DEMIGODDESS 101
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The last thing Ava Goddard ever expects to see are toga clad people that no one else can. She quickly jumps to the conclusion that she is a) going crazy or b) she’s always been crazy and is only now realising it. That is until she actually meets one of these ‘hallucinations’ and learns that she’s a demigoddess. Not only that but she’s the daughter of Jupiter himself.
Ava soon learns that being a demigoddess isn’t all as fabulous as she first thought it would be. Her life is invaded by gods and goddesses who want to befriend her including a frightening but ironically protective God of Death, a vengeful Queen of the Gods, a snarky dryad in her tree. And on top of it all she has to deal with her mother, overdramatic best friend and a soccer playing potential boyfriend as well.
Worse still, there is a goddess who is lurking in the dark who has been biding her time for the past several millennia waiting for her chance to take over. And she’s just found Jupiter’s one weakness.
Ava.
What Readers Are Saying
I thought this was an awesome book, I am a personal lover of all Greek and Roman mythology and am I always looking for new books to read. I really loved Ava, she was fun, interesting and real, I could really step into her character and lose myself in the story. I think this is a brilliant novel.
— Goodreads Review
Excerpt
I know it sounds ridiculous, but from all the hoopla I’ve heard about birthdays, I half expect just once to be greeted by a chorus of angels singing me into this new era of my life. You know, something special. Something just for me. But the logical side of me knows that I’ll open my eyes and see nothing more than the same old blush pink that has clung to my walls since my ‘I’m a pretty pink princess’ kick when I was five.
Just like I do every year.
Of course, my logic wins out and I’m greeted by the cheery, if fading, pink. As soon as my eyes become accustomed to the retina-searing combination of wall and jovial brilliance of the morning sunlight, the reality sets in. Having a birthday during final exam season has proved that I’m not destined for anything special. This year I have two final exams on what should be a glorious day. So instead of a day gallivanting in the sun celebrating, I’m stuck slaving over a standardized test that will prove nothing more than my ability to regurgitate facts.
Fun.
With a sigh and a stretch, I get out of bed and stare out at the world. I know what I’m going to see. A couple of oak trees, the street, maybe a glimpse of the sky if the wind is blowing the branches and their accessorizing foliage just right.
This morning I notice a scarf dangling from the second oak. I have to admit I’m a bit confused as I watch it twisting and turning, dancing in an unseen breeze. It’s not like I routinely go around decorating my trees with frills. It would be nice in the winter, I suppose—it would give the trees a little life—but I digress.
I stare at it a moment. It’s plain, but pretty. Someone out there has to be missing it. Pushing open my window, I stare at it a moment then reach out for the gauzy material only to find that it’s caught on a gnarled branch. I pull on it gently, afraid to tear the fine material. After all, it’ll be mine if no one comes to claim it. I lean out a little to try to untangle it. The wind plays with me for a few seconds before I finally manage to snag a gossamer edge with my fingers again. I give it a couple of experimental tugs, releasing it in shock when it yanks back.
“What the—?”
Must be the wind playing with the branches.
I shimmy out farther, determined not to let a stupid scarf outwit me. Reaching out once more, I wind a length of it securely around my wrist so it doesn’t get away from me. I wrench again. This time it jerks back violently, and I could swear that I saw a hand do it.
I let go, heart throbbing in my ears. Did I almost just yank someone out of the tree?
“Sorry! Is someone up there?”
The scarf flows upward like a silken waterfall in reverse and disappears into the dense layering of leaves. Well, that answers my question. Then it occurs to my slowly waking brain that there might be someone camping outside my window in my tree. The scarf couldn’t belong to a peeping Tom… I don’t think. Unless a floaty silk scarf has become an accoutrement for en vogue stalkers these days.
So this fashion diva in my tree doesn’t seem like so much of a threat. However, there is still the issue of their being stuck in my tree.
“Um, are you okay up there? Can I get you a ladder or something? Someone to shoot you out of my tree, maybe?”
“Ava, dear! Time to get up!” My mother, Tess Goddard.
She’s always been loud, which was good since I always had advance warning before she made an appearance—an Advanced Mother Warning System. I bet other kids wish they were so lucky. The sing-song voice comes from the other side of the door a second before my mother sweeps in.
A lot of people have told me that we could almost be sisters—almost. I don’t know whether to take offense or not. I mean, to be told that you almost look like a sibling to a woman who’s in her mid-forties isn’t exactly something a teen girl wants to hear. But it always brings a glow to Mom’s face, so I guess it’s worth the perceived insult.
Although, when I look at her, I can understand how she could be seen as younger. Her ebony hair is still as glossy, thick and dark as ever. And her stormy gray eyes, so like mine, are vibrant and brimming with life. So looking at her is like looking in a mirror—if it aged you about twenty-five years.
Right now, the aged version of me has dragged me from the window and wrapped her arms around me for a bear hug. The woman may be small, but she’s got the grip of an anaconda.
“Happy birthday, Ava darling! Eighteen! It seems like yesterday I was in agony for forty-six hours trying to bring you into the world, and here you are now, a gorgeous young lady.”
I go through this every year. The hug and the weepy speech. Though this time she seems weepier than usual. I let her manhandle me for a little while longer. It only seems fair to suffer this for a few minutes annually when she went through nearly two days of agony. Only a few more to go before the debt is wiped clean, by my count.
Finally, she sniffles and relinquishes my person, restlessly smoothing my hair and patting my shoulders and cheeks like she can’t get over what she’s seeing. “My baby is eighteen. I cannot believe it.”
I try my best at a gentle smile. Any wider and she’d think I was mocking her, too small and I would be accused of faking. “If you’re going to keep this up, I’m not going to make it to my finals.”
“Oh!” She hugs me again, this time releasing me after a second. “I’m being silly, of course. But it’s not every day a daughter—but I’m babbling again.” She pecks my cheeks and rocks back to smile at me. “Get dressed. You have a big day ahead of you.”
“Mom…”
Too late. She’s gone. Never mind. It’s probably best that I don’t tell her. At least not until I find out if there really is someone out there. Let’s hope that if there is a person up in my tree that they are a trapped supermodel and not a serial killer. I can’t help but giggle at the insane thought. The scarf probably got blown up there on its own and I just imagined everything else.
But just to make sure, I lean out of the window once again to try to see if I can spot a person in it. “Hey! Someone up there?”
No reply and I can’t see anyone. The tree’s leafy, but not that leafy. I’m pretty sure that I’d be able to spot anybody in it. I can’t see the scarf anymore either. Damn it! That was a nice scarf.
Shoving disappointment aside, I start on my morning routine. Seeing as it’s a nice, warm spring day, I throw on a simple T-shirt with my favorite pair of jeans. I pull my hair back in a ponytail, slip on my black strappy sandals, apply makeup with a light hand and I’m good to go. All this was done in the bathroom, of course. Just a precaution until I find out whether or not there is really someone in my tree.
Available from
Finch Books | Amazon | Kobo | Google Play | Barnes & Noble