Title: Reflection
of the Gods
Author: Lisa
Llamrei
Genre: Urban
Fantasy
Newly divorced Das MacDermott longs for a fresh start. As he packs
up and prepares to move out of the city, he spots a young woman being held at
gunpoint by three men. Despite being outnumbered and unarmed, Das does his best
to intervene. Once liberated, the victim seems oddly ungrateful, but on an
apparent whim decides to join Das in his new life in rural Ontario. Aislinn, as
she is called, returns the favour; with her encouragement and support, his
start-up photography business takes off, and more importantly, Das is saved
from loneliness and self-doubt.
Das, however, is never quite able to fully dismiss the contrary
aspects of Aislinn’s nature, and is strictly forbidden from asking about
Aislinn’s past. All seems too good to be true, and indeed it is. Aislinn’s
unusual talents and odd behaviour, unbeknownst to Das, come from her demigod
status. Aislinn is half-Sidhe, daughter of Fionvarra, Ireland’s fairy king, and
a human woman. Sidhe wars have so disrupted the mortal world that Aislinn has
joined with other immortals in an effort to permanently separate it from Tir
N’a Nog, the fairy realm.
Born in
ancient Ireland, Aislinn spends millennia as the plaything of the cruel and
narcissistic gods. The pain of being neither human nor Sidhe is offset by her
relationship to the Fir Bolg, another race of fair folk who take pity on her
lonely state; and the refuge she takes in being Das’s lover and protector. As
Das comes to accept the possibility that Aislinn belongs to a supernatural
world, he discovers that the two worlds are set to collide in a way that may
mean the destruction of all humanity.
Author Bio
Lisa
Llamrei was born and raised in the Toronto area. She studied languages at York
University. At various times, she has been an actor, professional belly dancer,
holistic nutritionist, and entrepreneur. She currently lives north of Toronto
with her family. Reflection of the Gods
is her first novel.
Links
Book Trailer:
The
print book can be purchased here:
The e-book can be
purchased for Kindle here:
Or for Kobo here:
Excerpt
After some time,
I drifted off to sleep. It felt like no more than a few moments. Maybe it was
longer. I awoke to a wailing screech. I sat up, wondering where I was. I
clamped my hands over my ears. The door opened and a triangle of light flooded
in from the hallway.
Uncle
Patrick charged in, pointing a finger. “Stop that racket right now.”
Aunt
Mary stood right behind him, pulling on an arm. She wore an old robe and had
curlers in her hair. “It’s not the boy, Patrick.” She pushed her way past him
and flicked on the light in my room. She sat down beside me and eased my hands
away from my ears. “That won’t help, but this might.” She took the crucifix
down from the wall above my bed and thrust it into my hands. “Pray. Pray like
you’ve never prayed before.”
I
stared at the crucifix in my hands and winced at the noise.
“Grania
did teach you how to pray, didn’t she?”
I
shook my head.
“Pray
with me then. Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee; blessed art thou
among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.”
I
started mouthing the words. Again and again the wailing rose in a crescendo and
stopped, like waves crashing on a rocky shore. As it rose, I covered my ears
with my hands, but Aunt Mary continued, raising her own voice, “—mother of God,
pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death. Amen. Hail Mary, full of
grace—”
Waves of carrion smell wafted in time
to the sound. My whole body shook, and I cried some more. Aunt Mary put her
arms around me and held me close while she continued praying, “—and blessed be
the fruit of thy womb—”
Uncle
Patrick came into the room wearing his coat over his robe. “I’m going outside
to find out what’s making that noise.” He left and came back, sniffing the air.
“Must be a dead raccoon out there.”
As
soon as the front door opened, wind rushed through the house, as if whatever it
was had been waiting for its chance to enter. The wailing was now ear-splitting
and the smell of rotting meat hung in droplets in the air. I could taste it on
my tongue. Aunt Mary stopped praying and we both covered our ears. All the
lights in the house buzzed and went out. Silence.
Aunt
Mary’s breath was quick and shallow; the air, empty. She reached out for me
again and held me, stroking my blond head.
Uncle
Patrick returned. “I couldn’t find anything outside, but at least it stopped.
What happened to the lights? The streetlights are still on outside.”
“If
you don’t mind, I’ll stay in here until Mohandas falls asleep again,” said Aunt
Mary.
Uncle
Patrick hesitated. “Well, sure, the little lad’s had quite a fright. You stay
with him. I’m going back to bed. If the lights are still off in the morning,
I’ll call the hydro.”
After
Uncle Patrick left, Aunt Mary lay me down and tucked me in. “Try to get some
sleep, little Das. Everything will work out in the end. You will be loved
here.”
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