First Chapter: Sparks and Shadow by Ceara Nobles

Title: SPARKS AND SHADOW
Author: Ceara Nobles
Publisher: Riverside Press
Genre: YA Fantasy

Seattle is full of monsters, and I’m the only one who can see them.

I’ve spent the last 17 years (AKA my whole life) pretending I can’t see the monsters who disguise themselves as humans. I may not have a place to live and my best friend may be moments away from getting in too deep with the city’s most dangerous drug lord, but I’m rolling with the status quo.

That is, until I save my arch enemy’s stupid life and find myself in a warehouse full of monsters.

Next thing I know, I’m in Monster Land (AKA not Seattle) and up to my ears in monsters, magic, and inevitable mayhem. If I want to get home, I have to join a band of revolutionaries and stay alive long enough to get back through the portal before war breaks out.

This’ll be a cinch.

Sparks and Shadow is a modern, action-packed YA portal fantasy featuring Fae mythology, magic, and slow-burn romance. This is the first book in the Rising Elements series.

Book Information

Release Date: March 4, 2022

Publisher: Riverside Press

Kindle eBook: ASIN: B09HRFLWSW; $3.99

Amazon: https://amzn.to/3G2IYcN

FIRST CHAPTER

Seattle was full of monsters.

I’m not talking about the petty criminals, drug dealers, and other miscellaneous jerks that flooded the streets every day – although they were there too.

No, I’m talking about real-life, stuff-of-nightmares monsters—but these ones weren’t confined to the midnight recesses of the mind.

They stood in line at HoneyHole, waiting for a sandwich like it was the most natural thing in the world.

It was one o’clock in the afternoon, just past the lunch rush, and most couriers in the area had gathered at HoneyHole for Al’s gourmet sandwiches. A line of pedal bikes leaned haphazardly against the building’s cement wall and my co-workers sprawled on the sidewalk, gossiping about the day’s deliveries between bites.

I sat on my bike, leaning forward against the handlebars, and watched a tall, horrific monster covered in scales have a friendly chat with the woman in line behind him.

Part of me—the part that never learned—wanted to run inside and yank the woman away from him, but there was a big problem with that.

I was the only one who could see them.

Tapping my foot, I forced myself to look away from the big window and down at my phone. The smell of freshly baked bread tantalized my nose. My stomach growled, but I ignored it. Since everyone else was eating, it was the perfect time for me to get a few good gigs without any competition.

“Hey, Everly.” Peter leaned forward, crossing his arms over the handlebars of his ridiculously expensive Diamondback. His overly gelled blond hair gleamed in the afternoon sunlight. “Get any good gigs today? I got one that paid a hundred bucks to deliver a letter across town.”

I smiled sweetly through clenched teeth. “That sounds like a gig I would’ve had if someone hadn’t kicked my tire and made me crash.”

Into a hot dog stand. In the middle of the morning rush. With fifteen witnesses.

I hated Peter’s guts. He’d stolen dozens of good gigs from me with underhanded moves like that.

Peter threw back his head and laughed. He glanced around as if we had a captive audience, but everyone was busy with their lunch. “That’s unfortunate,” he said. “I guess you just weren’t fast enough.”

My eyes narrowed. I took a step forward to show him exactly how fast I was, but the ‘ding’ of an app notification stopped me. A similar tune echoed from the pockets of all the couriers around us. I flipped open the old phone and unlocked it. There, in snappy red letters, an announcement blazed up at me.

NEW GIG, GO-CARTERS!

I tapped the notification with my thumb and a map appeared on screen with a route from my location to a red X. Just underneath the X, a small yellow box read, “$250.00.”

Peter let out a long whistle and shifted on his bike, placing his right foot on the pedal. His dull brown eyes met mine, and the challenge there sent a shot of adrenaline through my veins. “Don’t bother with this one, E. I’m feeling especially motivated this afternoon.”

I slid my phone into the pocket of my jeans and gave him a cool smile. “We’ll see about that.”

Peter laughed and pushed away from the concrete wall of the sandwich shop. I heard the metallic click as he switched gears and took off down the street. Several couriers called out encouragement as I set off after him. Our rivalry was a source of endless amusement for our co-workers.

My old cruiser didn’t have gears and it wasn’t as fast as Peter’s fancy mountain bike, but it was my baby. I’d found it in a dumpster a few months before. The frame was rusted and slightly bent, but I’d spent a week’s savings to buy two new tires and now it ran like a dream.

It didn’t take me long to catch up to Peter. Despite his superior bike, he spent more time eating fast food than peddling. His lunch had clearly slowed him down, and I gave him a two-finger wave as I cruised past him a couple blocks down the road. He snarled something that sounded like the feminist in me should take offense.

The street began a slow downhill descent toward the port and I stood, shoving hard on the pedals to gain some speed. Car horns sounded as I whipped around a corner, narrowly missing a parked van. I ignored them, cutting up onto the curb and weaving in and out of tourists walking along the boardwalk.

I got held up near Pike Place. The boardwalk clogged with bodies and nobody listened to my shouted, “Move!” so I glided back onto the street. Even traffic was at a standstill; the cars were packed too closely together for me to squeeze through.

A sharp whistle drew my attention to the left. Peter flipped me off as he sped by under the freeway.

I cursed and cut across traffic to follow him. His laughter floated back to me.

I leaned forward, breathing heavily as I pumped my legs to pick up speed. The wind tossed my dark hair across my face and I jerked my head to keep it out of my eyes.

After we passed Pike Place, the traffic grew sparse. The shadows around us lengthened as the sun disappeared behind massive warehouse walls. The buildings grew closer together, the alleys winding and narrow. Grimy faces peered out of the darkness and around corners at the sound of our approach. Frayed blue tarps stretched between buildings and lamp posts, and bundles of clothing and blankets shifted underneath. Small groups of people scattered as we pedaled past, skittering into the darkness like cockroaches.

Ahead of me, Peter’s feet slowed. His head swiveled in every direction.

I grinned into the cool afternoon air. He obviously hadn’t looked closely at the map before he accepted the gig.

The address listed was at the center of Vagrant Seattle.

“What’s the matter, Peter?” I asked, drawing my bike next to his. “Scared of a few homeless people?”

I didn’t tell him that there was much more to be afraid of in this area. Most of the inhuman threats didn’t come out around here until after dark though.

Peter shot me a nasty look. That was the only warning I got before he veered sharply and lowered his shoulder, ramming it into me.

My bike made a beeline for the curb. I jerked the handlebars to keep myself on the road, but the bike’s frame wobbled dangerously. I was going too fast.

Someone screamed.

A little girl stood in my path. Her mother was running from across the street, but she wasn’t going to make it.

I couldn’t stop.

Cursing, I jerked to the right and jumped the curb, narrowly missing the toddler.

“Out of the way!” I shouted at the group of people standing on the sidewalk. “Move!”

They scattered.

A blur of black fur skated across my vision. Before I could process what it was, I was flying over my handlebars.

Time slowed. I saw Peter’s smug expression as he picked up speed and rode away.

I landed hard on my back and laid there in shock for a few heartbeats—my heart was still beating, thankfully—before I moved.

Nobody came to check on me. I had seen a few familiar faces in the crowd, but by the time I struggled to a sitting position, the street around me was empty.

I wasn’t surprised. In Vagrant Seattle, as I fondly called the area where the homeless population gathered, it was every man for himself. It was hard to focus on helping someone else when you could barely fend for yourself.

Hot breath on the back of my neck had me shooting to my feet. I whirled around, ready to fight, but it was only a dog. He sat next to my overturned bike, tail wagging and tongue lolling to one side of his open mouth. Intelligent brown eyes regarded me without a hint of reproach for almost killing him.

“Sorry, boy,” I muttered. I gave him a good scratch on the top of his head. “You don’t look like you belong out here. You should go back where you came from. The people around here would eat you as soon as look at you.”

He cocked his head to the side.

“And I’m talking to a dog,” I continued, hauling my bike upright. “Maybe I hit my head on the way down.”

Glancing at my phone, I smiled. There wasn’t much distance left to the gig location, and Peter didn’t know these alleyways like I did.

I jumped onto my bike and took off. The handlebars were bent, so I had to keep them angled at forty-five degrees to ride in a straight line. Swerving into an alley, I cursed Peter’s name as I swerved between makeshift shelters and yelled at bystanders to move.

He was going to pay for humiliating me twice in one day, starting with the two hundred and fifty dollars this gig would pay when I stole it from him.

I cut around the back side of the waterfront warehouses, riding along the narrow edge next to the water. Peter would go all the way around the pier to the gig’s address on the other side, but I knew the area like the back of my hand. I had spent a year living in these alleys after I ran away from the foster home at fourteen.

A few people acknowledged me as I passed. Nobody waved, but some familiar faces nodded in my direction. Body odor and the smell of garbage burning in metal trash cans permeated the air, mingling with the smell of sea salt. It smelled like home.

Even I could recognize how messed up that was.

A large cargo ship greeted me at the pier, a narrow wooden walkway connecting it to the shore. I hopped my bike onto the ramp. The frame wobbled as I crossed the expanse with water far below. Luckily, the ship was deserted as I rode through and down the ramp on the other side, landing safely on the opposite side of the pier.

I couldn’t help but grin as I pedaled faster, picking up speed to weave through the last alleyway separating me from my destination.

I burst into the shadowed street, grinning like a fool, and slammed on my brakes. My back tire screeched against the pavement. The sound reverberated against the tall metal and concrete walls surrounding me. The force of my sudden stop almost flipped me over the handlebars again, but I threw my weight back and managed to gain control of the bike.

The hair on the back of my neck stood on end.

This place was very, very wrong.

There were monsters everywhere.
#

When my dad was still around, he and my mom had always laughed about my “imaginary friends.” After Dad left, though, everything changed. Mom couldn’t stand the embarrassment of having a daughter that was likely crazy, and then she stopped caring about that and started caring more about her next hit.

By the time I was on my own at age thirteen, I had no idea how to handle my weird ability. Like everything else in my life, I didn’t have a choice – I had to figure it out or die trying.

Now, four years later, I knew a thing or two about the monsters that stalked Seattle’s streets. Most were active at night like something out of your worst nightmare; they creeped, crawled, and slithered through dark alleyways, preying on passersby regardless of age, ethnicity, or gender. Most looked like humans with the exception of oddly colored eyes or skin, but a select few still caused me to wake in a cold sweat some nights. Monsters with horns and beady eyes and sharp teeth who could devour a human in two seconds flat.

I didn’t know why they were in Seattle or where they came from, and I didn’t care. My first priority was always survival, so over the years, I’d learned what I needed to know to avoid them. I knew their patterns, when and where and sometimes even how they hunted.

There shouldn’t be any monsters on this side of the pier. They stuck to populated areas where the pickings were good, and even the homeless didn’t come here. It was a ghost town of abandoned warehouses and metal shipping containers that hadn’t moved in years.

But this particular warehouse was downright bustling—just not with people. Monsters hurried in and out of the building, some carrying briefcases, like it was just another day at the office.

I stood in the middle of the narrow street with my jaw almost touching the pavement. I was so stunned that I didn’t immediately register the sound of Peter’s approach. By the time I did, it was almost too late to react.

Dropping my bike, I sprinted across the street. A few monsters glanced my way, but I kept my eyes forward.

First rule of surviving Monstrous Seattle—don’t let them know you can see them.

As far as I knew, I was the only one who could. Sure, some of the monsters interacted with humans, but they wore some sort of illusion. Sometimes, if I squinted and tilted my head to the side, I could almost see the disguise too. It flickered, shimmering in front of their true form like a mirage, and gave me a splitting migraine if I focused on it for too long.

I reached the door of the warehouse as Peter whipped around the corner. He swerved, narrowly avoiding my abandoned bike, and swore viciously when he saw me. Normally I would’ve given him the middle-finger salute with a cheeky grin, but my stomach was too busy trying to claw its way out of my throat.

Leave, I urged him silently. Get out of here before it’s too late.

The warehouse door swung open. The hinges screeched like they hadn’t been used in at least a hundred years. I turned away from Peter to face the monster standing in the doorway. It was at least eight feet tall, probably male, with blue skin and jagged tusks that extended from his canines and down past his chin. My eyes automatically rose to his face, well above mine.

I realized too late that his illusory face was much lower. The face of a handsome red-haired man shimmered in the middle of the monster’s massive chest.

I’d just broken rule number one.

My heart jack-knifed in my chest. I allowed my eyes to travel casually past the monster’s real face and up to the ceiling of the warehouse, as if I was admiring how tall it was.

Yeah, real convincing, Everly.

After a moment of pretend-reflection, I looked at the monster’s chest and smiled brightly. “I’m here from Go-Cart. You had a package to deliver?”

The monster’s shimmering face regarded me for a long moment. In my experience, this type of monster wasn’t the brightest bulb in the box. If I was lucky, he wouldn’t catch on to the fact that I had just met his eyes. His real eyes.

After a moment that stretched into eternity, the monster nodded and retreated into the warehouse.

I leaned slightly to the right, hoping to get a discreet glance of the interior. What could be so important that a whole horde of monsters would hang out in this area? It was too dark for me to see anything, and before I could look further, the monster returned. He held a manila envelope in his meaty hands. One palm was easily the size of my head.

I swallowed hard and accepted the envelope, careful to keep my smile in place. “Thanks!”

I showed him my phone and he unlocked his, tapping my ID into his app. Another address popped up on my screen, along with a flashing green dollar sign.

GIG RECEIVED.

I’d never been more disturbed to see those words.

Without a word, the monster closed the warehouse door with another shriek of protest from the rusty hinges.

“How did you get here so fast?”

I turned to see Peter scowling at me. I ignored him, walking quickly to where I’d left my bike.

Before I could reach it, his hand closed around my arm.

I planted my feet and yanked it out of his grasp, whirling to face him. “Touch me again and I promise you’ll regret it.”

Peter’s expression turned mocking. He crossed his arms over his chest. “What, are you scared of a few homeless people?”

I forced a deep breath. This idiot had no idea what he’d walked into. We were surrounded by monsters, many of them staring at us with hungry eyes. They were at the top of the food chain and we were the main course. “If you know what’s good for you,” I said to Peter in a low voice, “you’ll get out of here. Right now.”

Peter must’ve caught the tone in my voice. His eyes narrowed and he glanced around, but he didn’t move.

Fine. He could get eaten for all I cared.

I pulled my bike upright and hopped on, securing the envelope in my backpack. I would deliver the cursed thing and then be done with this freaky place forever.

Without another word to Peter, I rode away.

About the Author

Ceara Nobles is a Utah-based author of romantic suspense and fantasy novels. She graduated from the University of Utah in 2016 with a B.A. in Computer Animation, then realized she hated it. Now she spends her days juggling her side hustle as a line editor and her true love of authorship. When she’s not busy writing, you can find her chasing her toddler, road tripping with her hubby, or hiding in bed with a chai and a good book.

Her latest book is the YA Fantasy, SPARKS AND SHADOW.

Visit her website at www.cearanobles.com or connect with her at Facebook and Instagram.

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