Dances With Demons - a Phoenix Chronicle Novella

Cover Dances With Demons - a Phoenix Chronicle Novella
So why had I smelled that unmistakably acrid scent when Quinn had dropped them on the table?
    I sniffed at what was left of my coffee but it didn’t smell burned either. Perhaps someone had set fire to garbage nearby, and I’d merely caught a whiff.
    Or I was losing my mind. Wouldn’t be the first time.
    Max’s death had sent me to the edge. Only the kids, and Liz, had pulled me back. But I’d been close enough to feel that madness, sometimes I felt it still.
    The scones were better than
... any I’d ever had in the States. Not that I’d tried any after the first, which had been dry, hard and downright nasty.
    I had a sudden urge to try everything I’d ever heard was better here than there. Clotted cream, Guinness, wine, brown bread.
    Irishmen.
    I glanced through the window. Quinn was gone.
    I ran to the front door, threw it open, let out a breath.
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