursed as her hair caught in the strings that secured it and yanked, hard. Shadows fell over the ledge of her single window, stretching across the floor at an ominous angle. She was going to be late. Again.
Pants were less tricky; she only had a few, and chose the black leather ones. They were, at the moment, the only ones she owned that werenât cut, torn or bloody.
Sheâd have to ask Iron Jaw for a better clothing allowance. Or more time to spend the pittance she did have.
The mirror in the hall began to glow, and she cursed under her breath. Sheâd clearly have to ask him on a different morning.
âComing,â she muttered.
The mirror flashed, light hanging in the room like an extended, time-slowed bolt of lightning. Iron Jaw was in a lousy mood, and it wasnât even lunch. He hated to use the mirrors.
She buttoned up her pants, pulled on her boots and sidled her way toward the mirror, hoping that the light was the effect of lack of sleep. Not much hope there, really.
âKaylin, where the hell have you been?â
No, the mirror this morning was definitely not her friend. She pulled her hair up, curled it in a tight bun and shoved the nearest stick she could find through its center. Then she picked up the belt on the table just to the left of that mirror and donned it, adjusting dagger hilts so they didnât butt against her lower ribs.
âKaylin Neya, youâd better answer soon. I know youâre there.â
Putting on her best we-both-know-itâs-fake smile, she walked over to the mirror and said, sweetly, âGood morning, Marcus.â
He growled.
Not a particularly encouraging sign, given that Marcus was Leontine, and had a bad habit of ripping the throats out of people who were stupid enough to annoy him. His lower fangs were in evidence as he snarled. But his eyes, cat eyes, were wide and unblinking in the golden fur that adorned his face, and his fur was notâyetâstanding on end. His hands, however, were behind his back, and his broad chest was adorned with the full flowing robes of the Hawks.