Racing was her dream. Saving the world wasn’t part of the plan.
When Aleja Garcia uncovers a cursed medallion tied to her family’s past, she’s pulled into Astra—a realm between life and death, where spirits of Light and Dark battle for control of Earth.
Reunited with her grandfather’s ghost, Aleja joins a crew of fallen champions in the Race Eternal. As the only living racer, she wields the Mind Forge—a mysterious power that shapes her vehicle to match her spirit.
To survive, she’ll have to master it fast. The tracks are deadly. The myths are alive. And the forces of the Dark are closing in.
Spirit Racer is a mythic, pulse-pounding journey about forging your identity in the fire of impossible odds—and discovering just how far you’ll go to protect what matters.
Racing was her dream. Saving the world wasn’t part of the plan.
When Aleja Garcia uncovers a cursed medallion tied to her family’s past, she’s pulled into Astra—a realm between life and death, where spirits of Light and Dark battle for control of Earth.
Reunited with her grandfather’s ghost, Aleja joins a crew of fallen champions in the Race Eternal. As the only living racer, she wields the Mind Forge—a mysterious power that shapes her vehicle to match her spirit.
To survive, she’ll have to master it fast. The tracks are deadly. The myths are alive. And the forces of the Dark are closing in.
Spirit Racer is a mythic, pulse-pounding journey about forging your identity in the fire of impossible odds—and discovering just how far you’ll go to protect what matters.
Under the cold gaze of a distant moon, they raced. Two teams of vehicles tearing across barren, otherworldly terrain. Their engines howled over the dry, cracked earth, throwing illuminated trails in their wake—brilliant white for the Light side, deep red for the Dark. Sparks flew as they jostled for position, metal clashing against metal.
Within their vehicles, each racer shimmered with a spectral glow: the Light side cloaked in blue-white auras that pulsed with ethereal energy, the Dark side burning with deep crimson like smouldering coals.
This wasn’t just a race. This was a war between ancient forces, played out across a dreamscape of myth and imagination.
Twisted trees and jagged rocks flashed under their headlights as they cut through the gloom, dodging and weaving, battling for every inch of the track.
At the front, a Dark racer led the charge, slicing through the shadows as he rocketed into a narrow canyon.
Close behind, a Light side car surged into position, devouring the ground between them. It rode low and fast, its chassis streaked with faded sigils, its engine singing with righteous fury. A golden falcon insignia gleamed on the hood, catching stray beams of starlight.
Inside, the racer gripped the wheel tight, eyes narrowed with focus. Every muscle was braced. Every instinct alive.
He felt them closing in.
Two Dark racers, one on either side, looming like shadows at the edge of his vision. Their shapes flickered in the dark—one was black and brutal, plated with angular armour and wrapped in coils of chain. The other rattled as it drove, a lurid pastel vehicle with garish lights and sinister curves. Something inside laughed, sharp and wet.
The Light racer didn’t flinch. His fingers brushed the chain around his neck—half-hidden beneath his collar. A moon-shaped pendant, chipped at the edge, gleamed faintly with each turn. A gift. A promise. A reminder of what he was racing for.
They veered into formation on each side of him, predatory shapes, engines snarling in the dark. They were trying to box him in, crush him between them like a vice.
Before instinct could take over, memory surged.
He was standing beneath ancient pillars in an open sky, a cold wind tugging at his clothes. Behind him, a glowing gate shimmered like water suspended in stone. The elders stood around its edge—silent, unreadable.
One of them stepped forward. Her hand was warm as she pressed it over his chest. “You know the stakes,” she said. “And the price.”
He nodded once.
She looked into his eyes. “Then ride hard. Hold the line. And do not lose the light.”
A blast of engine fire dragged him back to the present.
He flipped open the top of his gearstick just as the Dark racers lunged—slamming his thumb on the golden button within.
His nitrous erupted with a deafening bark, car surging forward in an explosion of white light. The Dark racers were overcommitted, slamming into each other with a bone-crunching crash that echoed through the canyon. The Light racer smiled, glancing in his rearview mirror as they swerved and tumbled, sucked into the darkness behind him
He shot through the final stretch of canyon, the walls drawing tight around him like a stone throat. Beyond the exit, the open land glimmered faintly beneath the stars. The lead Dark racer was still visible ahead, his taillights shimmering, taunting.
The Light racer leaned in.
This was it. He could take him. He could shift the balance.
The pendant at his neck went cold.
He frowned, just slightly. His senses prickled with danger. But he shook it off. The Dark racer was within reach—he had to press the advantage. He ground the accelerator harder, his world narrowing into a single point of focus.
Then it hit.
The vehicle lurched with a bone-jarring screech that turned his guts to water. Slime burst across the windshield. He fought the wheel, wipers clawing for vision—
Webbing.
Twisted cables lashed across the bonnet in a crushing fist. The chassis groaned as it began to lift clear of the ground. His hands locked white on the wheel, boots hammering the pedals in futile defiance. The engine howled, but the car was already tilting, dragged upward inch by merciless inch.
Headlights swung crazily across the canyon walls, climbing toward a nightmare.
A spider, colossal and obscene. Limbs braced like skeletal bridges against the rock. Its bloated mass shimmered with black chitin. Eyes—too many to count—glittered like a constellation of cold moons.
No. It can’t end like this.
He thrashed. He slammed his fists against the doors, trapped tight in the webbing. Bracing against his seat, he kicked at the windshield. The dash flickered, died. His aura guttered like a dying lantern.
Not like this.
The night held no mercy. A burst of spectral light tore from the windows, his aura flaring in fatal shock. For one heartbeat the canyon blazed with his resistance—as the spider closed its mandibles around the car.
The light snapped out.
Silence.
And below, untouched, the race thundered on.
***
In a space between worlds, two figures stood in the shadows. “Another one gone,” the woman said, her voice tight with worry. “And one of our best.”
The man beside her kept his eyes on the distant horizon. “His bloodline tied to Lumis. We’d pinned everything on him.”
“And now we’re down to eleven,” she said. “The Dominion Run requires twelve.”
He nodded slowly. “Again, the balance tips toward the Dark side. Every loss makes the Dark God stronger.”
“We need a new plan,” she said, frustration seeping into her tone. “Something we haven’t tried before.”
“We’ve recruited the best racers from the past and future,” he replied. “And still, it’s not enough to turn the tide.”
“There has to be a way,” she said, turning her eyes to the horizon. “Somewhere we haven’t looked. Someone we’ve missed.”
The man tugged at his greying moustache. “Perhaps... if we could somehow reach her.”
The woman turned back sharply, eyes wide. “You can’t mean—reach her? But she’s alive. Will the Fates allow it?”
He nodded. “Anyone can be recruited—if they can reach our realm. That’s always been the rule. Spirits are easy to summon... but if we can somehow bring her across, she can race.”
“She’s inexperienced,” the woman said. “Untested. So young.”
He turned to face her, his eyes fierce and proud. “She has the spirit of a true racer, and a heart full of courage. She may be unpredictable… but perhaps a little chaos is what we need.”
He sighed and turned his gaze back to the horizon. “Ready or not... she’s our only hope.”
Chapter One - SPIRIT
I sat in the workshop, flipping through my racing cards, the dust dancing in the sunbeams like tiny ghosts. The world outside could wait. In here, I could dream of leaving La Grieta and all its problems behind.
One of the cards stopped me in my tracks, my fingers tracing the worn edges as I regarded a familiar face from the deck—Grandpa Miguel. He smiled up at me from the creased, glossy paper, racing helmet in hand, looking every bit the legend that he was. I felt a smile tug at my lips, and yet my heart sank a little. I missed him. He’d been one of the greats, and every time I looked at that card, I felt the pull to follow in his footsteps.
Pepe, my tiny, snoring chihuahua, was curled up at my feet, completely oblivious to the world. I nudged him with my foot, but he just snuffled and stayed put, his leg or lip twitching every now and then.
“What are you dreaming about, little guy?” I murmured, rising to my feet with a slow stretch.
My kart sat near the open doorway, its battered red paint gleaming dully in the sunlight. I’d built it myself—every bolt, every dent, every scratch had my name on it. It was built in the style of a racer, wide and low, hugging the ground with its small front tyres and larger rear wheels. One day, I’d take that kart out of this gloomy town and show them all what I could do.
I sighed, running a hand over the worn steering wheel. “We’ll get there, Pepe,” I murmured. “One day we’ll be out there, racing with the best of them.”
Pepe opened one eye, his ear twitching at the sound of my voice.
The door into the farmhouse creaked, and I looked up to see my grandmother Maria standing there, wrapped in her shawl like always. Her silver hair shone in the light, and she had that familiar soft, but firm, look in her eyes.
“Aleja, it’s time to go into town for groceries,” she said, giving me the smallest of smiles.
I groaned. “Do I have to? I was in the middle of—”
She raised an eyebrow. “Yes, niña. And no treats today. Not with Governor Gomez raising the rent again. Money’s tight.”
Great. Of course. Gomez was always finding new ways to make our lives harder. As Maria disappeared back into the house, I glanced around the makeshift workshop. It didn’t take a genius to see we were struggling. Maria, my Abuela, did everything she could, but for years the crops on our farm had struggled to grow, remaining withered, blighted. She made ends meet with her mystic arts—tarot, palm readings, herbal medicines—though most in town dismissed it as old folklore. I’d had a gutful of their veiled looks and curious whispers. But I knew my grandmother—she was wise and kind, and the strongest person I knew.
Our town Governor, Gomez, had all the money a man could want—and still he wanted more of the little we had. I felt like he was slowly grinding us out, like the stub of one of his half-chewed cigars.
With a sigh I motioned to Pepe and headed over to my kart. “Come on, boy, let’s get this done.”
Sliding into the seat felt like pulling on an old coat—sturdy, familiar, a shield against the world. Pepe hopped in beside me, and as I planted the keys in the ignition, a familiar thrill of anticipation washed over me. With a twist, the engine roared into life, banishing my frustrations from my mind.
We barrelled through the farm gates and onto the winding lanes of the hillside, wind rushing in our hair. I forgot about the rent, the town, everything. It was just us, our kart, and the open road.
As the trees thinned, our local province of La Grieta opened out before me like a map. Down below, the town nestled into the bay, quaint colourful houses crowding winding streets. Fields and forest stretched away on all sides, climbing the hill towards Gomez’s estate. To the other side was the silver mine—a great gash clawed into the ground, a wound in the earth.
‘La Grieta’—the name literally means ‘the scar’—was built around the mine by Gomez’s father, the town’s founder—Radolfo. Back then the town had prospered, but now La Grieta was something else entirely. Under Gomez’s governorship, the mine had suffered a fatal collapse, and somehow the spirit was sucked out of the town. Sucked into that awful scar. That’s what they say. They call it a curse. Now the townspeople seem numbed, trying to scrape by, suffocated under an oppressive weight.
As I approached the town square I spotted him—Governor Gomez, posing for a picture under the giant bronze statue of his father, Radolfo. Of course, he was surrounded by his cronies, including Severo, his weasel-faced lackey. Gomez stood there, puffing out his chest, trying to look important under the shadow of his father’s legacy.
I couldn’t resist.
Grinning to myself, I revved the engine hard. The kart roared in reply, and the sudden noise sent them all jumping out of their fancy poses. Gomez jerked wildly, slopping his coffee, and I couldn’t help but laugh as he fumbled to clean his suit, shouting something after me. I didn’t stick around to hear it. The look on his face was enough to make my day.
I left the kart at the edge of the market and we wove through the crowded stalls—familiar faces, familiar scents, the sound of traders calling out. It looked normal enough on the surface, but it felt fragile, like someone had painted over something rotten. There was tension in every exchange, smiles that didn’t reach the eyes. Something was wrong, and everyone knew it—they just didn’t know how to say it. Like a weight was hanging above the town, and no one dared to look up.
Pepe trotted beside me as I weaved through the market, handing over coins and collecting the bread, fruit, and vegetables from Maria’s list, barely noticing who I bought them from. My mind wasn’t really on the groceries—I kept thinking about Gomez. We were barely scraping by, and yet he had the nerve to keep raising the rent. Frustration bubbled inside me. It was all so unfair—but what could I do?
“One day,” I muttered under my breath. “He’ll get what’s coming to him.”
Trotting at my ankles, Pepe looked up, his big eyes full of sympathy. I tore off a piece of crust and handed it to him, his eyes lighting up as he eagerly snatched it from my hand. I’d have killed for a pastry from the bakery, but Maria’s words echoed in my head: No treats today.
Cutting into the cool of a side street, we headed towards the square. Beyond, I noticed bunting going up, people hanging posters, the atmosphere beginning to buzz with excitement. I stopped one of the workers and pointed to the poster. “What’s going on?”
She smiled and handed me one. “It’s for the 50th Anniversary Race. Biggest event in La Grieta. Maybe things are looking up.”
As I unrolled the poster, my heart skipped a beat. It showed race cars speeding along country roads, dust kicking up in their wake. The racers looked heroic, like legends in the making. I stared at the images, and for a moment, I wasn’t standing in this dusty, broken-down town. I could hear their engines, feel the dust and the grit, the thrill of the competition. My palms pricked with sweat as I was transported into the scene, out there with them, racing, winning, living a new life.
I rerolled it carefully, tucking it under my arm as I approached the town square. People were gathering, and I could hear Gomez’s voice booming from a wooden platform as he welcomed them in.
Slipping into the crowd, I listened as he launched into a speech, chest puffed out and that ridiculous grin smeared across his face.
“Ladies and gentlemen!” Gomez’s voice rang out across the square. “This year marks the 50th anniversary of La Carrera Libre—the legendary race that put La Grieta on the map! A tradition started by my father, the great Radolfo Gomez, who was not only the founder of this town, but also a legendary racer on the track.”
He gestured grandly to the towering statue of his father, and a ripple of polite applause spread through the crowd.
“We’re inviting the best racers in the region to join us, and the race will start right here, in just a few days’ time! As always, it’s a cross-country challenge, where racers choose their own path to victory!”
The crowd oohed and clapped with excitement.
“As we celebrate this remarkable event,” he continued, “I am thrilled to announce that this year’s winner will not only receive the prestigious championship title but also—” he paused, letting the suspense build, “—a substantial cash prize and sponsorship with the region’s top racing team.”
A gasp rippled through the crowd. My heart pounded—a cash prize? Sponsorship? My mind raced—if I could take part, if I could win—this could be the thing that sets us free and gets us out from under Gomez’s thumb once and for all.
Gomez’s voice boomed, oozing fake sincerity. “Yes, indeed! The winner will have the chance to represent La Grieta on the national stage! A professional racer, competing at the highest level.”
I was rocked. This was even wilder than I could have imagined! A chance to travel, to see the world! I’d never even left the borders of our town.
The crowd murmured excitedly, but all I could hear was the thundering pulse in my ears. My mouth ran dry. I could be that racer. I could win.
Then, like ice water down my spine, Gomez’s voice cut through my thoughts, sharp and cold. “Ah, look who we have here,” he sneered. “If it isn’t young Aleja Garcia, the reckless little wannabe who thinks she’s a racer.”
I looked up to see him leering down at me from the platform, a cruel smile on his lips.
The crowd fell silent. Suddenly all eyes were on me.
“This race is for semi-pros, not for... well, farmhands,” Gomez sneered. “What’s the matter, Aleja? Surely your fortune-telling Abuela, with all her visions of the future, could have already told you—you wouldn’t stand a chance.”
Laughter rippled through the crowd. Sneers and looks of pity became a kaleidoscope of humiliation. Heat flooded my cheeks, rising to the tips of my ears. I didn’t know who they thought was the bigger joke, Maria, or me. It felt like the whole town was against us—those crackpots on the hill—the girl racer and her crazy grandmother. A sheen of sweat sprang on my face and neck as embarrassment and anger boiled inside me. I clutched the poster tighter, my knuckles white.
But he wasn’t finished.
“Oh, don’t tell me—surely not,” his voice dripped with mock concern, pitching it to the crowd, “did you think you might enter the race? In your little home-made kart? Did you think you could be going somewhere? That this event,”—he waved a hand around the square—“is your big break? Please, little girl, be serious. The only thing waiting for you is more chores back on that rundown farm.”
The crowd chuckled. Time stood still. My eyes pricked with tears—I wanted to say something, to stand up to him, to throw his words back in his smug, stupid face, but I was too choked by my anger and humiliation.
That’s when I heard it. A drizzling, spattering sound. Like water hitting... leather?
My eyes flicked down to Gomez’s boots.
There, to my astonishment, was Pepe, leg cocked, peeing right onto Gomez’s polished snakeskin shoes. It was the most glorious, and most terrible thing I had ever seen. My little hero—he’d weaved through the crowd, snuck onto the platform unnoticed, coming to my rescue the only way he knew how.
The laughter started quietly, then spread like wildfire through the crowd. Even Severo looked like he was struggling to hold back a grin.
Gomez’s face went as red as a chilli pepper. His eyes bulged, and before I could blink, he snatched Pepe up into the air, gripping his tiny body like he meant to crush him in his chubby fist.
The laughter died, replaced by a collective gasp.
“No!” I shouted, pushing through the crowd, my heart pounding.
For a sickening moment, it looked like Gomez might actually do it. His face was slack and drunken, eyes glazed, rejoicing in his power. His fingers tightened. Pepe thrashed, searching for me in the sea of people below.
Then Severo was there, a hand on Gomez’s shoulder. Gomez twitched, his gaze snapping back to the crowd. In a flash, his expression changed.
With a fake, syrupy smile, he patted Pepe on the head and handed him back to me, couching low at the edge of the platform.
“Stay out of the race, Garcia,” he hissed, his voice low, meant only for me.
I grimaced at his stinking breath. I’d never been this close to him before. His pudgy lips were wet with spittle, his greasy beard peppered with crumbs. His tongue wormed in his mouth, unnaturally short and stubby. He jabbed his thumb to his chest, where wiry black hairs curled like spiders from the collar of his open shirt.
A glint caught my eye—a medallion, bouncing against his chest. Thick and silver, gothic in style, like a piece of fancy costume jewellery. A bull’s head was stamped in its centre, its ruby eyes flashing in the light, scattering dazzling red rays across my vision.
He leaned closer. “This is my town, and I make the rules. Remember that.”
I hugged Pepe close, my heart still racing, unable to take my eyes off that medallion. The rubies seemed to pulse, like breathing embers—watching me. A strange sensation washed over me, like a cold shadow, raising the hairs on my neck.
I wrenched my gaze away, clutching Pepe tightly as I backed away from the stage and Gomez’s leering face. The crowd closed in again, but all I could think about was the medallion, the way it glinted, and the ominous feeling it left in its wake.
Spirit Racer is a captivating book that hooks you from the first page. From the intricately plotted story line to the deep and mystical familial roots throughout the book, this novel is exciting and immersive. James's prose and pacing allows the reader to truly absorb each chapter, as well as experience the magical themes woven into each detail. Best described as atmospheric, each and every detail is expertly placed to give the reader the best literary experience.
Aleja is a dreamer, as most young adults are. She dreams for more: more for her family and more for herself. Her love of racing ties back to her grandfather, a legendary racer that passed before he could see all that she would become. That did not stop her from building her very own racing kart, and it certainly did not stop her for avenging his name and finding her destiny. In this book, the reader will be taken on an adventure like no other- and will be left with a sweet nostalgia: that this book can spark a dream for more for them as well.
Young adults everywhere can relate and find solace in a book such as this one: coming of age, found family, and fighting towards something that is bigger than us all. In this epic tale of intrigue, intense races and impossible feats, Aleja sees just how far she is willing to go to fight for what is right. The fantasy world is new and interesting, and the theme of supernatural cars, powers and competition will enthrall all demographics of readers.
This was an excellent read, and the ending will leave readers excited and expectant for the further installations of the Aleja Garcia series. This was a very well-done pilot of a book, introducing the characters by building up their personalities and values, as well as building a world that has its own unique twists and turns, literally!