My current work-in-progress follows Petra’s story. Here’s an excerpt from book 2 of the A Trespass of Angels series, Sins of the Fallen , with the usual disclaimer that it is unedited and subject to change.  

Before dusk, there is a reshuffling of the wagons as the caravan shifts into formation for the night, making a rough circle. Petra—fighting to keep her headscarf in place—does everything that Johann asks her to do without complaint or comment. She carries water buckets for his donkey, helps him unload a crate of gear from the wagon bed, and waits patiently in the shadows while he barters a set of copper bolts with another merchant. When Johann pulls out a sack of dried lentils, a canvas bag containing tea leaves, and a couple of copper cooking pots, she sets to work building a fire and fetching water for cooking. Johann appears pleasantly surprised by this, and thanks her before going to attend to other tasks.

While the lentils stew, Petra studies the social choreography of the camp. The men sit closer to the fires, talking animatedly, sometimes arguing quite loudly. The women stay in tight knots, mostly on their feet, bent over their cooking or looking after the children. The woman in the indigo abaya sits at her fire like a queen, suspicious gaze glinting in the lantern light, coming frequently to study Petra, then shift away.

As he had watered the animals, Johann warned Petra in a low voice, “Be careful of that one. Zahra is just a merchant’s wife, but she’s no fool. They know more English than they let on. Not enough to speak properly—but enough to be opportunistic.”

Petra isn’t sure what kind of threat Zahra might pose, but she gets the point: assume you’re being watched and weighed.

Children run around the wagons or doze near their mothers. A few of the men assigned to security drift around the edge of the camp, rifles in hands, eyes turned toward the black hills as the last of the sun leaks away. The bitter tang of dung smoke drifts in the air, mingling with the heavy animal scent of the camels, goats and donkeys, but there are also pleasant hints of cardamom, anise and cumin on the breeze. Petra observes the women baking flatbread on heated stones, but if Johann has flour, he hasn’t produced any. Their lentil dinner simmers slowly next to a copper pot of tea.

“Here,” Johann says when he returns to the fire. He drops a lump of heavy fabric in Petra’s lap. “These will help you avoid unwanted attention.” A plop of sandals with leather ties follows.

Petra stands and unfolds the fabric. Holding it out by the shoulders, she discovers an abaya, dark blue, with tattered gray embroidery at the cuffs. Tucked inside the abaya is a simple cotton chemise—the sleeveless shift dress might hit Petra mid-calf.

“Thank you,” Petra says, amazed. “Where did this come from?”

“The old widow. They belonged to her daughter. She wants you to have them.” Before Petra can ask what happened to the daughter, Johann reaches for the ladle to stir the lentils; he takes a sniff at the fragrant steam rising from the pot and says, “I might see if Zahra has some butter.”

Petra looks toward the bent-backed crone where she stoops over her own dinner. The woman looks up, so Petra holds a hand up in thanks. The woman might have nodded, but then she sits down with her back to Petra. Point taken. Contact not necessary.

Taking one of Johann’s lanterns, Petra climbs inside the wagon to change, dropping the canvas awning for privacy. Standing amid the jumble of crates, trunks and tools, she kicks off the sneakers and socks and shucks the jumpsuit, keeping on the simple bra and panties she’d woken up in. She wiggles into the chemise and tugs it down. It’s quite tight across the chest, but it’ll have to do. The abaya is also a tight across the shoulders, and scratchy, but Petra is grateful for its heaviness because the air is growing cooler by the minute. By midnight there will be a strong chill and she has only seen one blanket inside Johann’s wagon, and that will be for him. By the time she steps out of the wagon, Johann is back and adding a dollop of butter to the lentils. He looks up at her outfit in approval.

“You almost look like you fit in,” he says as he lifts a spoonful of the lentils and blows off the steam.

“Almost.” She sits on a crate to do up the sandals, which are snug, but again, better than nothing. Johann’s gaze falls on the jumpsuit folded and sitting on the edge of the wagon. Curiosity sparks in his eyes.

“May I see that?”

“Sure.” Petra hands it to him.

Johann feels the fabric but quickly moves to the feature that interests him most: the zipper. He pulls a lantern closer and examines the contraption in its light. He grasps the metal tag and pulls the zipper closed all the way, then open all the way.

“They are little metal teeth,” he says in a hushed tone of wonder. “Machined. I’ve never seen such fine work. This is a genius invention, but so simple and strong. It must be new?”

“It’s called a zipper,” Petra offers, amused by his amazement. “I’ve only seen them in Canada.”

Johann looks crestfallen but impressed as he hands it back to her. “Don’t let people handle that the way you’ve let me. It will disappear faster than you can blink.” He shakes his head. “Precision like that is rare and very expensive.”

His words lodge in her mind. Expensive. Precision. Rare. She has an asset. The shoes too might be worth something to someone. She hides her modern clothing inside the wagon then returns to the fire to accept the serving of lentils Johann hands her. They eat in silence, and as Petra’s stomach grows full and warm, her attention moves to the heavens, where a vast display of celestial bodies present themselves, untouched by light pollution of any kind. The Milky Way is visible as a thick white river, and billions of stars sparkle and glow like cold pinpricks over the black horizon. She is reminded of the night she and Jesse played under the Saharan sky, the night she fell into the cave and changed forever. She is seized by an ache of longing for him that is so intense she worries she might cry. Thankful for the dark, she breathes through it.

The campfires burn low and the pressure in her bladder after dinner can’t be ignored anymore.

“I’ll be right back to wash up,” Petra tells Johann as she gets to her feet.

“Take this.” He hands her a little terracotta lamp.

Finding a hill and some thick shrubs for privacy, Petra wrestles with her abaya, and relieves herself. But as she walks back to the wagon, Zahra materializes from the shadows, as though she’s been waiting for the perfect moment to pounce. Petra’s heart skips a beat, but the woman only holds out a small clay cup with a sweet smile.

“You drink,” the merchant’s wife says, her voice warm. “Good for belly.”

“Oh. Shukran,” says Petra, holding up a palm in polite refusal. “We have our own tea.”

But Zahra forces the cup into Petra’s hand. “You are… young. Lost woman?” She tilts her head, watching Petra’s face as she hunts for words. “Alone. Very dangerous for you.”

“I’ll be fine,” Petra replies, moving toward the campfire, unsure whether to insist Zahra take the cup of tea back or whether that might create hostility.

Zahra puts a hand under Petra’s elbow, tugging gently for her to stop. Her dark eyes glint. “No man. No father. No… husband?” She makes a tsking sound and smiles sympathetically. “Hard for woman. Very hard. Bad men see alone woman. Bad men take things.”

“Johann will help me.” Petra sniffs the tea and smiles, trying to sidetrack Zahra from whatever she’s after. “Smells nice.”

“The German.” Zahra sniffs in disdain. “He help you now. But later? He will want more from you. Or he will leave you.” She gives a dry snap with her fingers. “Like that.” A slow shrug. “Then more bad men.”

Petra sips the tea to give herself a moment to think. She has no desire to make an enemy of Zahra. She has to make it all the way to Haifa with this caravan.

“I help you,” Zahra says. “My family good. I have strong brothers, good husband.” She gestures toward her own wagon. “Safe. Food. Work.” Her voice drops to a whisper. “Maybe… husband for you. Later. Good man.”

Petra forces a small, polite smile. “That’s very kind, but I’ll stay with Johann.”

Zahra switches topics, gesturing to the too-small abaya and sandals. “Too small. Too short. Not good fit. Cold nights come. I have good cloth. Better. Fit you better.”

“I have no money.”

Zahra’s smile widens. “No need. No rush.” She spreads her hands in a gesture of generosity. “Sister help sister.”

A beat passes.

“Later,” the merchant’s wife adds. “Maybe you help me. Little things. Woman’s work. No hard.”

Petra wants to get away but isn’t sure how to extricate herself politely. Zahra’s culture is foreign to her.

“Annie?” Johann’s voice calls from the wagon.

Relieved, Petra dips her head at Zahra. “Thank you for your generosity, but—.”

Zahra’s face blossoms. “Good. Tomorrow, I bring you. Very fine dress. You see.”

The woman retreats silently—not hurried, not aggressive—but a little like a spider that trusts its web. Petra blows out a breath, relieved. Whatever happens tomorrow, she’ll deal with it then.

When she returns to the fire, Johann gives her a sleeping mat and tells her to put it by the wagon wheel on the inside of the protective circle. “I’ll sleep on the other side, not far away. Don’t worry. Try to sleep. You look weary. I’m sorry I have no spare blankets, but your abaya is thick. You should be fine.”

Petra settles on the mat where Johann directed, and takes a few deep breaths. She is exhausted. She takes off her sandals and tucks the abaya around her feet. Lying on her side, she props one elbow under her head for a pillow. Given that she has just time-traveled to nearly one hundred years before she was born, all in all, she has to call the day a success.

 

 

If you love ancient conspiracies, fallen angel tech, and a heroine who’s just trying to do the right thing while everything falls apart—A Trespass of Angels is for you. This series blends urban fantasy pacing with supernatural thriller tension, layered with biblical lore, elemental magic, and one very loyal hacker who refuses to quit. Inspired by the apocrypha, powered by sarcasm, bad decisions, and divine fire. Perfect for readers who like their romance clean but their stakes cosmic.

Scheduled for release September 30, 2025.

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