Table Of ContentBroadLit August 2012
Published by
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Copyright © 2012 Devin Morgan All rights reserved. No part of this book may
be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical
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not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your
support of the author’s rights is appreciated.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the
product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to
actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
ISBN 978-0-9859596-0-9
Produced in the United States of America.
Visit us online at www.TruLOVEstories.com
To my beloved parents, Inez and Harold Morgan In this life, and the next.
This book could not have been completed without the recognition and patience
of my publishers and mentors, Barbara Weller and Nancy Cushing-Jones. Their
insight and expertise brought Aris and friends from a spark of my imagination to
a reality with every jot and tittle in place. For all their late night reading and
slashing with a red pen, I thank them profusely.
Thanks as well to Ayalla Dollinger and Sheri and Jake Faller for the hours
spent in conversation about my vampire world. Their insightful questions and
suggestions helped enormously to bring my characters to life.
Thank you to the entire Berman family for their love and support. Larry, you
opened the door to Wonderland for me and I am eternally grateful.
I wish to acknowledge my dear, belated friend Teri Kahan who has supported
me in everything I have done for the last twenty five years. Without her
inspiration and insight, this might just be another unfinished manuscript going
to dust on a shelf in the library.
And a most sincere thank you to all my readers who have made the journey
into the Catacombs with me and discovered a whole new world of vampires.
by Devin Morgan
AN
INFINITY DIARIES
NOVEL
The first novel in a new series.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
CHAPTER 1
S
arah yawned, stretching her neck and shoulders. Her muscles felt tight, tense
from sitting too long at her computer. It was almost midnight, the witching hour.
Her business day was filled with back-to-back sixty minute sessions, but the
hard work didn’t begin until her last client left her office. The analysis of each
session consumed the rest of Sarah’s time; the task of transposing her notes and
deciphering the code each subconscious mind spoke. She was exhausted at the
end of each day but never bored. Every client brought something unique and
absorbing to their sessions. They allowed her into the deepest, darkest part of
their minds.
Her gaze drifted to the pile of newly printed books stacked neatly on the corner
of her desk. The graphics on the cover were stark and clean. “Psychosis and Past
Life Regression” by Sarah Hagan. She was proud of her work. Relentless hours
of research led her to develop her theory of practice, taking copious notes and
reading volume after volume on psychology, psychiatry, hypnotherapy and past
life regression. Some regression texts were useless, written by charlatans or
people who were looking for escapes and reasons for their unfulfilled lives. But
some . . . some were written by scientists and from them and her own client
experience, she formulated her particular hypothesis. And there it sat in book
form right in front of her eyes.
As she finished stretching, she reached to shut down her computer. She closed
the lid to her lap top, unplugged it and slipped it into her brief case. Smiling, she
gave in to her own minor obsessive compulsive tendencies, clearing her desk of
paper and pens, squaring the book stack perfectly on the corner before she
reached to turn off the small bright reading lamp.
Sarah scooted her chair away from her desk, swiveling around to look out the
window at the night skyline. She was amazed and grateful for her new found
success as author. Just last year her office was one small cramped room, part of a
therapy group that occupied a small storefront in a respectable part of town. Now
her eyes swept the bright lights of the Chicago night skyline from her office on
the fortieth floor of a building with a posh address. The soft burgundy leather
furniture and dark, rich mahogany desk and tables were so new they still smelled
