The WarMage of Arkley 2

About the Book

The thing about keeping your head down is that it works right up until somebody with a rifle knows which house is yours.

Arkley did settle after the kaiju, more or less. We went back to school runs and the Floor is Lava and a fair amount of gossip about me stepping out with Edie’s teacher, which I would like the record to show was her idea. There was a spring carnival to help set up. I was looking forward to it, actually.

Then something with rather too many tentacles moved into the harbour and made itself comfortable, and a government hit squad started taking shots at me out of the treeline, which I find rude, and it turns out those two things are not a coincidence at all. Somebody has worked out what I am. Somebody has been watching the tear in my backyard long enough to know what comes up through it, and they have decided the sensible next step is to give it a push and see what I do.

Meanwhile our local earth spirit — yes, the bear, still baking a brilliant loaf — has informed me that spring does not simply arrive in Arkley. It has to be ushered in. Behind closed doors. With me.

So the diary is looking a bit full. Save the carnival, dodge the sniper fire, keep the neighbourhood earth spirit properly satisfied, and find out who told them where I live.

I buried the WarMage for a reason. They are about to be reminded what the reason was.