When a cosmic alignment tears them from Earth, Alamea, May, Nathan, and Eli are thrown into Ny'a, a world divided over who they might be now that the prophecy surrounding their arrival has faded into myth.
Centuries ago, four legendary Guardians known as the First Children defeated Ahror, the Goddess of Destruction.
Now, rumours spread that the newcomers are their reincarnated souls: the Second Children, returned to prevent her awakening.
While some see them as humanity's last hope, others view them as dangerous weapons to control, exploit, or destroy. Hunted by powerful factions, stalked by creatures once thought extinct, and burdened by powers they barely understand, the four must prove who they are.
As political tensions escalate and faith becomes a weapon, each must confront the wounds they brought from Earth and decide whether destiny is something to embrace, defy, or rewrite entirely.
In-Between is the first novel in an epic fantasy saga. Filled with gods, monsters, magic, and political intrigue, it is ultimately the story of four ordinary people struggling to find where they belong in a world that expects them to be legends.
Perfect for readers of Brandon Sanderson, James Islington, John Gwynne, and N.K. Jemisin.
Planet Earth, the 20th of December 1999
The fingers of the clock moved across its dial; the slow movements accompanied by the repetitive ticking sound casting soporific powers. With a loud groan, Alamea pushed herself back up from the counter, straightening her back and stretching her neck. She had to do something, or she would fall asleep.
She tied back her coal-black corkscrew curls and adjusted the apron hugging her defined waist. She diligently inspected each table, fawning over their red and white chequered tablecloths and aligning the hot sauce bottles. Satisfied with her work, she walked towards the western wall of the taqueria and stared at the numerous frames hanging on precarious nails.
The pictures were purposeful, a reminder that the restaurant was not a fast-food tourist trap but an authentic family-owned taqueria fighting the wave of Americanisation plaguing downtown Mexico City.
She stared a moment longer at the picture of the taqueria’s owners. Her colleague Benito stood between his parents, his father proudly holding his son’s shoulder with one hand and his wife’s waist with the other. Alamea grunted.
She would never peruse family pictures, recall fond memories, laugh at shared secrets, or feel pride when thinking of where she came from, of which ancestor shared her thick and long eyelashes, her amber-freckled brown eyes, or her bronze ebony skin. Even if she did, it would only lead to hurt and disappointment. She kicked the wall with her foot, sharp pain throbbing her toe.
‘That wall did nothing to you,’ Benito’s father said.
Alamea swivelled and sheepishly grinned. ‘Sorry.’
Diego approached her and looked at the pictures on the walls, unable to refrain from smiling.
‘Have dinner with us tonight. Isabella is cooking her famous tamales.’
Alamea looked once more at the family pictures. She almost said yes, a momentary lapse in judgement. But when she turned towards him, Diego was staring at her, his eyes full of compassion. Alamea recoiled. She did not need his pity. She did not need him or his wife’s home-cooked meals. She did not need anyone. Her anger snapped into position like a shield.
‘Thanks, but I’ve got plans,’ she replied coolly, ‘and someone’s got to close the taqueria for the holidays,’ she added, moving towards the counter.
Diego was about to retort when she continued, ‘You’d better go. Isabella hates it when you’re late.’
Diego sighed and grabbed his jacket, making his way towards the exit. Alamea busied herself, lining up the receipts strewn across the counter.
‘No one should be alone during the holidays,’ Diego said as he opened the door, glancing at the young woman one last time.
‘I won’t be,’ she lied. ‘I have plans.’
Alamea held his gaze until Diego relented.
‘Okay. Stay out of trouble.’
Alamea fidgeted on her feet. She would gladly stay out of trouble. But trouble always found her, like a moth attracted to a flame.
‘I will.’
‘Felices fiestas.’
‘Felices fiestas.’
Alamea watched his figure disappear in the streets. Tiny bits of paper now littered the floor as she angrily shredded the receipts.
***
Technically, she had not lied.
She had plans. They consisted of buying a bottle of rum and drinking herself into oblivion. She counted the pesos in her wallet, depositing them carefully on the shop’s counter. She had worked hard to earn each one, and tonight she had to dip into her “Get the hell out of Mexico” fund to retrieve these precious coins. But it was truly an emergency. The cashier took her treasured money before pushing the bottle of alcohol towards her. She quickly exited the shop, holding on tightly to her bottle, her remedy for surviving the dreadful holidays.
Suddenly, the streetlights flickered and died, plunging Alamea into the dark.
‘Are you fucking kidding me?’ she shouted into the darkness.
She continued walking, bumping into bins, until she felt something, like an otherworldly presence, lingering behind her, pushing her forwards. She abruptly turned around and scanned the darkness, her fingers clasping the bottle like a weapon. Her heartbeat pulsed in her ears.
‘Who’s there?’
No answer. Nothing.
Until dozens of rats emerged into the alley, scurrying away fearfully. Alamea yelped in surprise. She added rodents to the long list of things she hated. She had barely taken a step when a loud boom echoed above her, making her jump and curse.
She indignantly gazed upwards, searching for the culprit and something else to hate, but instead gasped. Thousands of lights, from purple to deep green, suddenly exploded throughout the sky, replacing the moon and stars and illuminating the streets. The lights shifted colours, enrapturing Alamea.
She stood there, watching the abnormal lights, until she heard a frightened, pleading voice.
‘Please, no!’
She peeled her eyes away from the sky.
‘No!’ the pleading voice repeated.
Alamea again felt that lingering presence, this time straight ahead, urging her on. She prowled towards the small alleyway on her right, where two men were accosting a woman. One of the men was pinning her against the brick wall, whilst the other rummaged through her purse.
The lingering presence swirled around Alamea, beckoning and twining with her rising anger. Without thinking, she walked towards the trio.
‘Hey, assholes! What do you think you’re doing?’ she shouted.
The men slowly turned around. Alamea glared at them.
‘Leave us alone,’ the smaller man said dismissively.
‘You leave her alone!’
The second man momentarily let go of the woman, who crumpled on the ground.
‘Fuck off!’ he shouted.
The lights in the sky cast strange shadows on his face, suddenly exposing the angularity of his cheekbones and giving him a ferocious look. On his neck, she could now see the tattoo of a viper, its forked tongue wrapped around his Adam’s apple.
Alamea briefly faltered. She was not afraid. She rarely was. But standing up to gang members was serious trouble, even for her. She looked at the woman on the ground, petrified, tears streaming down her face.
Alamea ground her teeth.
Trouble always called for her, and she always answered.
She deposited her bottle of rum on the ground and took another step towards the men, fisting her hands.
‘I’m not leaving her,’ she said, planting herself before the men.
‘Are you looking for a fight?’ the larger man said mockingly.
The men laughed. Alamea growled.
She knew what they were: predators. As an orphaned girl, she had encountered a countless number of them. She had been scared back then – easy prey. But now, she refused to be afraid. Or to be prey.
She was just like them.
A predator.
Relying on the skills she had been forced to learn through the years, she pounced. Alamea adeptly kneed the larger man in the crotch, sending him wailing to the ground before violently elbowing the second man in the face. He staggered backwards, bringing his hands to his bleeding nose and cursing loudly.
‘Go!’ she shouted at the crying woman.
The woman hesitated before sprinting away. Alamea smiled. But she would not hold the higher ground for long. Surprise had been on her side. And although she hated to admit it, she may have bitten off more than she could chew.
‘You’re going to regret that perra,’ the man with the bleeding nose muttered as he swung his fist towards Alamea.
Too fast for her to avoid it.
It hit her straight in the jaw, and she lost her balance, falling to the ground. Disorientated, she could not stop the flurry of kicks the man delivered. Alamea repressed her whimpers as the pain and her rage built to a crescendo with each blow.
‘You broke my fucking nose!’ the man screamed as he stopped kicking and spat on Alamea.
The larger man had also recovered from his ordeal and was heading towards them. She tried to get up, but the larger man grabbed her by the hair and slammed her into the wall. Excruciating pain shot through her spine and upper neck.
‘Alamea.’ The man read the name tag on her uniform. ‘What a pretty name for a lovely face. Too bad I’m going to have to disfigure it.’
Alamea held back her tears. She would not show them, or anyone else, her vulnerability – only her fury.
She hit the man in his throat as hard as she could, forcing him to release her. He retreated to catch his breath. Her hand throbbed, as black dots danced in front of her eyes. She had to get away from them. But the two men were already preparing for their next assault, victorious grins on their faces.
‘Foolish perra,’ the smaller man said. ‘Should’ve walked away. Now you’ll be lucky if you ever use your legs again!’
Alamea’s entire body hummed with violence and retribution, spurred on by the coppery taste of the blood in her mouth. The lingering presence wrapped itself around her, still urging her on.
The larger man came for her first. She braced herself, ready to shift her weight at the last minute to deliver her last-ditch punch. As she did, the lingering presence abruptly vanished. How typical… Abandoning her when Alamea needed it the most.
But the lingering presence was soon replaced by an unfamiliar energy that coursed through Alamea. A predatorial, brutal, and primal force suddenly ignited inside her like a taut elastic band.
The rest happened too fast for Alamea to comprehend.
One moment, the large man was in front of her, ready to knock her out. Then her fist hit his chest, and a surge of unnatural strength pulsed through her. The next instant, his body was flying through the air and hitting the opposite wall of the alley with such force that it left an imprint of his body in it.
She looked in turn at her fist, the larger man unconscious on the ground, and then the strange lights in the sky. The other man’s mask of masculine confidence fell, and after one last scared glance towards Alamea, he abandoned his friend.
Confused, dazed and bruised, Alamea snatched her bottle of rum and ran away.