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His dark past. Her ancient secrets. Our world’s future.

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    Pulitzer-nominated reporter, Simon Stephenson knows he must kill the mythological creature hunting on Nantucket. A mysterious French alchemist and a loveable Greek hit man tell him so. Billions of dollars and lives are at stake – not to mention the story of the century. Trouble is, he's fallen in love with it. And she doesn't want him to write the story. She wants something else. Something only he can give.

    Following a bloody trail of ancient coins, Simon confronts a diabolical conspiracy and his own family’s dark secrets. Meanwhile, his tennis-champion fiancée has become bridezilla, and a gorgeous TV reporter has her own intentions. Battling panic attacks and pursued by a host of nasty characters, from deadly alchemists and virulent beasts, to a sleazy rival reporter and a corrupt sheriff, Simon faces a world where no one is what they seem. Not even himself.


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    The Last Ancient - print

    The Last Ancient - print

    His dark past. Her ancient secrets. Our world’s future.



    I wait in the clearing for the panic to ebb, for my senses to return. A monarch butterfly flutters onto the deer’s ear. The two yellow jackets buzz like tiny chainsaws over the brains, smashing and stabbing each other with their stingers. One tumbles to the sand, dead. The other buzzes in a sickly circle over the snout, then drops lifeless to the earth.

    My phone trembles against my thigh. I look at the text message. From Judy. Success! reads the subject. My breath returns. She just locked in a time this summer for our wedding at the yacht club and a reception at the golf club. I don’t want to know what her father is paying. But I smile. I can’t wait to see her tonight. I picture clingy material hanging from her pale, soft skin—

    A sharp gust kicks sand into my face. I look back at the deer as I shield my eyes. Something glints in the gathering pool of sunlight behind its head. Squinting, I walk to it. Metal, half-revealed. I prize it from the sandy earth. My lips part. I lick them. My chest catches fire. A coin. A very valuable coin. From Oenoa, capital of Ikaria, an ancient Greek island. It’s perhaps twenty-three hundred years old. Artemis, goddess of hunting, among other things, and patron deity of the island of Ikaria, is on one side. A bull is on the other.

    “What the hell?” I murmur.

    A noise—not quite animal, not quite twigs snapping—rumbles behind the deer carcass. Blue sparks in the shadows. Tiny bolts of electricity zap through my chest. Not panic. I’m excited. Like a teenager glimpsing a flash of silk panties.


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