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Jamie Poole, Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy

Sisterhood of the Sword was a fun book to write. To quote Tristan: What’s more fun than Nazis, ancient secrets, stolen relics, war, and espionage? Unless maybe Vikings or pirates, but we can’t have everything all at once!

Admittedly, he's a psychopath.

Still, researching and uncovering so many war stories for Halifax and discovering just how close war was on North America's shore is a new revelation for many Americans. Halifax, Canada, was founded as a garrison city, and the military has always maintained a presence here. It is the East Coast of the Canadian navy. It also has a citadel that has been in active use between 1856 and 1910. It is now a museum. There are many World War II structures throughout the city, and these are where we focus with Sisterhood of the Sword.

Before providing a sneak peak at part of the book, let me announce that Sisterhood of the Sword will be available for purchase on September 1! It will be available on Amazon internationally as well as locally from the author and preferred book stores. Books can be autographed. Details to follow. If you have not subscribed to the blogs, do so and ensure you do not miss any details.

For now, Jamie is unhinged from Time. Tristan, the psychopath time traveler has splintered Time into a Multiverse. Jamie slips in and out uncontrollably. Things will get worse before they improve. Can they improve? Have a read:

“Whatcha obsessing over, Huck?” Lenore Taylor asked playfully from the door of our dorm room. Her eyes blazing a little too brightly. She flung car keys onto her bed then flopped down next to where they landed. Judging by her expression, today appeared to be one of those days when her sarcasm would reign unbridled.

Slowly I glanced up from the text book and peered at her over my reading glasses. “Who says I’m obsessing? I’m reading.” I shoved the glasses back in place for emphasis. Like Dad, I couldn’t keep glasses where they belonged. It wasn’t a big deal. I only wore them when I studied. For Dad, the position of his glasses was like a barometer of his mood. The lower they slid, the more he fixated on something.

Fixated. Obsessed. Same thing, right? Only I wasn’t obsessing.

“Pshaw. You’re always obsessing over something.”

“Sorry to bore you.” I slid around to face the desk and the book I’d been studying until her breezy intrusion.

“Not so fast, Huck!”

I threw her a dirty look. Today she wore shades of cheery canary yellow, which made it hard to glare at her. Lenore preferred never to mix colors in her wardrobe. One of many eclectic habits. Like her lack of foot attire. Silently, everything about her begged people to notice her artistic side.

Lenore remained undaunted. “And who is on this grand adventure to unmask her dad? Who moved heaven and earth last summer in an attempt to interrogate one of his oldest friends in hopes of gaining a grain of truth about her dad’s youth? Who hopped back in Time, risking life and limb, to ensure the world continued to spin and you could continue said quest?”

“Quit being a drama queen,” I muttered.

She continued as if I hadn’t interrupted, “It’s been three whole months since you got back from the Isle of Osiris. Something’s gotta be happening. I noticed the roses stopped coming a few days ago. What aren’t you telling me?” Her voice grew hard. “Did you meet your mystery admirer? Anyone I know? Maybe Peter Dalton?”

Dear Reader, quite honestly it had slipped my mind to tell her about Grandpa John’s visit on Halloween or his promise to help find the stolen statue. I can’t give a fair reason as to why. However, Lenore’s senses were as fine-tuned as Spider-Man’s. I had erred by not telling her. I huffed in frustration. “That’s just twisted.”

Peter Dalton had been her fiancé—before I’d traveled back in Time and altered the timeline. The alteration had resulted when Bruce Sutherland and I helped save Eliyana’s people almost 1500 years ago. Now we existed a little to the left of the world I’d grown up in. In this timeline Peter and Lenore had never dated. He’d asked her out, but then his dad had been attacked and robbed the night before their date. As a consequence the date never happened. Instead, he had returned to Australia to help his dad, who had been injured severely. That had been a few months ago. There were other subtle changes to the timeline, but this one was the most disruptive personally. I remembered when they’d been a couple. I remembered how he’d proposed, but none of that had happened. Not anymore. And I couldn’t say a word. I’d break Lenore’s heart.

She replied emphatically, “Well, you did help him. Or tried. You were all chivalrous about helping his dad and finding his stolen statue. I can’t blame him if he wants to show his gratitude with roses. I know you did your best. Not your fault Mr. Strand bolted. None of us saw that coming. Him being an upstanding citizen and all.” She rolled her eyes dramatically.

“Yeah, but Peter’s not my type.”—He’s yours—“And I’m just studying. Nothing’s going on.” Grandpa John claimed to have found Mr. Dalton’s statue. I should have come clean, but for some reason I felt stubborn in the face of her sarcasm.

Lenore seized on my perceived lack of enthusiasm. She wagged a finger at my nose. “Therein lays my suspicion! Something’s always going on with you. If it’s not, you’re missing the bigger picture. Get out of that box you’re stuck in. Not the blue box either.” She smiled savagely at the not-so-subtle jab at my penchant for science fiction TV shows. Or, more specifically, Doctor Who. “If nothing is happening, as you claim…and if the roses have stopped, we have to determine why. Shake things up!” She huffed and tossed back her shoulder-length brown hair. “I feel we’ve had this conversation before, don’t you? Somewhere around the time you had one of your visions. You haven’t had a vision in a while... Or you’re not talking…” She leveled eyes angrily.

Try as I might, I couldn’t lie. Not to Lenore. I could hide things from my parents, but not my perceptive roommate. I closed the textbook with a sigh. There would be no further studying. “A few days ago I had a vision—or a bad dream—about the Great Wall of China. I haven’t sorted it out, so I didn’t say anything.”

“Um, perhaps if you’d confided—”

“It was nothing,” I replied forcefully.


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