Heist For A Life is OUT?!

Yes, yes, yes. You heard right: my debut novel is out right now! You can order it online here and make me *very* happy by leaving a review here.

As a celebration, I thought I'd share an excerpt from the beginning of the book (in case you haven't got a copy yet!).

Thank you so much to everyone who has supported HFAL so far. Every single comment, like, and share means the absolute world to me.

Enjoy! C x

Rosie held a pair of designer stilettos in one hand and a clump of human hair in the other.

An ordinary morning at The Ruby Talisman.

Far from her most bizarre find, she wondered who the hair once belonged to and whether they were still in the hotel. Perhaps they were gorging on the bottomless breakfast buffet downstairs, in awe of the diverse spread of local Roguerest delicacies. Or maybe they were facedown in the grimy cobblestones of the market square, sluggishly regaining consciousness with no comprehension of the night before, yet another victim of The Ruby’s seductive nightlife.

Realising she still held a stranger’s hair in her hand, Rosie shuddered and tossed it into the rubbish bag on her cart, furiously wiping her palm on her itchy red work smock whilst being careful not to tug the crisp white apron loose from around her waist.

The Ruby prides itself on staff uniformity and discretion, she’d been lectured on her first day. Be available, be observant, be invisible.

It had become her mantra from the first day, both an anchor and a purpose to keep her going.

Be available, be observant, be invisible.

She considered the stilettos hooked on two fingers of her other hand. Despite the scuffs and mud they’d likely earned during the events of the night before, the slick black shoes were undoubtedly upscale, fashioned from smooth leather with crystals embedded down the sharp point of the towering heel. Rosie had dreamt of purchasing shoes like these.

She envisioned herself sauntering into one of the many exclusive boutiques in the Tourist Quarter, the ones guarded by a doorman who vetted the customers by their appearance. Upon entrance, she’d be welcomed with a fizzing, fruity cocktail and a tray of exotic canapés, doted on as if nothing were more important than her impending purchase. The shop assistants would laugh politely at everything she said, praise every style choice she made, and above all, ensure that she enjoyed spending her money as much as they enjoyed relieving her of it.

She eyed the shoes in her hand and figured that they were roughly her size. Scanning the hotel room as if expecting someone to be secretly watching her, she toed off her black, standard-issue loafers and placed the stilettos on the garish red carpet.

Could she?

“I’m not stealing them.” Her voice was barely above a whisper. “I’m trying them on. I’m not stealing them. I’ll put them back.”

Bracing for potentially agonising pain, courtesy of her supresis curse, she slipped her first foot in, then the other. Miraculously, she remained unharmed. It encouraged a laugh to bubble up from her chest, filling the room with a joyous sound otherwise foreign to her.

She ambled towards the floor-to-ceiling mirror and stumbled, floundering in the unfamiliar footwear. Barely managing to stay upright, she shuffled over to the mirror like a newborn fawn, each step a revelation. As she took in the sight of her taller, more elegant reflection, the hotel room around her faded away into insignificance.

She was no longer a lowly maid confined to a ruby prison, but a businesswoman, a roaring success who turned heads wherever she strode and demanded respect from those who dared to approach her.

She was no longer in the city of Roguerest, not even in the wider territory of Cindervale. No, she was much further afield than that. She could travel wherever she desired, without qualms or doubts. She flitted across the Twelve Territories according to her own whims, seeking out the most formidable artefacts to pilfer and pawn, casing out the seemingly impregnable homes of exclusive treasures just ripe for the picking.

She was no longer subservient. She was no longer dancing to the beat of someone else’s drum. She was twirling and swirling and dipping to her very own snare, master of one and captive of none. The world around her blurred and swam, a stream of lights and wonders to explore.

“Songbird?”

A knock at the door made her trip, rolling her ankle and crashing down to the floor. Disorientated and fearing discipline, she shucked the dreamy shoes from her feet and scrambled up as the knocking continued.

“Rosie, I know you’re in there.”

It was Jakob.

Perfect.