“We can’t waltz forever, Grant.” “We can damn well try.” We have existed in the shadows of your world for all of history. The blessed, the cursed, the mages and the witches. Sometimes you choose to ignore us. Sometimes we cover it up. We keep our heads down, lest you lot make them roll. What if you could watch history unfold? Take a ride on the Orient Express? Rock out at CBGB in its heyday? Go dancing in post prohibition Chicago? Pick berries under billions of pure starlit pinpoints in 1540s France? Magical musician Murder LaVoe is tired of running. She’s been running for nearly 500 years. When you don’t age, people take it personally. She’s returned 40 years later to her favorite borough in New York City, hoping to finally settle down and hide her secret by taking the identities of falsified heirs. A public attempt on the life of her Rock-N-Roll alter ego, Lady Dreamscapes, and a chance meeting of subservient immortals in need, threaten to take away the life she holds so dear. Can NYPD detective Grant Noble III solve her mysteries in time to save her? Maybe it’s him that needs saving? Levi Esmund is a Protector of the Ageless sculpted from Clay by Murder’s mother to be her companion. No one knows just how tied the fates of the Protectors are to their charges. Levi just wants a good book, and a hot guy. Maybe, just maybe, he’d like to be a real boy. Tress is also a Protector. A Trans-woman, and white-out Victorian goth who has learned to excel at glamours and wards. The Curse Of the Ageless prevents her from physically becoming a woman permanently. She’s devoted her life to helping trans-girls in need. Just one problem. She has yet to figure out how to save herself. Hot Cars, fancy clothes, concerts and fashion shows await you, in the magical hidden community that exists in SOHO NY in 2020. Don’t forget your enchanted items. They will keep you safe and hidden! This all new modern fairy tale spans centuries, continents, and lives will never be the same. Excerpt: Murder grabbed Grant’s hands. She led him out of the small cabin’s front door. Above them, a billion stars gleamed. A melody faded in from somewhere past the field they stood in. They looked up, mouths agape at the sharpest, clearest night sky Grant Noble had ever seen. The melody became more defined. It was Greensleeves. Murder counted in six-eighths time as she led Grant through the steps of her favorite waltz. A few measures in, he stopped her. From this vantage point he could see her face perfectly in the moonlight, framed by the multitude of lighted pinpoints. “I’ve never seen this many stars.” “You can’t see them like this anymore,” she looked up, “back in France in the 1540s, every night looked like this, but we also didn’t have cars or air conditioning.” “Looking at you in this light, the AC can burn in hell.” She smirked. He kissed her. They danced across a pond on stepping stones, the stars both above and below them, as they reflected in the clear, perfect pool.