Randee Dawn is an author I’ve been keeping an eye on for a while, and I am DELIGHTED to help reveal the cover for her upcoming fantasy that mixes modern music with Irish mythology: The Only Song Worth Singing!

Cover art by Dany V. S!
Childhood friends Patrick, Ciaran, and Malachi would’ve been happy to play music for coins on the streets of Dublin, but when their sound – a blend of traditional tunes and rock styling – lands them a record deal, they also get their first tour of America. As they gather fans, however, they also get the attention of three sídhe, fairies straight out of Irish tradition who play by their own rules.
Mal finds himself beleaguered by a prankster whose malicious tricks make him think he’s losing his mind, while Ciaran falls hard for a hanger-on whose primal sexuality saps the life from him. Patrick can save them – if he’s willing to trust the superstitions he learned during a painful childhood he thought he’d left behind long ago.
But the only thing that matters more than music to Patrick? His friends.
About the author
Randee Dawn is a Brooklyn-based author and journalist who writes speculative fiction at night and entertainment and lifestyle stories during the day for publications like the New York Times, NBCNews.com, Variety, The Los Angeles Times, and Emmy Magazine. Her debut novel, Tune in Tomorrow, was published by Solaris. Publishers Weekly said of Tune in Tomorrow: “Dawn balances over-the-top drama and comedy with genuine intrigue to create a fun story with plenty of heart.” Lightspeed praised it as “an excellent read if you’re looking for something to make you smile… well worth your time.”
Find Randee at
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Read on for an excerpt from the novel!
Excerpt
Ciaran finished off the first of what he expected would be several beers that day when Patrick joined him at the makeshift bar, bass slung across his back like a quiver of arrows.
“Mal’s piano,” he said. “Seen it lately?”
“Why, what’s it gonna do?” Ciaran wagged bushy eyebrows, smile thin. He’d felt itchy and distracted since they’d walked into the studio.
“It’s all black keys.”
“So?” Ciaran chuckled. “Got somethin’ against black keys?”
“They burned him. Playing it.”
Ciaran made a braying sound, topped off the bottle and set it aside. “Good one. I’ll sort this out.” He aimed himself toward the makeshift soundstage where Mal was gingerly rubbing cream onto his hands – but midway there his chest constricted and his head lit up with a fiery buzzing. For a moment, he wondered if he was having a heart attack, and grabbed at his shirt, stopping hard.
Patrick slammed into his back. “Hey.”
Ciaran glanced to one side and the moment he did so the pain vanished, as if it had been designed to simply get his attention.
Here.
And there she was, the gamine from Store 24, leaning against a wall on a far side of the room. She had her hands tucked behind her back as if hiding something, and her gaze fell on him like a physical blow. He was instantly wrapped in a powerful, urgent desire. Ciaran’s lips burned faintly, a searing sensation that dropped lower and lower. He altered course and blazed toward the woman – Sheerie, she’d said – as if a cord has been yanked. He wondered if he’d be able to stop moving once he reached her, or if he might just go clean through the wall. But his feet knew when he’d arrived, and he locked in place before her.
“You.” His voice was a raspy whisper.
Gradually she lifted those eyes to him, a slow smile revealing perfect, rounded teeth. She was exactly as he’d dreamed of the night before, a tiny wisp of loveliness he couldn’t have ignored if he’d been dying. Next to her, he was nothing but a hairy lump.
“‘Tis me,” she said in a teasing, lilting tone. “Now, you aren’t going to faint again, are you?”
The beer in his gut solidified. “Never did.” He took a breath. “You – vanished.”
“That happens, from time to time.” She slid her eyes to one side as if giving the matter consideration. “But I always come back.”
The room felt too small. The ceiling was resting on his head. Ciaran’s clothes were leaden and his temperature had risen ten degrees. The buzzing between his ears had turned into a dull roar like the one he carried off the stage after a show. Images of what he wanted to do with her filled his imagination; images of what she would do with him felt even more potent. They were so strong he was willing to make them real in front of God and everyone else in this room.
“I’ve been watching you,” she drawled. “You interest me.”
The Only Song Worth Singing releases April 8th!
Most intriguing.
Right? Love to see the Irish folklore, especially!