My esteemed publisher, Cliffhanger Press, LLC, has been kind enough to provide me with access to a digital ARC of Nightingale. I could make you jump through hoops; but I’m a benevolent author and am dying to get Nightingale into someone else’s hands!

So, if you have a digital reader (preferably one compatible with Amazon) all you need to do to win is answer one simple question in the comments: “What’s the first book of your favorite series?” If you’re feeling socially awesome and want to spread the word, you’ll get a couple of extra entries for Tweeting about the contest! Just use the Rafflecopter form below the excerpt to enter.

From Chapter One

“The doors slid shut on the empty train and Alyson struggled to get her breathing back under control.

Ten minutes until she was at the League tower. Ten minutes until she was so busy trying to block out everyone else’s thoughts that she wouldn’t have room for her own, much less ghost voices.

“Find my seat, third row back, facing the rear of the train.” An observer would assume she was as unhinged as the homeless that littered the city, their minds destroyed in the wake of the Sigsbee Event.

Sarasota slid away like an afterthought in the windows, downtown giving way to low-rent housing, people who couldn’t afford to move away from a backyard bullet train.

Alyson’s cherished silence was now an unwelcome presence. Her sonic shield was useless, but she still needed something to banish the pressing silence of the train around her, the looming specter of her thoughts.

Flipping through the options on her phone, her finger hovered over the National Public Radio app. Dull droning voices seemed like the perfect solution. Alyson’s finger fell, she rested her head against the window, and her eyes closed.

“This is NPR. We take you now to Nevada where alfalfa farmers have found a radical solution to this year’s unexpected drought.

“Looking at the fields where Cyrus Smith once cultivated his alfalfa crop, you probably wouldn’t notice anything different. There’s row upon row of green crops ready for harvest, just like any other season. But this year’s drought, brought on by manipulations of the upper atmosphere by former League member Weather Witch, has forced him to radically rethink what he and his family have been doing for over twenty-five years.

“Instead of growing thirsty alfalfa crops, his family is switching over to plants that do well in the high-desert, like sorghum.”

If you’re trying to kill me again, this might do it. Her mother’s voice echoed in her head.

Alyson was on her feet, knocking her headphones out of her ears and throwing the phone to the ground. Remembering the League’s train was monitored just like everything else they owned, she let a scream crash against her tongue and die there.”

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