Penumbra

By Kat Micari

Fed up with the dirty city and a disenchanting life as a fashion model, Beauty's world is at least safe. But the illusion of safety shatters the night that she frees herself from her self-imposed fears only to be thrust into the magical underbelly of the city, where forces that want to save humanity and evil beings that want to feed off humanity's despair fight for balance and power.

Forced from both the comforts and the trappings of her old life, now hunted by a cadre of sinister, rat-faced business men, Beauty's only hope is to join with a strange magical ally. Together, with the help of fae creatures in unlikely guises, they must seek out an enchanted, improbable artifact that can heal the city before evil tips the balance, once and for all.

This powerful coming-of-age fairy tale follows the path of a young heroine who chooses to take fate into her own hands for the first time in her life, and of the consequences that her choice has on the magical beings of the city.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kat Micari
• Release date: Apr 11, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301418626

Kat Micari

Kat Micari is an author and artist living in the northeast of the United States with her husband, son, and two cats. She enjoys reading a clever turn of phrase, walking in nature, and dancing to the music of the universe. Above all, she loves creating and encouraging others to create.

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Penumbra

Kat Micari

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2013 Kat Micari

All Rights Reserved

Cover Art by Peter Tarkulich

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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Chapter One

Beauty’s Curse

Clothes hang limply to the right of her nametag on the rack. Quickly pawing through the couture garments, she pulls one out and holds it up to herself. The sounds of the large dressing room swirl and eddy, enveloping her in a tidal surge of meaningless noise. She puts the shapeless dress back on the rack and sighs. Why do I always get the ugly clothes? Why am I constantly covered head to foot in a sack?

Hey, beauty queen, a skeleton of a woman with dark lips and hair teased to great heights calls out. You’re up.

Torture time in the make-up chair. Her dark curly hair is twisted up, wires attached, war paint plastered to her caramel face, lacquer applied to her nails. Shoved into the first monstrous outfit, teetering in platform shoes, she lines up for the strut. The model coming off the catwalk throws an elbow into her side with an evil grin, bruising her, but the lights come up on her and she is ready.

Fifteen years of training, winning pageant after pageant, taking lesson after lesson in grace and poise, and this is what it has come to. A nineteen-year-old professional model, friendless and alone in the city. A collection of trophies and dried roses gathering dust in her mother’s attic. The memories gathering cobwebs in her mind.

The lights flash, shot after shot snap. The peacocks strut. For an hour, all are in their element. Then the applause fades and the spotlights dim. The after party begins; she descends into a cesspool of cattiness and false intimacy, only going at her agency’s insistence. There are glistening platters of desserts that none of the models touch and cocktails that remain on their trays. A design assistant suggests that she start using heroin as a weight control. A photographer offers to shoot her in the nude for his personal collection. She walks into the bathroom and sees three other girls doing lines of coke off the countertop, and she decides it is time to go home.

***

Walking the dark blocks to her apartment building, she feels a shiver travel up her spine. A strong sense of being watched. Furtive glances left and right reveal nothing. She walks faster; her hand grips her pepper spray. Her heart starts pounding as the adrenaline courses through her blood stream. Thum-thump. Thum-thump. Her fear increases irrationally and she starts to run. The streetlights blink off and on as she flees beneath them. Something tugs invisibly at her. She hears the skittering of small animal feet around her, and she emits a squeak of terror. A block from her apartment and the fear is gone. No sounds beyond the usual late-night hustle of the city. She slows and looks around, catching her breath. Is it just my imagination?

Composure restored, she