The Convergence - The Imprint Quintet: Book Two
Releasing Summer 2025

Synopsis

THE DEAD ARE RESTLESS.

Four years after the battle of Pendeen, Rasha Abadi leads a quiet life in Cornwall. Haunted by her past actions, she vows to only use her powers to keep the dead at bay. Meanwhile her friends Sam and Trish investigate the Hive, a Manchester-based cult, to hunt for paranormal terrorist Edward Penrose. One day Sam and Trish go missing, and Rasha has no choice but to head North and search for them.

Manchester is gripped by paranormal events when she arrives: the tramlines emit a new bandwith of frequency energy, mass faintings occur across the city, and Rasha has chance encounters with disgraced police officer Noel Ward.

Together Rasha and Noel track the Hive down - only, the Hive have been waiting for them. There Edward Penrose intends to reinvent death by reaping the souls of Manchester’s people.

To save the city and her friends Rasha must embrace the darkness that she once fought to suppress.

Releasing Summer 2025

Exclusive Excerpt

The first snow slurry of the Winter of 1891 brought a visitor to Pendeen.

Construction of the lighthouse was arduous; before the workers could lay its foundations, the headland had to be dug out and flattened. During that process, they discovered a grave, and all work ground to a halt. Hushed gossip ripped through the labourers and traveled to the barmaids and shopkeepers in an afternoon. They reported that the site manager, Arthur Carkeek of Redruth, had discontinued work until further notice. Strangely, Carkeek’s first telegraph was not to the local Parish nor the undertaker. Instead, he sent one urgently to Manchester for an investor named Edward Penrose. 

Two days later, Penrose arrived by horse and carriage, one bitter day in November when the air chewed people’s ears. Despite the site being closed, it was busier than ever: the workers wanted to understand the importance of the grave — after all, without work, they would not be getting paid. Many wives and mothers perfectly timed the delivery of pasties and sandwiches, only to ogle at the northerner with the Cornish surname. 

Edward Penrose moved like a man who had struggled in the north. He’d ambled precariously down the carriage steps and walked with a stoop, leaning heavily on a cane. Penrose’s wild, black eyebrows were permanently arched as if bracing torrential rain, and his skin was as leathery as the suitcase he carried in his left hand. As he walked by, children bickered about how large his mansion might be; the men bet on whether he was in the trade of cotton or steel; the women pondered over how many mistresses he might have. Regardless, Edward hobbled past them as if they weren’t there. 

Carkeek greeted Penrose at the graveside. They shared a short, stiff handshake and muttered stern words that the locals couldn’t catch over the howling winds. 

Despite the snow and sleet turning the mud to sludge, Penrose handed his briefcase to Carkeek and descended a rickety ladder eight feet down into the grave. Carkeek handed the suitcase over. 

Most didn’t see what Penrose did next. He turned his back to the locals and hunched over the grave. All accounts later agreed that he had opened his briefcase and withdrew some contraptions from within. Beyond that, stories quickly turned to fiction. Some reported that the skeletons were no larger than that of children. Some say the remains were charred. One older woman — who had certainly been too frail to be out on the cliffs in November — claimed there was a local legend about a Cornish maiden and a Nigerian pirate who were tortured by British invaders three hundred years prior. The Britons discarded their burnt bodies for local villagers to deal with. Perturbed by a boy with a complexion so dark, the locals decided that they would bury him on the headland, away from their graveyard. They buried the girl with him so he wouldn’t be alone. 

By the time the wizened lady finished recounting her fable, Penrose had completed his work and ascended the ladder. He stiffly thanked Carkeek and made his way back to the rental carriage. Ten feet from his transport, he stopped and turned. Rumour has it he looked straight at the baker’s daughter, who had brought a basket of loaves to the workers. She was a troubled girl locked up inside for most of her life. Penrose and the baker’s girl stared at each other like there were decades of bad blood between them. After a minute, Penrose carried on, hobbled into the carriage, and drove away. The locals say Penrose never returned to Cornwall — for a good reason. When the undertakers arrived that night, something was missing from the grave.

Edward Penrose had taken the skull of the smallest child.