Age Group: Adult
Genre: Urban Fantasy
Release Date: June 4, 2016
Unable to contain the deadly nature of her family secret and powers, nine-teen year old Romarin Demetri hails from California, U.S.A, to unearth her heritage as a descendant of serial-killer, Countess Bathory, the woman that lent Dracula his legend, and cursed Romarin with an appetite for blood.
Unenthusiastic about relocating to her birth city of London, a charming paranormal investigator with claim to the throne could change her mind, as he leads her to the only living and distant relative she has: a raven-haired recluse named Talia, who has taken refuge in an old castle in the heart of the city, and doesn’t seem to have a heart of her own.
After a rough introduction to the lethal, inappropriate, and enchantingly sarcastic people she calls her housemates, perhaps the other misfits will be her first true friends; However, as much as these people are like her, they still have hidden vendettas, a taste for revenge, and will struggle between what is just, and what will settle their psychological upheaval. There is only one way for Romarin to become part of the Supernatural London Underground: Can she be the one who challenges them to put down their ghosts and demons and make their world together?
“Why do you all live here?” I asked, eying Travis who was luckily not paying attention to me at the moment.
“Common interests,” Kit answered. “You’ll find we’re all…supernatural.”
“I’ll settle for that answer for now.” I’m sure whoever they were, they were easing me into it until they could discern some level of trust in me. “Have you had other people, outsiders like me, come to live here?”
“You’re the first in nearly five years,” Kit confirmed. “Talia told me what is to be done in the event of your arrival. We are to welcome you, and make you feel at home—Travis, why don’t you give Romarin the tour?”
“Come on, do I really”—he jumped back from the fire, but didn’t utter a sound of remorse nursing his burnt hand. “Fine, I need a break anyway.” I was apprehensive about following such a character as Travis around an ancient castle for a tour, but if Kit suggested it, I’m sure it couldn’t hurt.
“This is the corridor,” He said dryly. “There are three doors on the right. Closet, office that no one uses, and loo. I doubt you’ll be able to keep these straight. My advice is to just go around opening doors. If someone yells at you to bugger off, I’d heed their warning. But don’t worry, you can visit me anytime.”
“Thanks, Travis,” I said sarcastically. “Hold on. Let me pick my eyes up off the floor. They seemed to have rolled out of my head.” We followed the winding corridor and came to another door, which Travis jolted open. It was the kitchen—a sizeable room with a perimeter of counters on two walls, and a wooden plank table that was pushed against one wall, downsized for two. On either side of the plank table were two more doors.
“This is the kitchen.” Travis autonomously travelled to the fridge. The counter tops were made entirely of polished gray stone and the appliances were stark black. “I come here a lot. Do you eat food, being whatever you are?”
“Yeah... I just drink blood sometimes.”
“Then I guess I have more competition.” He rummaged through the fridge, opened the freezer, then settled back on the fridge. I noticed bottles of thick, red liquid, growing excited that someone else who lived here was like me. Travis grabbed a large bottle of soda. “I drink straight out of these bottles, I’ll have you know.”
He made a sandwich and sat down at the table, chair scuffing the stone floor as he pulled it out sideways, sitting down in a heavy thud. I was not sure which tour guide would have been worse; Travis or Audin.
I did know that I wasn’t going to sit around and wait for Travis to finish his sandwich. Perhaps I was too curious for my own good. I opened one of the two remaining doors in the room, while Travis sat there, chewing away at the table.
As impressed as I was by the courtyard, the dining room next to the kitchen haunted me profoundly, taking me back to a time I couldn’t put a number on. There was seating for twenty some people at a long and unused table, stretching between the kitchen doorway and yet another fireplace.
The stained glass set into cavernous window pockets had gathered dust, and even the candles between them would have to burn off a year of sediment before they could be lit. There were no place settings and no decorations apart from the dusty candles. I wondered what plans were foiled in between the table’s conception and my arrival. When I was finished gawking, I moved on.
I found myself back in the red two-story room with the stairs. I tried to remember the right half of the downstairs: sitting room, hallway, kitchen, dining room. And though I was excited to ascend the massive, seemingly endless staircase, I figured that I had better finish my tour of the downstairs. I was sure there were at least three levels to the place, if not thirteen. I stumbled down another hallway off of the red room and opened the first door on the right. There was a small step down into the mid-sized chamber.
What was this place? And even more pressing, what kind of people would keep a torture chamber in their house?
Romarin Demetri is a story crafter who loves black coffee, traveling abroad, and when her characters come home in some sort of trouble she swears she didn’t invent.
Pulling from her B.A. in English and Psychology, her debut series, The Supernatural London Underground, is a blend of fantasy ground in reality, and a world a reader can truly escape to.
As an eccentric and reader, she still enjoys creating the alternate reality in her urban fantasy series (more than anything!), and her interactive world waits for you at RomarinDemetri.com.