Monday, October 28, 2013


Category: YA
Genre:  Contemporary Fantasy
Word count: 60,000

Sixteen-year-old Kitty is a Chinese weredragon and an operative for the US government's Draconic Intelligence Command, or as she likes to call it, DIC. When her entire race is exposed to the public, the other dragons are imprisoned, and the President’s son is kidnapped, she sets off on a break-neck mission, uncovering betrayal at every turn. When she discovers the truth, Kitty must choose between obedience to her country and allegiance to dragonkind.

Q1: In your MC's voice, what costumed character do you most relate to and why?
Not that Commander Lung (aka Mom) has ever let me trick or treat, but I'm a big fan of Jubilee from the X-men - and not just because she's about the only Chinese superhero out there.

Q2: As an author, what makes your manuscript a tasty treat (unique/marketable)?
This book is X-MEN LAST STAND meets RUSH HOUR, but with dragon shapeshifters and more kissing.

First 250:

Well, crap. Mission Intelligence got it wrong. Again.

I mean, seriously? Heat sensors? When your operatives have a core body temperature of 142 degrees, that should be the first thing you check for. Deep breaths, Kitty. I daydream about ripping Simon a new one as I scale up the three stories of crumbling stone.

So now I cling to the east wall of the Lebanese embassy in DC with a diplomatic document pouch hanging from my belt.

I'm overly conscious of the two security cameras aimed at my back, despite the full-body black catsuit with matching ski-mask that Draconic Intelligence Command (or, as I like to call it, DIC) requires me to wear. Sirens blare, telling me security already knows we're here, but I still can't let them see my face. And, more importantly, I can't let them see me change.

Beside me, Wallace scrabbles, then loses his balance and falls twenty feet to the ground, hitting the wall at least twice in the process. Rookie. His breath comes fast, but he's uninjured. He could probably fall from three times that height without a scratch.

"Kitty." Even his whisper has a British accent. He lies sprawled on the immaculate walled lawn of the Embassy and slowly makes his way to his feet. "I can't make it without changing."

"No!" I yell, then catch myself and lower my voice to something more like a hiss. "Absolutely not. Do you have any idea how many cameras are on you right now? You can make it."


  1. This snagged my attention to the tune of a bar of extra-dark chocolate.

  2. My three boys read this over- hoping to see in print one day soon!