La Bombe: The Others, Third Scroll. Is 7 a Villanelle Venus or mentally ill? Killing Eve meets Twilight & Sally Rooney. Noir woman thriller fiction with supernatural suspense, lesbian romance, satire
Dark humour pacy and racy women-at-MI6 thriller series ◆ #1 Best Seller ◆ Killing Eve meets The Night Circus with a dash of Stephen King ◆ New Irish author ◆ Offbeat and zany thought-provoking writing ◆ Third Scroll of Raechel Sands' dangerous love web between women spies, and the women and men who pursue them. “At twenty-six, Kitty thought she had her whole life ahead of her. ‘Not so tough now, are you?’ C said to her corpse. ‘Dead women don’t talk, Kitty White. It’s really nothing like James Bond’.” ‘Wild and haunting,’ ‘captivating and compelling.’

“Cleverly blends noir, satire, lesfic, epic, and Dan Brown-style religious mystery."
"Edge-of-your-seat sequels each more stunning than the last."
“Great female action adventure!"
“Kurt Vonnegut meets Raymond Chandler meets Killing Eve." (Cambridge News)
"Listening to this book was one of the strangest and most fun experiences I’ve had."
“Serial killer 7 aka La Bombe, a reincarnated Josef Mengele, is a riveting villain."
“Whirlwind rollercoaster of twists and double crosses.”
"Wacky and compelling. I read the three books one after another."

" The older Venus AI cupped snow into her gloved hand—as she’d done the day they met—and fed it into Helen’s mouth. “Eat me,” she said. "

" Blanka was haunted by the death of her mother. Waking and sleeping, the vision of a woman plummeting from a castle window into a river consumed her. It was her mother falling from Castle Sant-Angelo—the Vatican Holy Inquisition Headquarters in Rome—into the River Tiber. Then, always, the dream voices chimed in.
"The daughter of Admiral William Virgil Maguire thrown in that filthy river like so much stinking garbage," a man's voice said. "Who killed Kitty, John? MI6?" The voice was Bill Clinton, the President at the time. In the dream, Blanka was clinging to her mother bobbing up and down in the river, but her mind was far away, trapped by the voices in her head.
"It wasn't us," said another man, "but it's complicated."
Blanka recognized him as John Deutch, Director of CIA Langley. He kept talking, muttering. "It could've been the Fatima Secret, we're not sure. We don't really know how big it was.
"She is my mother and she's fucking dead!" she screamed at the voices.
"She took it to her grave," Clinton said.
Then the voices fell silent, and Blanka was in the muddy water with Kitty, desperately struggling to save her.
"I won't let you die, I won't let you die," she kept repeating. She was holding her, felt the cold of her wet blue dress over her swollen pregnant belly, saw the garrote wound round her neck.
"Venus is our program. Drox and Hart are good guys," Deutch's voice continued.
"Frankenstein was one of the good guys, replied Clinton. It's the monsters I'm worried about." "

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