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Faery Moon

Can Tess and her imp, Scrap, free enslaved Faeries to restore the balance of life energy and seal the portals among the dimension?

Faery Moon

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Release Date : May 28, 2024

ISBN Number : 978-1-63632-236-0



Kindle Reader = Mobi
Others = Epub


Can Tess and her imp, Scrap, free enslaved Faeries to restore the balance of life energy and seal the portals among the dimension?

What happens in Las Vegas, stays in Las Vegas. Yeah, right. Until bestselling fantasy writer, and warrior of the Celestial Blade Tess Noncoiré discovers a band of enslaved Faeries forced to perform unreal special effects in the hottest show in town.

Their entrapment creates a dangerous leak of life energy from their home world. The unbalance is causing Faery to collapse and the seals keeping dangerous demons in place have weakened. Earth could implode with the influx of outworlders and Las Vegas houses the central portal.

The Faeries have weakened, their bright clothing fades and becomes tattered. They falter in their forced performances. The producer threatens murder.

Tess needs to save the Faeries, but how can she get away from teaching at a writers conference, providing her imp companion his special diet, and snapping her mom, Genevieve, out of a deep depression after the murder of her half-demon husband of three days. Genevieve falls in love with a Karaoke machine, bright lights, and glittery gowns.

Who and what can Tess trust with the care of her fragile mother?

Tess needs help. Donovan, the sexiest man alive, and her sort of step-brother, is busy with secret business deals. Her research assistant Guilford van der Hoyden Smythe, Ph.D. will come at the snap of her fingers but teaches full time at a community college in New England. And then there’s Mikey, a maybe too helpful cab driver.

If she can’t rely on the men in her life, dare she enlist the aid of the vampire crime boss, Lady Lucia, who seems far too interested in Tess and her imp?

Who will save the Faeries?

A Tess Noncroiré Adventure #3


Raves for Hounding the Moon:

“Readers who crave the fantasy equivalent of a summer movie will welcome Frost’s debut, which introduces Tess Noncoiré.” —Publishers Weekly

“Frost’s fantasy debut series introduces a charming protagonist, both strong and vulnerable, and her cheeky companion. An intriguing plot and a well-developed warrior sisterhood make this a good choice for fans of the urban fantasy of Tanya Huff, Jim Butcher, and Charles deLint.” —Library Journal

“Featuring a courageous, witty, and downright endearing female protagonist reminiscent of Laurel1 K. Hamilton’s Anita Blake and Charlaine Harris’s Sookie Stackhouse, this is a fast-paced supernatural-powered thriller that blends Native American mythology, paranormal romance, and dark fantasy with the oftentimes wildly eccentric culture of science fiction/ fantasy fandom.” —The Barnes & Noble Review

“This is a fun, fannish romp full of sarcastic quips and supernatural action.” —Locus
Irene Radford is a founding member of Book View Café. You can find many of her books, both reprints and original titles, at the café, including her earliest books being released throughout 2023 and 2024. She has been writing stories ever since she figured out what a pencil was for. Editing, as Phyllis Irene Radford, grew out of her love of the craft of writing. History has been a part of her life from earliest childhood and led to her BA from Lewis and Clark College.

Mostly she writes fantasy and historical fantasy including the best-selling Dragon Nimbus Series and the masterwork Merlin’s Descendants series. Look for her writing new historical fantasy tales as Rachel Atwood, a different take on the Robin Hood mythology in Walk the Wild with Me, from DAW/Astra Books and the sequel Outcasts of the Wildwood. In other lifetimes she writes urban fantasy as P.R. Frost or Phyllis Ames, and space opera as C.F. Bentley. Lately she ventured into Steampunk as Julia Verne St. John.

If you wish information on the latest releases from Ms Radford, under any of her pen names, you can follow her on Facebook as Phyllis Irene Radford, or on

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flies from here to there on a big mechanical machine that makes so much noise it hurts my tender little ears and smells too ripe, I’m wandering around the chat room looking for something to do.

The vast whiteness that stretches on and on, broken only by an occasional door to another dimension is strangely quiet today. I can’t even find the demons that are supposed to be on guard duty. They keep beings inside their home dimension, only allowing passage to a privileged or wily few.

I’m one of the few. Imps may go anywhere. Convincing the guard demons of that is another issue altogether.

I stumble across a round stone door I haven’t noticed before. It smells odd. My pug nose wiggles overtime trying to discover what lurks behind before I open it.

Stone, copper, dust, and sage.

I’ve smelled that before.

Instantly wary, I tug on the handle until it squeals in protest on rusty hinges.

I freeze—waiting, assessing.

No one comes to pummel me into submission or back where I came from.

So, like a good little imp, I poke my nose inside the scant inches between the round stone door and the arched stone jamb.

“Gargoyles!” I chortle. “Gargoyles in their natural form.” Translucent spirits flit about. The smallest have hardly any features at all, just amorphous wispy forms. The larger ones begin to show signs of eyes, nose, and mouth. Nothing individual about any of them.

They all play tag with inanimate cutouts of demons, practicing pushing over bad guys with only the power of their aura. Some are better than others.

They are all good enough to keep me out. I can only watch from the doorway.

An old guy, his wrinkled and threadbare robes made of smoke sagging around his potbellied form, follows the youngsters about with a clipboard. He peers over half glasses at the antics of one particularly talented child. The twisted grimace on his face appears carved out of stone. He’s lived long enough to develop features and a personality. A grim one from the way he frowns.

The kid he concentrates on can’t be more than two or three centuries old. He won’t stand still long enough to get a bead on his developing features. I get hints of bat wings.

“Report,” the old guy barks, quill pen poised over his notes.

“Six Damiri lurking behind that pillar,” the kid nods toward a Gothic column I hadn’t seen before he pointed it out. Maybe it didn’t exist before he mentioned it.

“Check. What else.”

“Two Cthulhus in the moat, reluctant to come out. And a pair of Windago hunting innocents who enter the forest trying to find sanctuary.”

“Very good. We have an emergency vacancy,” the old guy intones. “You are young yet, but you are the best student we’ve had in three centuries. Go now. Replace the ancient one who fell asleep. His corner is a vitally strategic post. We need younger energy to fill the gap.”

The kid salutes, bouncing up and down in his enthusiasm. Then his misty body trails off and escapes through the door I left partly open for my own escape.

The venerable gargoyle tutor makes a check mark on his clipboard and moves on to supervise another pupil.

The distinctive smell of stone, copper, dust, and sage shifts. Now I get granite, moss, and clay tiles.

So that’s how they do it! The spirit form of the gargoyle inhabits the stone or metal body which gives them definition. Their magic exists only in their apotropaic ability to repel demons away from the edifice they protect.

Hmmm. I wonder if the kid’s smell is unique to him, or merely his type. I know that scent. I do not trust the man who cannot mask it behind a musky aftershave.

This is info my babe may need.

Time to check on her. She should have changed planes and started on the final leg of her journey.

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