Turning forty is less Witches of Eastwick and more Black Widow. Go figure.

I've always known I was adopted. It never mattered much...until my birth mother died.

I inherited a new power from the mysterious woman. But now she’s dead and I, despite the fact that I have exactly zero training, I’m the next time-traveling assassin.

Don’t get excited. The job sounds glamorous, but it comes with a huge learning curve and plenty of mishaps. Then there’s having to actually assassinate people. That part sucks.

It could be worse. I could still be working retail.