Tenebrous Two - eBook Bundle

Two teenage girls on a dark journey.

Two girls stand on the edge of discovering something bigger than themselves.

Two novels exclusively bundled and priced for this store.

The Tenebrous Two combines two origin novels from the Tenebrous Chronicles.

Though Angel Spits and Party Girl Crashes the Rapture are set in contrasting locations, both novels explore challenging girls solving a possible murder while enriching a mythology created by a different series.

The bundle also includes an introduction about the backstory of both novels not found in other editions.

Buy The Tenebrous Two now and trek into a dark, redeeming world.

TALKING SHIT

“You think he feels anything in there?” Isis asks. “My mom thinks he doesn’t. Shit, everybody thinks he doesn’t. I think he feels something. He is human, right?”

We sit on the short stonewall that surrounds Pershing Field Park. The parents push their brats on the swings while traffic moves up and down Central Ave at my back. Past the swings are two benches. That bitch Kasanu Sims sits on one and talks to Alina Rivera. Probably about me. Just watching her in those tight denim shorts and black halter that she managed to squeeze her fat body into as she twirls her bad weave makes my head ache.

“What you think, Maggie?” Isis asks.

“I think they should ask him what he thinks,” I say.

“What? The kid’s brain dead. How they gonna ask him that?”

She sighs, then notices whom I’m staring at. “Ohhhh. So what ya gonna do, Maggie?”

Kasanu stands, smiles, and walks away from Alina, saying good-bye and giggling.

“Just watch, girl.” I stand and stretch out the ache in my back. I rush over to Kasanu. Isis keeps at my side. “Hey!”

Kasanu stops and turns just at the end of the short black metal fence that surrounds the swings. The smile drops off her face as she connects with my eyes. She crosses her arms and looks down. “Yeah?”

I keep close to her, trapping her so that all she can do is fall back over the fence and land on her fat ass. “Heard you been talking shit about me.”

Confusion covers her face as she scans the grass and dirt. “What? When?”

I motion to Isis. “My girl there told me you were talking shit about me back in homeroom.”

“In homeroom? That was months ago. It’s July.”

I shove her shoulder. “What you talking shit about me for?”

Her arms tighten. She keeps her balance against the fence. “Don’t fucking start with me.”

“You’re the one getting all up in my shit, bitch,” I say. “You’re the one telling people what and who I am.”

The anger finally shows in her eyes. “Maybe I’m right. Maybe you’re one fucked up bitch and it’s not right the way you beat down Marina.”

I plow my fist right into her nose. After the bone cracks, she releases a squeal as she covers her face and falls to the ground.

Parents cover their kids and urge them away from the scene. Some boys cheer me on, hoping I’ll kick the shit out of her for a show. No. I’m not going to give them what they want. They got me wrong. This isn’t about no show.

I grab Kasanu by her weave and pull her hands from her face. Tears and blood coat her dark, flattened nose. “Next time you better be careful what you say. I got ears everywhere.” I release her. She sobs on the ground.

I turn to Isis who smiles at my work. “C’mon.” We walk onto Central Ave and head down the high stonewall that boarders the old reservoir. People crowd around Kasanu to see if her fat ass is all right. If the bitch can’t take a punch, then she’s hopeless.

SIBLING HEAT

I was five years old and in the same apartment we live in now. I had my own room since I’m a girl. Joaquin, who was five years older, slept on a foldout couch in the living room. Mami was cooking pernil with black beans and the smell of spices not only filled the apartment but the building hallway for the neighbors to enjoy. Winter was violently cold outside, turning the six feet of snow from a few days ago to solid ice. You wouldn’t know inside since the radiators were at full blast. I couldn’t stop sweating in my khaki pants and PS 6 shirt, clothes handed down from my brother.

Joaquin sat on the couch, also dressed in his school clothes. He read some book. I can’t remember what it was.  Everyone was so proud that he could read authors like Dickens and some woman named Austen. He spoke and read Spanish and English so well that he helped my mother and father communicate with people around Jersey City who didn’t speak Spanish. Trouble reading the bills? Hand it to Joaquin. Collection agency on the phone? Here Joaquin, talk to them for us.

I pushed my Scooby Doo Mystery Machine across the floor, the gang all inside and being chased by The Creeper. By the time I made a lap around the old couch, sweat was coating my skin and soaking into my shirt. I wanted to ask Mami to open the window, but I knew it was a waste of time. The heat and hot water was included with the rent and my parents would never waste something that was a free privilege since people had to spend so much on oil.  

I tried to ignore the sticky feeling trapped under my clothes that covered my skin. I really did. For like five seconds.

I picked up the Mystery Machine. Joaquin glanced at me from his thick book. His face remained unemotional as he shook his head. I turned back to the window and threw the toy. The plastic van left a crack in the glass.

Mami stormed into the room.

“What is going on here?” she asked, her arms crossed over her apron.

She glared with dark brown eyes under graying brown bangs at the cracked window, the toy van, and then me. “Did you do that, Magdalene?” she asked.

I crossed my arms back at her. “Yes!”

She sighed, shook her head, and asked, “Why did you do that?”

I opened my mouth. At first I had no words. Then,  “I don’t know.”

“Bruta,” Mami said. “Why can’t you be more like your brother?”

Joaquin smiled at Mami, then frowned at me.

“I told her not to do that,” Joaquin said.

“Wait until your father gets home.” Mami walked back into the kitchen.

I gave my brother a hard, dirty look. He sighed and turned back to his book. I sat on the floor, watched television, and wiped the sweat from my eyes.