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I’d led a deadly squad of genetically enhanced, uber-powerful magic wielders through life-threatening missions multiple times in the first 21 years of my life. When marked for death, I’d led the escape from those who’d bred us, controlled us. Utterly annihilating the Collective’s compound, and destroying everything that had gone into creating us—the Five. I found Christopher and Paisley a home, a safe haven.

Here be an oracle. Despair all ye who seek her. Magic will have its cake and eat it, too. Okay, well. So I was mixing metaphors. I was new to the gig. But as far as I could tell, there were three kinds of people. Those who wanted confirmation that they’d chosen the correct path. Those who wanted to deny there was any sort of destiny at all. And those who wanted to tear it all down. So why was it always the third type that showed up at the door to my 1975 Brave Winnebago, dragging me into their power struggles and using my past against me?

For 12 years, I had managed to separate my personal life from my professional life, becoming one of the best reconstructionists in the world - and proving to myself that I could do so on my own merits. Then I’d been forced into contact with my family, reuniting with someone I thought I’d lost forever, and rescuing my best friend. Now I had to savor what little time I had left before the contract with the Conclave came due and my future was wrenched from my control. Except there was one last case to solve. One last set of puzzle pieces to collect, then assemble again.

I never got involved in the dirt and the details of an investigation. I never let my preconceptions muddy a reconstruction. And I steadfastly refrained from ever allowing my past to dictate my future. At least until the one person I couldn’t lose went missing. Because then I’d relive every dark moment of my childhood, confront every heartbreak, and even sell my soul if that was what it took to get her back. Because I couldn’t accept a future - not even a promised one of immortality and unbridled power - that didn’t include one of the only two people I’d ever truly loved.

I knew that opening the letter from the sorcerer Azar would have deadly consequences. So we had prepared. We’d planned. We knew we might have to defend ourselves, our freedom. And that I might finally get a chance to exact the revenge I kept telling myself I wasn’t interested in exacting. What we didn’t know was that we’d find ourselves hosting a dysfunctional family reunion — the kind where everyone tries to kill someone at least once over dinner.

I preferred it when life came in tidy packages. When it didn’t — when something went awry — I was exceedingly skilled at packaging it back up. It was my job to do so after all. I was a reconstructionist. I collected the puzzle pieces, then I gave those pieces to an investigative team to sort out. I didn't ask questions. I didn't offer answers. I saw. I recorded. I moved on. I didn't dwell or obsess. I didn’t hunt down suspects. I didn’t follow clues to find a killer. And I certainly didn’t work side by side with anyone.

Three days. That was all the reprieve we got before one of the five showed up, injured and on the run. The snowstorm that had encased the property, as well as stifled the town, hadn’t even melted away. That wounded prey led our newest adversary directly to me. To Christopher. Inconvenient timing, but not unexpected. It was the betrayal forcing me to stay my hand against that adversary that shocked me. Betrayal from the least likely of sources. Or so I would have thought.

We had chosen our place, etching our lives into a new land. Then, we had defended that land when called upon to do so. And we’d won. We’d maintained our freedom. But magic attracts magic. As they say. So, when the sorcerers showed up, holding my recent past hostage - along with a future I had dreamed I might build - it was just as expected. In fact, I might have been getting just a little bored playing at being Emma Johnson.

We had run. We had adapted. And when our magic came back, we changed course again. Hiding instead of running, knowing that we needed to remain hidden from the Collective. Knowing that our lives, our freedom, depended on it. Then the sorcerer showed up, drained and disoriented. And when my past came quickly following him, I had to make another choice. Fight or flight. Continue to deny the power that resided in my blood, in my DNA. Remain perpetually caught between being Amp5 and Emma Johnson. Or face my demons.

They called me an amplifier. And they had bred me, raised me, and trained me to be a killer with preternatural precision. I was capable of taking, holding, and transferring power that wasn’t my own with a simple touch. Skin-to-skin contact. Along with four others of my generation, I could infiltrate any magical organization, extracting whoever or whatever I’d been ordered to extricate. Then I could destroy all evidence of our passing presence. They had made me. They directed me. Controlled me. Then they tried to kill me.

Over a year and a half had passed since Jade Godfrey - aka the dowser - fixed my mother’s necklace. Since I’d thwarted the vision of the death of love. Since I’d made a deal with a devil and acquired a demigod for a mentor. I still didn’t understand or control my power or my magic, but it had been a great year. A year of rest. A year of love and light. But now the reprieve was over. Now it was time to see. Magic willed it so. This paranormal romance/urban fantasy is the second book in the Oracle Series by author Meghan Ciana Doidge.

The day I turned 19, I expected to gain what little freedom I could within the restrictions of my bank account and the hallucinations that had haunted me for the last six years. I expected to drive away from a life that had been dictated by the tragedy of others and shaped by the care of strangers. I expected to be alone. Actually, I relished the idea of being alone. Instead, I found fear I thought I'd overcome and terror that was more real than anything I'd ever hallucinated before. I'd seen terrible, fantastical, and utterly impossible things...but not love. Not until I saw him.

Concerned that we hadn’t heard from her in more than a year, Fish had dragged me all the way into the middle of Russia to follow up a lead on the whereabouts of our telepathic team member, Amanda, a.k.a. Bee. But what was supposed to be a simple reconnaissance mission—gathering intel so we could formulate a plan that might need to involve the rest of the team—went sideways within 24 hours.

On my way to investigate my aunt’s untimely death, I chance upon a teenager with purple eyes. Her destiny is so vibrant, so intertwined with the essence that fuels all our lives, that I cannot stand to see her caged and crushed. What I don’t know is that rescuing the teen isn’t chance or happenstance at all. It isn’t just another random bit of destiny I can fix it. It’s a snag in the weave of the universe that unravels … everything.

I had everything I’d ever wanted — a successful business with a second bakery in the works, a sexy fiance who I adored, and good friends who loved to laugh almost as much as I did. So of course it couldn’t possibly last. Unfortunately, this time the trouble was homegrown in Vancouver, threatening my own backyard and those who were under my protection — whether they wanted to be or not. I was, after all, the wielder of the instruments of assassination. Apparently, cutesy cupcakes and being nice only stretched so far.

I’d been compromised, then turned against those I loved. But no one controlled me. No one took anything I didn’t willingly offer. Not for long, anyway. If the elves wanted a war, I’d bring it. The instruments of assassination would come out to play. The dragon slayer would wreak bloody, sticky vengeance. And then I was getting freaking married—no elves invited. Even a baker of cupcakes and a maker of trinkets occasionally had to set aside the chocolate, the spice, and everything nice to save her friends. And her city.

Two more elves were at large in Vancouver, but thankfully they’d been keeping a low profile while I faced the most daunting task of my twenty-seven years — planning and executing my wedding. I was dealing with a disgruntled grandmother with an extensive guest wish list of the magically inclined, all of whom didn’t particularly like each other. Plus a fiance whose concept of time was altered whenever he stepped into a dimensional pocket, and a best friend who’d spent months planning what was certain to be an insane bachelorette party.

I wasn’t even remotely interested in collecting the third instrument of assassination. It was far better for everyone involved—and for Warner, specifically—if I just let it be. And since I was the only one who could retrieve the artifacts, I figured it was my call to make.

Three months ago, I nearly lost my best friend while retrieving the first instrument of assassination. I also inadvertently released a rival who was definitely unhinged, way more powerful than me, and obsessed with harnessing the deadly power of the artifacts I’d been tasked by the guardian dragons to collect. Add a sexy sentinel and a nearly immortal vampire to the mix, and what could possibly go wrong?

I had new cupcakes to bake, a new treasure to hunt, and a new dragon in town—literally. Who wouldn’t be ecstatic filling their days with chocolate, trinket collecting, and martial arts training? Yeah…me.