M K Wiseman

"I speak of magic, Mr. Holmes."Poor Mr. Percy Simmons, leader of London's Theosophical Order of Odic Forces, stands upon the hearth rug of 221B Baker Street, slowly mangling his hat brim in ill-concealed distress and fully aware that his is not a case which Mr. Sherlock Holmes would ordinarily take up.These are not ordinary times, however.For something, some unquiet demon within Holmes stirs into discomfiting wakefulness under the occultist'swords. This unassuming Mr. Simmons has-in addition to his more fantastical of claims-spoken of good and evil with the sort of pure conviction and sincerity of soul that Sherlock yearns for. Something Holmes sought for himself during the three years in which the world thought him dead. While, for all intents, constructions, and purposes, he was dead.But, six months ago, Sherlock Holmes gave up that chase. He returned to Baker Street, declared himself alive to friend and foe alike, took up his old rooms, his profession, and his partnership with Dr. J. Watson. Only to find himself haunted still by the questions which had followed him out of the dreadful chasm of Reichenbach Falls: Why? Why had he survived when his enemy had not? To what end? And had there ever, truly, been such a thing as justice? Such a thing as good or evil?

Before Baker Street, there was Montague.Before partnership with a former army doctor recently returned from Afghanistan, Sherlock Holmes had but the quiet company of his own great intellect. Solitary he might be but, living as he did for the thrill of the chase, it was enough.For a little while, at the least, it was enough. That is, until a client arrives at his door with a desperate plea and an invitation into a world of societal scandal and stage door dandies. Thrust deep in an all-consuming role and charged with the safe-keeping of another, Holmes must own to his limits or risk danger to others besides himself in this the case of the aluminium crutch.

England, 1680 A. D.Liara and Nagarath's enemy has unexpectedly come to their aid, surrendering to the magick-suppressing forces of the king of France so as to buy time for their escape. But that doesn't necessarily mean Anisthe is on their side. Vrsar's war mage, Liara's father-in-magick, has never been a man do to things for others. And he has always has plans within plans.In fleeing to England with his apprentice, the Wizard Nagarath realizes that Liara's power is no longer her own to command. With the shattering of Khariton's magick mirror in the Palace of Versailles, the young woman has become trapped in an alliance with the ancient and evil mage. What is more, at eighteen-years-old, her life remains tied to Anisthe's for another two years per the Laws of Magick. Anisthe, who is now imprisoned for having helped them evade the king's spellpiercers.Forced to revisit his own past, Nagarath is finally learning that there are some histories you cannot outrun. As for Liara, the darkness within her heart is greater than she ever could have imagined. This after Dvigrad's orphaned magpie having finally learned to love. For, in the words of Khariton himself, "In magick you can never have friends. Only rivals."

I am afraid that I, Sherlock Holmes, must act as my own chronicler in this singular case, that of the Whitechapel murders of 1888. For the way in which the affair was dropped upon my doorstep left me with little choice as to the contrary. Not twelve months prior, the siren's call of quiet domesticity and married life had robbed me of Watson's assistance as both partner and recorder of my cases. Thus, when detective inspector Lestrade of Scotland Yard required a lead-any lead-I found myself forced to pursue Jack the Ripper alone and without the aid of my faithful friend. And all for the most damnedable of reasons: Early on in my investigations, Dr. John H. Watson, formerly of 221b Baker Street, emerged as my prime suspect.

I am afraid that I, Sherlock Holmes, must act as my own chronicler in this singular case, that of the Whitechapel murders of 1888. For the way in which the affair was dropped upon my doorstep left me with little choice as to the contrary. Not twelve months prior, the siren's call of quiet domesticity and married life had robbed me of Watson's assistance as both partner and recorder of my cases. Thus, when detective inspector Lestrade of Scotland Yard required a lead-any lead-I found myself forced to pursue Jack the Ripper alone and without the aid of my faithful friend. And all for the most damnedable of reasons: Early on in my investigations, Dr. John H. Watson, formerly of 221b Baker Street, emerged as my prime suspect.

When you are a member of Britain's first team of wizard spies, every mission might be your last. But as the dawning of the 20th century draws ever nearer, magic grows weak. Violectric Dampening, the clash of man-made electricity with the Gifts of magekind, threatens M.I.'s existence. And if that isn't enough, they've now been discharged from their own government. Obsolete. Distrusted. And now hunted by one of their own. Myra Wetherby has always feared her so-called fits, strange visions of people and places that she cannot explain. It is the emotional manipulation, however, a strange empathic connection to those around her, which threatens her very sanity. A danger to her family, Myra runs away, falling straight into the hands of the newly ousted Magical Intelligence team. Who just so happen to need an ability like hers. Which makes Myra one of them . . . whether she likes it or not.

Liara's defense of the Wizard Nagarath has rendered Anisthe incantate-bereft of all magick-but even this has failed to guarantee Liara's safety. The death of the war mage would seal Liara's own fate, and so the wizard and his bookminder must keep him in their sites and yet as far away from themselves as possible. With nothing but a storybook and a hunch, Anisthe has set off on a journey across Europe, aided by his half-fey manservant, in search of a legendary mirror that contains the most powerful magick ever known. Although the stuff of fairytales, the merest possibility of its truth embarks Nagarath and Liara on a race to discover the mirror before it falls into the hands of Nagarath's lifelong foe. Both know should he lay claim to that power, Liara would be at the mercy of her father-in-magick and his lust for power, and not even Nagarath could save her. Thus, the pair find themselves at the court of the Sun King, a world hostile to magick users, hopelessly surrounded by agents whose sole purpose is destroy them. Uncertain whom is friend or foe, with Anisthe nipping at their heels, they must unearth the mirror before its evil is released, or worse, lays claim to Liara's magick as well and brings doom upon them all.