By Leanna Renee Hieber
Welcome to The Eterna Files, written by means of Leanna Renee Hieber, "the brightest new superstar in literature"(True-Blood.net)
London, 1882: Queen Victoria appoints Harold Spire of the Metropolitan Police to important department department Omega. Omega is to secretly examine paranormal and supernatural occasions and folks. Spire, a skeptic pushed to guard the helpless and notice justice performed, is the right guy to guide the dept, which employs students and scientists, assassins and con males, and a touring circus. Spire's leader researcher is Rose Everhart, who believes fervently that there's extra to the realm than might be visible through mortal eyes.
Their first undertaking: locate the Eterna Compound, which can provide immortality. disaster destroyed the hidden laboratory in ny urban the place Eterna used to be built, however the Queen is confident somebody escaped―and has a pattern of Eterna.
Also trying to find Eterna is an American, Clara Templeton, who helped begin the venture after the assassination of Abraham Lincoln approximately destroyed her kingdom. Haunted by means of the ghost of her loved, she is set that the Eterna Compound―and the immortality it's going to convey―will be managed via the U.S., no longer nice Britain.
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Extra info for The Eterna Files
The amulet have been given to her through Louis, an merchandise charged and blessed by means of his mom. Clara by no means felt she had the fitting to it, and now, he, who wanted safety, lacked it “I am very sorry to your loss,” the customer stated solemnly. “I needs to go,” Clara insisted, attempting to struggle unfastened yet failing. “Maybe i will be able to support the team—” The customer held up a hand. “It’s no need. They’re long past. ” “Why can’t you cease poor issues if you’re conscious of them? ” Clara demanded. “Why can’t I? ” “Not in our ability set,” the customer spoke back. “You’ve taken an excessive amount of possession of anything that's not your accountability, Templeton. what's your accountability, is to—” “‘Wake up? ’ sure, I pay attention it, at the wind. In my bones. What does it suggest? ” the girl gestured earlier than her, to Clara’s iterations. “You see the lives, don’t you? ” “Yes. ” Clara swallowed demanding. “Do you? ” “Of direction I do,” the customer answered. “I’m the following to inform you nice hurricane is coming. it is going to holiday throughout continents; nice towns, the hearts of empires. Your crew is long gone and storms are coming. climate them, locate targeted souls and safeguard them. Second-guess your enemy. locate the lacking hyperlink among the lives you notice. do that for your self. And to your kingdom. ” Clara snorted bitterly. “Do I pay attention patriotism? ” The customer shook its head. “I owe allegiance to no land. ” “Then what are you right here for? ” Clara begged. The visitor’s voice grew hot. “I care approximately definite humans. ” “Why me? ” “Show me why you, Templeton,” the customer proclaimed. “You’re on the heart of the hurricane. Be priceless of the squall. ” The mockingbird made the unusual, roaring sound back and the girl was once long past. Clara’s fingers shook. the folk she were in her many lives grew to become and checked out her, male, woman, all with yes comparable characteristics that she well-known as uniquely hers. interest. starvation. Restlessness. depth. Independence. A determined wish for noble objective. And lonely. She used to be wide awake. yet Eterna had died, taking with it the sweetheart not anyone knew she had. bankruptcy ONE London, 1882 Harold Spire were pacing till daybreak, crawling out of his epidermis to shut his God-forsaken case. the instant the tentative sunlight poked over the chimney tops of Lambeth—though it didn't effectively permeate London’s sooty haze—he raced out the door to fulfill his appointed touch. comfortably, there has been an outstanding black hansom simply outdoors his door. Spire shouted his vacation spot on the motive force as he threw open the door and introduced himself into the carriage. He used to be startled to discover that the cab already had an occupant: a quick, balding guy, immaculately yet rather dressed; as one may anticipate of a royal footman. “Hello, Mr. Spire,” the guy stated flippantly. Spire’s belly dropped; his correct hand hovered over his left wrist, the place he saved a small, sharp knife in an easy cuff. definitely this used to be one in every of Tourney’s henchmen; the villain used to be good hooked up and might do whatever to avoid wasting his determined cover. “Do no longer be alarmed, sir,” the stranger acknowledged. “We are en path to Buckingham Palace on orders of Her Majesty Queen Victoria.