Comparing the Price of an Ebook

There has been a lot of talk among authors and readers regarding the price of ebooks. Some readers are griping about the "high" cost of ebooks, and a few are even demanding that authors give them away, or at least drop the prices to 99 cents or less.

On one hand, as a reader, I can see some of what others are saying. Ebook prices from the NY houses are astonishingly high. Some authors’ ebooks may be as costly as their print editions. But it’s the publisher who sets those prices, not the authors. On the other hand, independent authors are able to set their prices substantially lower because they don’t have big salaries or giant overhead costs to cover. But neither NY nor indie authors can afford to keep giving away or cheapening our product.

I won’t go into how, as an author, I need the money from my book sales to help pay my bills. (I’m a retired school teacher.) I can’t drop my prices any further. However, I’d like to make a few comparisons you may not have thought about.

An average-sized ebook (around 40K words or more) runs around $3.99. For that you get several hours of enjoyment and entertainment. And on top of that, you can go back and re-read it indefinitely! So let’s compare that with the following at a similar cost:

A cup of coffee from your favorite bistro:
Cost = $4.99 and up

Length of time to enjoy it = 30 minutes average
Repeat? Only if you purchase another one.

An online/cable movie rental:

Cost = $4.99 and up

Length of time to enjoy it = 90 to 120 minutes average
Repeatable? Most rentals allow a short time span to watch again, but it's not indefinite. If you want to watch it again in the future, you either have to re-rent or purchase the movie.

Hamburger with fries and a drink (or a typical lunch at a fast food restaurant):

Cost = $5.00 and up

Length of time to enjoy it = 30 to 45 minutes average
Repeat? Only if you purchase another one.

All of the above bring you both enjoyment and entertainment, but at a higher price than an ebook. So imagine how much you could help an author if you opted for water instead of coffee just once and bought an ebook instead. Or if you waited for that action thriller movie to show up on cable, and purchased a nice romantic suspense ebook in its place? Or if you packed a quick P&B lunch (with fruit), and spent your lunchtime with an ebook?

You and the author would definitely come out ahead.

*photo above taken by yours truly

Coming April 25th!

ORRORA
Paranormal/Urban Fantasy Romance
Word Count: 40K
$2.99 e

Deep in the heart of New York City, a killer is stalking a select group of individuals. A killer whose M.O. matches a series of murders that have been going on for more than eighty years.

Orrora Dalca is brought in by the U.S. Government to identify and find this murderer...but there's a problem. Orrora is hiding a dark secret. And although she's met with the task of finding this killer, she must also hide that person's identity from ever becoming known.

Joel Powers produces independent horror films, and he gets many of his ideas by tailing the police when he gets wind of an unusual homicide. When he encounters Orrora at one of the crime scenes, there is something about her that draws him inexorably to her. Determined to see her again, he does everything he can to learn all about her, not realizing there will be a price to pay for his curiosity.

Warning! Contains raw meat, a gold button, discombobulation, ancient history, untruths, a rare medical condition, and the possibility that a decades-old longing for love may finally be over.

Excerpt

A Young Man's Fancy. . .

 

 Alfred, Lord Tennyson said “In the Spring a young man's fancy lightly turns to thoughts of love.” But there was nothing light about Richard Bandon’s early courtship of his ladylove. Below is a teaser from my short story “The Beast Within”, a prequel of sorts to my best-selling novel AHunt by Moonlight.

 

His aunt had meant well. He could almost forgive her for the untenable position she’d put him in.

Miss Fairchild’s maid opened the impressive tall doors of the Fairchild ancestral home. The maid led Richard across the marble threshold and into the presence of oil portraits of Miss Fairchild’s parents, now deceased. Richard swept off his top hat and explained his business.

The maid curtseyed. “This way, if you would, sir. My mistress is in the garden.”

In the well-ordered garden, groomed white gravel paths wound between well-tended beds of roses and lavender. The floral scents crowded in his sensitive nose. He fought a sneeze.

A large tower of gears and levers stood incongruously in the center of the garden. Miss Fairchild sat in the sunshine at an easel, painting roses, her walking dress the same pale pink as the flowers.

He bowed. “Miss Fairchild, good morning. Thank you for allowing me the grace of your presence.”

The lady in question looked up briefly and went back to her oils. “Mr. Brandon. Come to make your excuses?”

Her voice was as sharp as her nose. A witch’s nose, his friend Pemberton had called it when they had discussed the lady over cards and good port. Rather unfair; the admittedly sharp feature complimented her delicate cheekbones and her chin, which was rather like the lower half of a valentine heart. If he could fault anything, it would be her eyes—a pretty shade of gray, but cold and passionless.

“Well?” she prompted.

He had been staring in silence. Most rude, and he had no excuse for lacking in gentleman’s manners. Not now that the moon had set.

He brushed a non-existent bit of lint from his gray frock coat. “I was... indisposed.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Indisposed.”

Maybe it was for the best that his aunt had unwittingly made an engagement on his behalf for a night on which he couldn’t possibly keep it. Catherine Fairchild was beautiful, yes, and from an appropriate family, but was that enough to spend his life bound to a woman so harsh and unforgiving? He could imagine it now. Separate bedrooms, separate lives. Proper to their class, but he somehow hoped for more.

Not to mention that he had a particular need for fellow-feeling and understanding in a wife. Any woman who lived with him so closely would surely discover his secret.

Movement at the far end of the garden caught his eye. A plain girl in a homespun dress and an improbable set of goggles came running out of a small ivy-obscured hut in the corner of the garden. “Cat! Come quick! It’s boiling over. I’m afraid it’s going to explode again.”

Miss Fairchild leaped to her feet and without bothering to excuse herself hiked up her skirts and dashed into the hut. The girl followed close at her heels.

Richard shifted from foot to foot. A gentleman did not follow where he was not invited, but a gentleman also did not leave the fairer sex to face apparent danger alone. The breeze changed direction, carrying the acrid smell of unknown chemicals. From the hut came crashes and bangs, a hiss like hot metal quenched in cold water, and Miss Fairchild’s voice cursing like a London hansom-cab driver cut off by some toff’s horseless carriage.

Miss Fairchild appeared a moment later, overskirt singed and soot smudged on the point of her nose. Her elaborate hair had come undone. The biggest change was in her eyes—no longer cool and uninterested, they flashed like lightening.

Suddenly she was captivating. She reminded him of a lady explorer he had met once at a reception, a woman full of ideas and fascinating tales, a woman who might have been unconventional enough not to be put off if she learned the truth about him. A woman he might have loved, had she not been married. Miss Fairchild was unattached, and he very much regretted that they had started off badly. He’d have to work hard to correct—

“Mr. Bandon, I apologize that I must cut our social engagement short.” Her words were drawing-room proper, her tone anything but. “You apologize for being unavoidably absent at the dinner party your aunt arranged so that we might meet. I accept your apology and pretend to hope another dinner will be arranged soon. Which we both know will not happen, because you have by now been in London long enough to hear about crazy Catherine, fancies herself a scientist. Shame, you would think an heiress like her would be able to snare a suitable husband and settle down into a suitable life.”

“No, I—”

“Can we just agree that all polite protestations and acknowledgments were exchanged so I can salvage what remains of my experiment? My maid will see you out. Good day!” She turned and stalked off.

He watched until she disappeared into the ivy-covered building that doubtless held her laboratory.

That had not gone well. He’d simply have to persuade his aunt to arrange another dinner party. Hopefully this time not on the night of a full moon.

 

Like it? Buy the whole story on Amazon!  Check out the author's other works while you're there. And then head over to her website for her blog plus a link to a free novel!

 

Guest Author Diane Burton Talks Location, Location, Location

Veronica: I’ve known Diane in the author community for quite a while, and enjoyed her books greatly so it’s my pleasure to welcome her back to Here Be Magic as our guest today!

Diane: Thank you so much for inviting me back. I write in three genres: science fiction romance, cozy mysteries, and romantic suspense. As different as they are, all of them have their own reader expectations. But one thing that’s the same is a location where the story takes place.

In contemporary stories (including romantic suspense and mysteries), we call it a setting. In fantasy and science fiction romance, we describe it as world-building. Basically, we do the same thing for both. My SFR stories can take place in a starship or on an alien planet. In order to ground the reader, I have to establish all the external factors that influence my characters. The reader doesn’t need to know everything I do, but I’d better figure it all out—things like the climate/weather, government (or lack of), customs, food, holidays, religious observances, etc. And, I need to keep track. I keep a separate file for each book titled “details” (so original, LOL). If I’m writing a series, I copy the file to the new book and add those details.

My Private Eye mysteries require the same thing. A few things we can take for granted when writing contemporary stories—the government, for example. But my stories that take place in a small town on the west coast of Michigan will have different foods, customs, or events than a story set in New York City, the Pacific NW, or Japan.

“They” say you should write what you know. Okay. That works for my contemporary stories, but what about the sci-fi romances? I would love to experience traveling in a starship at faster than light speed or teleporting from Michigan to Arizona to visit my granddaughter (well, her parents, too). Since that’s not possible, I have to do a lot of research. Besides Google, I love Pinterest for the pictures that give me so many ideas.

I grew up in a rural community where everyone (except us) was related or had known each other since birth. I’ve lived in medium-size cities, metropolitan suburbs (Detroit and Chicago), and a small town. Now I live in a Lake Michigan resort town, though not as small the fictional town of Far Haven in my Alex O’Hara PI mystery series.

Seasons in Michigan are different from those in Arizona. Traditional foods, too. Western Michigan was settled by the Dutch. I’d never had, or even heard of, oliebollen or bankets before living here. Those pastries are quite yummy, by the way.

During the Tulip Time Festival (early May), visitors and locals get to sample all kinds of Dutch food, watch klompen dancing (in wooden shoes), or watch the kinderparade with children from the area schools marching in Dutch costumes. I had to include those local customs in my stories.

Parts, if not most, of my SFR Outer Rim stories take place in a desert colony on the frontier of space. I used what I know of the desert in the American Southwest to make the setting seem familiar. Heat, penetrating sun, cold nights, grit and sand everywhere and in everything. For my PI mysteries, I set each story in the same small town but in a different season. To ground the reader, I mentioned the depressing gray skies and the bone-chilling damp cold of winter around the Great Lakes as well as “lake effect” snow. Or the distinct smells of autumn and spring.

As with all descriptions of setting—or world building—readers will skip info dumps, so we have to weave in the details subtly. Here’s an excerpt from my newly released Alex O’Hara PI mystery, The Case of the Meddling Mama.

Nick and I ran through Waterfront Park. Now that he was back again, running together was our only alone time. We stayed on the jogging path lined with tulip spears poking their leaves through the ground. If the weather cooperated, we would have a beautiful display in time for Holland’s Tulip Time Festival. Considering how close Far Haven was to Holland, we got a lot of spillover from the tourists. I had mixed feelings about spring. The influx of tourists boosted our economy. It also turned our sleepy, little town into a tourist haven. Nightmare was more like it, especially traffic. I liked knowing everyone in town. It made me feel comfortable, secure. All the strangers made me . . . edgy.

For a while, the only sound came from the screeching gulls and our shoes slapping the hard-packed sand. We ran to the Point then turned around. A couple of hardy souls in black wet suits kite-surfed about a hundred feet out into Lake Michigan. Their brightly-colored kites danced in the wind while their boards skimmed the water. The sun glinted off the gentle waves, sparkling like tiny fireworks. In the distance, a freighter headed south. Fully loaded considering how low it rode in the water.

On our way back, Nick stopped at the park. “We have to talk.”

Nothing ever good came from a conversation that started with those words. He pulled me down onto a bench. For several seconds, he just gazed out at Lake Michigan. In the distance, a freighter headed south. Fully loaded, considering how low it rode in the water.

I couldn’t stand Nick’s silence any longer. I was about to ask what he wanted to talk about when he said, “Did you really mean what you said? After Ma showed up. About not wanting to be married to me?”

Blurb:

Once again, Alex O’Hara is up to her ears in mysteries. After surviving an attempted murder, all she wants is R&R time with Nick Palzetti. But his mother leaving his father (“that horse’s patoot”) and moving in with Alex puts a crimp in their plans. Then Nick leaves on assignment and the teen she rescued from an abusive father believes his buddy is doing drugs. Meanwhile, Alex has two easy cases to take her mind off her shaky relationship with Nick—a philandering husband and a background check on a client’s boyfriend. Piece of cake.

Available at:

Amazon: http://a.co/2hk7fYF

Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/the-case-of-the-meddling-mama-an-alex-o-hara-novel

Smashwords:  https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/718776

Barnes & Noble:  http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-case-of-the-meddling-mama-diane-burton/1126242293?ean=2940157423414 
iBooks: https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/the-case-of-the-meddling-mama-an-alex-ohara-novel/id1227684677?mt=11

About the Author:

Diane Burton combines her love of mystery, adventure, science fiction and romance into writing romantic fiction. Besides the science fiction romance Switched and Outer Rim series, she is the author of One Red Shoe, a romantic suspense. She is also a contributor to the anthology How I Met My Husband. Diane and her husband live in Michigan. They have two children and two grandchildren.

 For more info and excerpts from her books, visit Diane’s website: http://www.dianeburton.com

Connect with Diane Burton online

Blog:  http://dianeburton.blogspot.com/

Twitter:  http://twitter.com/dmburton72

Facebook:  http://facebook.com/dianeburtonauthor

Goodreads: Diane Burton Author

Pinterest: http://pinterest.com/dmburton72/

Amazon author page: http://amzn.com/e/B00683MH5E

Sign up for Diane’s New Release Alert: http://eepurl.com/bdHtYf

Stop and Smell the Chickens ... a tale of obsession

Okay, okay, in the interests of being a responsible
livestock owner, the CDC advises strongly that
you DO NOT smell your chickens.
No kissing either!

Image use purchased from Bigstock.com

Hi, I’m Dani, and I’m a writer and a confirmed introvert. You don’t have to be an introvert to be a writer, but many of us are, and it probably helps in this particular profession. But there are times when you need to stop pounding the keyboard for a while, replenish yourself, and come back to the work fresh.

Am I smart enough to do this on my own? Nope.

I’m one of those writers who tend to become both obsessive and reclusive (yes, even more than usual!). I specialize in digging in like a badger in a hole, determined to produce a story if it kills me. And it could. Especially now as I’m neck-deep in trying to finish a novel (Storm Crossed, Grim Series #4).

Lucky for me, my ever-patient hubs is used to this. He’s seen it all, is familiar with every phase of noveling, and every stage of writer-mania. Last week he correctly identified the signs of pernicious Writer Overload. As a man of action, he promptly staged an intervention.

Hubs:  There’s a chicken show in Kennewick today. I thought we might go.

Me:  Mmm, I’d love that, but I can’t go anywhere right now. I’m writing.

Hubs:  Honey, you need to get out of the house.

Me:  But I can’t go when I haven’t hit my word count! And I have to fix this scene so I can fix my chapter so I can fix my plot!

Hubs:  Do you know that our friends are getting suspicious?

Me:  We’ll have them over for dinner, right after I finish this novel. I promise.

Hubs:  The neighbors are starting to look at me like I’ve buried you in my vegetable garden. No one’s seen you for weeks.

Me:  Hey, that’s exactly the kind of idea I could use to deal with this secondary character that won't behave—

Hubs:  GET IN THE CAR!

Image use purchased from Bigstock.com

In the end, I was traumatically separated from my laptop, and driven to an event that was truly tailor-made for me:  a chicken show! Nope, not a show about chickens, but just like there are dog shows for dogs, there are also chicken shows for chickens!

I don’t care who wins the ribbons, I just enjoy walking along rows and rows of cages and exhibits, looking at every breed, variety, and color of chickens there are, and dreaming of what I might add to my little backyard flock in the future. I not only have chickens in the yard right now (and yes, they all have names, like Mrs. Beardsley and Priscilla), but I pore over the hatchery catalogues every January and order chicks. I have 16 balls of fluff in my kitchen at this very moment. 

While coffee is a necessity, chickens are my guilty pleasure. They also provide a small measure of balance in my life. If it weren’t for needing to gather eggs three times a day, feeding and watering and coop-cleaning, I might never leave the house! (Except maybe to visit my thriving gnome colony or plant even more flowers, but that’s a whole 'nother story…)

At the top of my list for future acquisition:
Silkie Chickens!

Image use purchased from Bigstock.com

Hubs and I spent the entire morning not only indulging in chicken-gazing, but also engaging humans in honest-to-god conversation. We went out to lunch as a couple, and talked about everything but writing. And when I got home, I surprised myself by pounding out 1800 words. In a hurry. And they weren’t even terrible.

So what did I learn? 

That SOMETIMES I need to remember who I am when I’m not writing. There are many other parts and pieces to me, other things I enjoy doing and learning, people I love to hang out with, and places that refresh me. Plus, self-care and nurturing can make me more productive.

Will I remember this valuable experience, and remember to PUT THE LAPTOP DOWN occasionally? 

I wish I could say yes, but I know darn well I’ll bury myself in another writing project and I’ll LIKE being buried in it and not want to leave. It’s like Stockholm Syndrome, and my characters are my captors… And sometimes, just sometimes mind you, I’ll need to be dragged away for an hour or two or six.

Even if I kick and scream a little…

A few of Dani's chicken friends!
All photos by Dani Harper

YOUR TURN:

Do you have a favorite thing that makes you smile? Is there someone in your life who reminds you to stop and smell the roses, or at least hands you coffee?

Here Be News

Fire Fall is now available for pre-order on Amazon for 99c.

A billionaire's daughter and the wizard who left her behind. Now the Rocky Mountains are on fire, and magic can't save them!

Buy link: https://www.amazon.com/Fire-Fall-Old-School-Book-ebook/dp/B06Y3Q8Z3F/

Veronica Scott and fellow scifi romance author Cara Bristol interview each other about their new releases today in USA Today Happy Ever After.

BRING IT BACK(LIST):
This past weekend, Linda Mooney talked about X-Troller from her backlist, which has just been released as an audiobook.

Bring It Back(list) with Linda Mooney

With the release of my novel X-Troller as an audio book, I'm thrilled to showcase it as part of Bring It Back(list).

The Story Behind
I love sci-fi and horror. Movies like Aliens, Independence Day, and Stormship Troopers are my cup of tea. With the advent of alien invasion movies, I wanted to step outside the box and began to wonder what an invasion of Earth-born aliens would be like. Add a touch of time travel, give it a pre- and post-apocalyptic timeline, and the novel flowed.

Blurb
Emotionally scarred and physically weary, Dwan is ordered to go forty-seven years into the past in a last ditch effort to find the one man who can help her fight the monsters created decades ago by a company called Lambruchet. Monsters that have since devastated mankind and the world.

Eli Voight has been battling the Lambruchet demons ever since the company had his father killed. As the first Troller, he’s made it his duty to bring down the creatures and find a way to permanently stop them. He’s skeptical of Dwan's claim that she’s from the future. But her skill is undeniable, and her presence becomes an all-consuming passion for the man who had pushed aside any thought of a personal life in his quest to drive the demons to extinction.

Dwan never expected to fall and fall hard for the emotionally unapproachable soldier. Worse, she knew what kind of death lay ahead for Eli, which meant there could never be a future for them.

Together, they must fight to take out the monstrosities, or else Earth as it is will cease to exist. And the Earth that could be, Dwan’s world, will only hold a future of horror and hopelessness.

Warning: Contains living nightmares, impromptu dentistry, great beef stew (with real meat), screwed DNA, deadly broom handles, a shave and a haircut, coded writing, and two people fighting against a future that gives mankind only two more decades to exist.

Excerpt

The watchtower recognized her before the transmitter in her head sent the signal to the computers to open the slender door at one end of the gate. The gate was more of a wall nearly twenty meters tall, built to separate the ruined part of the city from the area where the rest of civilization existed.

            She hadn’t seen any other signs of activity as she headed for the exit. If headquarters caught any more shadows, they would send another Troller in, knowing she had been called back for another purpose.

            Dwan scoured her memory and tried to remember if she knew of another Troller who had been jerked away in mid-duty. She came up blank, but it didn’t bother her. Maybe it was more common than she thought. The fact that she’d never heard of such a thing didn’t mean it didn’t happen.

            Before slipping through the gate, she took a cautious look over her shoulder. It was habit, but unnecessary at this point. If Gate Central got wind of a demon in hiding and waiting for the moment when a Troller or other human would pass through before it tried to escape, the door would remain sealed until its presence was no longer detected. Still, glancing back at the road behind her was an ingrained habit, and one that had saved her ass on more than one occasion.

            The inner shields hissed loudly as she passed through the barrier. Only when she was safely on the other side of the wall did she finally holster her weapon. Rexx ran up to meet her.

            “Dirrin sent me to fetch you,” the young man informed her breathlessly. Apparently he had run all the way from HQ. His eyes widened at the sight of the yellow smears on the front of her shirt, knowing she had been inside the wall less than an hour.

            Dwan frowned. “Yeah. Is he the one who pulled me off duty?”

            Rexx jerked his gaze away from the stains and looked up at her. “Yeah.” He took off without looking to see if she was tailing him.

            She broke into a trot to keep pace with the messenger, all the way to the single-story building three blocks over. Along the way, she caught the eye of people going about their daily business. Most of them gave her a smile and a wave, which she ignored. Trollers were lauded as heroes in this day and age, placed above the police, the fire fighters, and even the military. The status was not something she enjoyed, but the accolades were unavoidable. Where the police and fire fighters risked their lives every day to keep the human community safe, and the military did their stint to protect the populace from demon attacks, the Trollers actually battled the demons which had overrun the Lambruchet corporation. Trollers didn’t just risk their own lives, they risked losing their souls, as well as their sanity.

            The area was pretty busy, considering only authorized personnel were allowed to roam and work this close to the wall. The main part of the city where the rest of civilization lived and worked was another wall away. Dwan walked through another barrier before entering headquarters. Her suspicions proved correct when she followed the messenger straight to the director’s office. What she didn’t expect was the number of high-ranking people, scientists included, also standing around outside the office.

            Dirrin nodded as she entered. “You made good time. Thanks, Dwan.”

            “I’d just gone on duty. I wasn’t too far from the wall when you called me in.” She glanced around the room. “What’s going on?”

            A woman she didn’t know ripped open a sterile packet and handed her the cloth. Dwan knew what it was for without having to be told. She quickly wiped the demon blood from the front of her jumpsuit, ignoring the stain that would permanently mark it. Dwan tossed the rag into the container marked with the little nuclear waste symbol.

            “Would you like something to drink?” a man asked. She knew him, but his name eluded her at the moment.

            “Yeah. Please. Thanks.”

            “Take a seat, Dwan,” Dirrin ordered her. Not asked, ordered. She knew that serious tone all to well, although she had been lucky in the past not to have been on the receiving end of it. Looked like her luck had run out. She took the one deliberately left unoccupied chair in the room.

            The man quickly got to the heart of the matter. “Dwan, what do you know of the BENT project?”

            “Just the name. I don’t know what it means, or what it entails.”

            The man who had inquired about something to drink stepped forward to hand her a pouch. Dwan thanked him and drank. It was real spring water, fresh and sweet. Not the re-filtered stuff. They waited for her to finish before continuing. When they did, it was the water man who took the lead.          

            “It’s the acronym for Biological Entity Neuron Transmitter.”

            His name popped up in her head. Nickkels. Still, it didn’t mean anything to her. The scientists kept to themselves within their own little enclave at the far end of the second circle. She gave him a blank stare.

            “Think time travel,” Nickkels added.

            “All right. I’m thinking time travel. Which way? Forwards or backwards?”

            There were eight people in the room. With a wave of the director’s arm, that number filed down to four: her, Nickkels, Dirrin, and the woman scientist who had handed her the sterile wipe.

            “This is Phoebe,” Nickkels introduced.

            “Assistant?” Dwan asked.

            The woman smiled. “Co-creator.” Although the smile had been genuine, Dwan caught a trace of bitterness behind it. Apparently a lot of people must take her for Nickkels’ assistant.

            Crossing her legs, Dwan rested her arms on the arms of the chair and tried to look relaxed. “Forwards or backwards?” she repeated.

            Phoebe replied. “Back.”

            “How far?”

            “If we can manage, forty-seven years ago,” Dirrin answered.

            “And you’re telling me this because...” She already had a lump of ice freezing the inside of her stomach. It was beginning to chill her blood, numbing her senses as it deadened her nerve endings. They had called her in to tell her about this project that few had heard of, and which practically no one ever spoke of, because it was supposed to be all hush-hush. Which told her BENT was marked in the upper echelons as Top Top Secret. Or higher. Was there such a thing as Top Top Top Secret?

            Regardless, Dwan knew what was coming. In a way, the wait was almost worse than stalking demons.

            “We’ve come to the point where we either go ahead with the project, or shut it down,” Nickkels admitted. “BENT was created to send a human back through time.”

            “Back forty-seven years?” She looked over at the woman scientist. “Forty-seven years ago was when Lambruchet imploded and its demons took over the planet.”

            Phoebe nodded. “We know. That’s why we want to send someone back to try and warn the corporation before that happens.”

            “Warn it? Or stop it?”

            Phoebe’s face hardened. “Either. Whatever you can manage.”

            “Me?” Stunned, Dwan looked around, but the same determined look was on everyone’s face. At the last possible second, she had realized the truth. But hearing the words come from their mouths still surprised her. “You...you want me to change the past so that this future doesn’t happen? Is that what you’re saying you want me to do? Is it even possible?”

            “We’re hoping it is,” Dirrin said.

            Dwan sat up straighter. The coldness had seeped into her face, making her skin feel like an immobile mask reflecting her rising fear. “And I’m the lucky person who got tapped to go back?”

            “Yeah,” Nickkels responded with a half-hearted smile. “Tag, you’re it. Congratulations.” 

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