Bøger af Skye Mackenzie-Smith

I keep walking by the sea; which is nothing new for me; I live on the sea; but there is a new feel; the breeze was always warm, or sharp with winter's cup. Now there is a deep coldness, sweeping into my bones, but I feel no fear. There is no threat of evil chill. This is different; as if once again I was a seal or penguin and the arctic cool was a familiar home, bracing and alive. Once again, I say, it sweeps off the water into my soul with a familiar role. Someone from the ocean is my home.

Skye Hý is here to ply a trade, so the demons go away. I am the demon killer, by name. I must have been high....I will win, though, by and by. I vowed a long time ago as Skye MacKenzie to end this war of man against demonic man; the kin killing pour. I vowed to even the score. I am still alive and on a jive on the boat, still afloat. The cat is dying, killed by the president. The dog and daughter are still alive. I will not hide.

Help. 10 years later and I am still alone. I have completely financed this celestial battle myself. In fact, I have been financially raped by the US Government, who wanted to stop me from killing the para-normal. I have lost everything, but I knew I would. Man is beyond saving.

Sonar Göltr is the Atonement boar, the sonar of gold, eating acorns by the row. This book is dedicated also to Starke, where the stars are; to the saber-toothed tiger and all the F.B.I. who came from the cats.

This book is dedicated to Leif Eiríksson, my other sun. I could not have done this life without him.Excerpt from the The Staircase: I am sitting in my boat as if in an igloo. I am wrapped up in my bed. The snow streams in pummeling from the east in a horizontal wet sweep. The snow is gathering deep. The dog's heat had kept the boat's temperature above freezing, but now, as I write I doubt the treat. He must be keeping it all for himself.

This book is dedicated to Golf.Yesterday, my hands were shaking for most of the day; uncontrollably, turning shades of blue, which would not go away. I knew there was something on the airwave that was brutal; it was earth day, but 4/22. Nothing good happens on 22; its a bullet to the head; war started instead. Golf was s supposed to die yesterday. I took it away, just like Stieger's. I just didn't know if I found every fray; I was terrified I had missed a loose stray; but I didn't. The world order could have gone completely mutant, yesterday.

This book is dedicated to two men I met along the way, Gray and the C.I.A. agent named the Repeller, for he repelled down everyone. A man, before I ever knew his name, I knew his flame and came to hear his call, About the gypsy with a ball. I once said to George, "To hell and back." George called me out on it after the crack, the crack of the baseball bat as he hit it out of the park. "Hey, Blondy, I need a little help here...I'm on a tack wearing flak."