Leslie hails from the concrete and steel canyons and lush bayous of southeast Texas. She now lives in the rain-drenched Pacific Northwest with a cast of spectacular characters, including cats, harps, and fantastic pieces of art that may or may not be doorways to other timelines.

She is the author of the Faery Chronicles and Soul Forge, two complete urban fantasy series set in the same world and filled with found family and kind badasses.

A Memory of Time by Leslie Claire Walker

Demigods, witches, and fae walk among us, opening the secret paths of memory and time. Some humans get lost there. Others find themselves…

Fight or Flight – In the future, Charlie falls in love with the wonders he sees, the people he meets—even the trouble he finds. No trouble captures his heart more than Sunday Sloan, who wields magic that some people would kill to possess. Will Charlie become one of them?

Lightning in a Bottle - After a lightning strike disappears his beloved little sister, Chris searches for her in time. But discovering where she's gone is only half the battle. Time works its own magic on those it claims, and it never lets them go.

First Break – Beth tangles with Eden's notorious serpent and spars with Horsepersons of the Apocalypse. She's no stranger to courage—traveling through time to save the world. But what if this time, the world she's meant to save is herself?

… and more!

 

REVIEWS

  • "…I really liked Charlie's voice (Fight or Flight is told from his point of view) and the feisty Sunday Sloan he meets in the future. Everything about this story sparkles with invention and gritty truth."

    – Charles de Lint
 

BOOK PREVIEW

Excerpt

Someone knocked on the back door. Politely and once. In the middle of the night.

Might as well have been an earthquake, the way it woke me from a dead sleep. I mean, I careened out of bed. Banged my hip against the corner of the dresser, even.

Unlike the front door, which opened to the human public in the human world, the back opened on an interdimensional portal. I could count on one hand the people who knew it even existed. They arrived during civilized hours. They activated a key tattooed with magical ink to open the door and let themselves in.

They did not knock.

My toes shrank against the cold white tile at the threshold. I flipped the light switch, wincing as my bleary eyes tool offense at fluorescent ambience. The air smelled hospital clean, the ghosts of ink and blood and fire lingering underneath. The heater kicked on, beautiful warm air streaming from the vents near the ceiling. No other disturbance touched the interior of Snake Bite Tattoo.

Just as it should be. The boss was away.

I'd left my glasses on the night table, but I could see well enough to note that everything inside the building still appeared to be normal. Oak bench and handy shoe tray to my left, check. Coat rack to the right. Umbrella stand beside it and tall white cubbies used as makeshift weapons storage to round out the necessary furniture. The digital clock on the wall whose red numbers read 3:39AM.

Normal was bullshit.

I pulled a small blade from the sheath behind the cubbies and tucked the sharp edge against the skin of my wrist. I'd be crap in a knife fight, but I had other, more lethal offensive and defensive capabilities.

Ready for trouble, I yanked the door open.

Trouble looked like the Faery Queen, from the crown of her messy bun, midnight strands held in place by winking fireflies, to her flowing dress—more fireflies—to the toes of her polished black combat boots. Her violet eyes glowed in the shifting shadows of the portal. Her fair skin caught the light that filtered past me. Made her look like a ghost.

She didn't have a key to this door, but the Faery King did. So, that explained how she was here, but not why.

Her singing voice carried the power to make people feel. Notes of song threaded through her spoken words, too. "You need my help."