Mona Lisa Eclipsing

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To two wonderful fans Janon Swink and Candace Clemons, and my fellow author Mima—the three angels who convinced me to hurry up and write this next part of Mona Lisa’s story.

THE SWORD WHISTLED toward me in sharp descent, almost too fast for a human to see. But not for a part human, part Monère, and whatever else part thing I was, which was, oh yeah, that’s right—demon dead.

I parried, feinted to the left, then thrust to the right. “Gotcha!” I crowed as I tapped Edmond smartly on the ribs.

My young partner lowered his sword, rubbed his side, and grinned as I did a small victory dance. With protective padding and dulled weapons, he could afford to grin. Practice was much more civilized and far less bloody than real life would have been.

“You didn’t let me score on purpose, did you?” I asked suspiciously.

“No, milady,” Edmond said. “You’ve gotten better than me, sure and true.”

“You hear that?” I said smugly to the big guy watching us, Nolan Morell, our sword master instructor. “I’m better than Edmond now.”

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