Ginny Brock Knihy

A helicopter crashes in a storm raging at Charlotte's International Airport. For journalist, Claire Kincaid, racing through the rain into the forbidden zone surrounding the crash site, it's the photo-op of a lifetime. She arrives just in time to snap the sole survivor being dragged from the burning fuselage. But, in the instant that she raises her camera, their eyes meet in a flash of recognition that strikes with the force of lightning. Little does she know that one click of her camera has captured the moment that will change her life forever, sending her down the dark corridors of old family scandals and reigniting a love story that spans generations and dimensions. A love so strong, it refuses to die, threatening to spill into a cauldron of black magic and a miasma of unreality where nothing is as it seems. Clinging to the vestiges of her sanity, Claire hunts for her identity, inexorably entwined it seems with that of the unknown man in her photograph.

Set against the backdrop of an unusually hot summer on the African coast, the story unfolds as a warm wind raises the ocean's temperature, leading to significant evaporation. This process generates mist that ascends into cooler currents, forming dark, anvil-shaped clouds. As the infant storm gathers strength, it embarks on a westward journey, hinting at the impending chaos and transformation that nature is about to unleash.

Set on a Florida beach in 1950, the narrative unfolds as a mysterious phenomenon resurfaces, manifesting as living dreams that evoke a sense of ancient history. Nick and Lily Jo experience a profound connection to past events, leading them to uncover startling truths from millennia ago. This exploration of memory and recognition intertwines the characters' lives with the echoes of history, creating a captivating blend of mystery and nostalgia.

It was an unusually hot summer on the African coast. Five hundred miles off shore a warm wind caused the water temperature to rise creating evaporation. Mist rose into the atmosphere, where cooler currents picked it up, carried it aloft, and the mass began to swirl. High above the sea, anvil-shaped clouds, dark and ominous, formed, hung suspended, waiting for the moment when the infant storm swirled and slowly began its journey westward. Twenty-five hundred miles away, on the Carolina coast, an old black woman shuddered, and pulled her shawl closer. She stared into the darkening night and muttered, "Someting bad goin' fall. Someting real bad."