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The people I call family (and I use that term loosely by the way) aren’t the Walton’s by any means. For starters the whole lot of them are demons. Myself included. Who knew right? It’s so bizarre I don’t even believe it. Or want to believe it.
Except, I don’t have a choice.
And I haven’t since the day I was plucked from my mother’s loins. I remember everything as if it was yesterday, and I wish I didn’t. Let’s call it a gift of sorts, my memory, because it’s the only that has kept me alive all this time. Why you ask?
I have a soul.
That’s right, yours truly, Daria Pigwidgeon (a name I gave myself at an early age from a show on MTV my brothers used to watch. And it’s much preferred over scum, which was used often by my parents. Scum Pigwidgeon, not very catchy) is a proud member of her very own soul. And with that came many years of taking care of myself.
Unlike the filthy bottom feeders that are my family, I’m the first one born with a clean viable human soul. The first in generations really. You’d think it’d be a good thing, something to treasure even. Only it’s something that has left me cursed.
And very far from treasured.
The first book in a young adult urban paranormal fantasy trilogy begins when Daria decides to flee her home in Bakersfield, California. With no clear plan she picks a random place, and heads for the cooler climate of upstate New York. Feeling like she finally has a fresh start she takes her life into her own hands, free of threats. Her first adventure, is in high school, as the new girl.
Making friends and vying for normalcy while staying true to herself to NOT use her demon gifted abilities, life is harder than ever. Just when she thinks she might be finding an unexpected love in the boy next door, new comers arrive in town.
Her family. The ones she ran away from in the first place.
Now she must face what it means to be what she is. A demon with a soul. Except, she’s not the only one keeping secrets. And it’ll shock her to her core when she finds out who and why.