Introduction

It is the story of two women, their guardian angels, and a mysterious, subversive book … a book that outrages some, inspires others, and launches the Protestant Reformation. The devout Anne Boleyn catches the eye of a powerful king and uses her influence to secretly change history forever. Meanwhile, Rose, a broken, suicidal woman of the streets, is moved to seek God when she witnesses Thomas More’s public displays of Christian charity, ignorant of his secret life spent eradicating the same book, persecuting anyone who dares read it. Historic figures come alive in this thrilling story of heroes and villains, saints and sinners, angels and mortals … and the sacred book that will inspire you anew.

Editorial Review

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Excerpt

What people are saying about …
In the Shadow of Lions
“Ginger Garrett has brilliantly blended fact and fiction, faith, and
fallacy to create a saga so real that I hung on every word. I will never
again open my Bible without gratitude for the women of faith who
dared to defy the deceived that God’s Word might be read by all. In
the Shadow of Lions is truly a masterpiece!”
Kathy Herman, author of the Phantom
Hollow series and Sophie Trace Trilogy
“Garrett unveils history’s secrets to tell you the tale you’ve never heard
about the greatest story ever told. Exceptional in every way, with
characters that will haunt your dreams long after you’ve turned the
last page. Don’t miss it!”
Siri Mitchell, author of A Constant Heart
“Angels, demons, life and death, a religion gone mad, love, murder,
the power of a crazed king, and three women’s lives, two in the past
and one in the present, all consumed by one mighty book that set the
world aflame, sparking the Reformation. This is one of those stories
that will keep you captivated to the very last page and one you’ll be
thinking about long after you’re done reading it.”
M. L. Tyndall, author of the award-winning
Legacy of the King’s Pirates series
“Far more than just a beautiful cover, In the Shadow of Lions drew
me into the life of Anne Boleyn and presented a side to this tragic
historical figure I had never considered. Elegantly, and with no small
amount of intrigue, Ginger Garrett posits that history may have cast
Anne into an undeserved light, which reminds the reader that it is
not for us to judge others and their motivations. Enthusiastically
recommended!”
Tamara Leigh, best-selling author of
Splitting Harriet and Faking Grace
“An imaginative and evocative tale of Anne Boleyn’s battle for a king’s
heart and her soul’s salvation, In the Shadow of Lions etches the eternal
struggle between church and state in swift, vivid prose.”
India Edghill, author of Queenmaker and Wisdom’s Daughter
“In this beautifully written novel, Ginger Garrett honors the strength
and insight of two English women willing to die for their faith. In
the Shadow of Lions takes readers on a remarkable journey back to the
sixteenth century and shows the incredible power of a book shared in
secret by women across London.”
Melanie Dobson, author of The Black Cloister and Going for Broke
In the Shadow of Lions
Ginger Garrett
IN THE SHADOW OF LIONS
Published by David C. Cook
4050 Lee Vance View
Colorado Springs, CO 80918 U.S.A.
David C. Cook Distribution Canada
55 Woodslee Avenue, Paris, Ontario, Canada N3L 3E5
David C. Cook U.K., Kingsway Communications
Eastbourne, East Sussex BN23 6NT, England
David C. Cook and the graphic circle C logo
are registered trademarks of Cook Communications Ministries.
All rights reserved. Except for brief excerpts for review purposes,
no part of this book may be reproduced or used in any form
without written permission from the publisher.
This story is a work of fiction. All characters and events are the product of the author’s
imagination, although some are based on real-life events and people.
With the exception of Job 42 and Job 31, Scripture quotations are taken from
Tyndale’s New Testament, translated by William Tyndale, a modern-spelling edition
of the 1534 translation by David Daniell © 1989, Yale University.
Job 42 Scripture quotation is taken from THE MESSAGE. Copyright © Eugene H. Peterson 1993,
1994, 1995, 1996, 2000, 2001, 2002. Used by permission of NavPress Publishing Group.
Job 31 Scripture quotation is taken from King James Version of the Bible. (Public domain.)
LCCN 2008928480
ISBN 978-0-7814-4887-1
© 2008 Ginger Garrett
Ginger Garrett is represented by MacGregor Literary.
Visit Ginger at her Web site: www.GingerGarrett.com
Author photo © Don Sparks Photography
The Team: Andrea Christian, Ramona Tucker, Amy Kiechlin, Jaci Schneider, and Karen Athen
Cover Design: John Hamilton Design
Cover Photo: © HarperPoint
Interior Design: The Visual Republic, Alexis Goodman
Printed in the United States of America
First Edition 2008
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10
052008
15
Chapter One
Tomorrow, someone else will die in my bed.
Someone died in it last month, which is how it came to be called
mine.
The infernal clock moved confidently toward 1 a.m., and I turned
my head to look at the window. The window of this room is a miserly
gesture from the contractors, producing more fog than visage. I watched
the gold orbs—the lamps on the lawn of the hospice sputtering off and
on in the darkness—that dotted the fogged glass.
That was the last moment I lived as an iver, one whose eyes are veiled.
One orb did not sputter but moved, gliding between the others,
moving closer to the window, growing larger and brighter until the
light consumed the entire view. I winced from the searing glare and
tried to shield my eyes, but the IV line pulled taut. Wrestling with the
line to get some slack, I saw the next movement out of the corner of my
eye. I bit down hard on my tongue, my body jerking in reflex, and felt
the warm blood run back to my throat.
16 In the Shadow of Lions
Outside, a hand wiped the fog away from the glass, and I watched
the water beads running down the inside of my window. There was no
searing light, only this mammoth hand with deep creases in the palms
wiping down the window until we both could see each other. A man’s
face was against the glass, but no breath fogged his vision. He was a
giant, grim man, with an ring in one ear and dark glasses, and he was
staring in at me. Even through the morphine, fear snaked along my
arms, biting into my stomach, constricting around my throat. I tried to
scream, but I could only gulp air and heave little gasps. His expression
did not change as he lifted his hands, curling them into fists. I flinched
at the last moment, thinking him to be Death, expecting to receive the
blow and die.
Then I grew suddenly warm, like the feeling you get stepping from
an old, dark city library into the busy street and a warm spring sun.
Death didn’t even hurt, I rejoiced. I could slip into it like I slipped
onto that street, eyes down, my thoughts my own, and simply turn a
corner and be gone. I lifted my fingers to beckon him. Yes, I thought.
I saw the beautiful Rolex on my birdlike wrist and saw that it had
stopped. It is time.
When I looked back up, he was beside me, staring down, not
speaking. I wasn’t dead. His frame was monstrously large, hitting what
must be seven feet tall, with a width of muscle strapped across him that
was inhuman. As he watched me, his chest didn’t move, and his nostrils
didn’t flare, but heat and warm breath radiated from him. When he laid
his hands across my eyes, I was too scared to move my head away. His
palms covered most of my face, and a sharp buzzing drilled into every
pore. He began to move his hands elsewhere, touching and bringing to
life every splintered inch of my body. When he got to the cancer, with
Ginger Garrett 17
one swollen lymph node visible even through my stained blue gown,
he rested his hands there until the swelling sighed, and he swept it away
with his hand.
“Wait!” I screamed.
I didn’t want to live. I hadn’t known that was going to be an option.
I deserved to be damned. To return to my life was too much to ask of
me. I was finished.
“You’ll still be dead by morning,” he reassured me. His voice was
deep and clean, no telltale dialect or inflection. Taking off his glasses,
I saw he had enormous gold eyes, with a black pinhole in the center
that stayed round and cold. There was no white in them at all, and
they were rimmed all the way around the outside with black. I stared at
them, trying to remember where I had seen eyes like this. It had been
years ago, this much I remembered.
I had to shake myself back to the present moment. Clearly, morphine
was not setting well with me tonight. I wanted to die in peace.
That’s what I paid these extravagant sums for. My hand moved to the
nurses’ call button. Mariskka was just down the hall, waiting for her
moment to steal my watch. I knew she’d come running.
He grabbed my hand, and the shock seared like a hot iron. Crying
out, I shook him off and clutched my hand between my breasts, doing
my best to sit up with my atrophied stomach muscles and tangled IV.
He leaned in. “I have something for you.”
“What?”
He leaned in closer. “A second chance.”
Second chances were not my forte. As the most celebrated editor in
New York City, I had made a killing. I loved the words that trembling
writers slid across my desk, those little black flecks that could destroy
18 In the Shadow of Lions
their life’s dream or launch a career. I bled red ink over every page,
slashing words, cutting lines. No one understood how beautiful words
were to me, why I tormented the best writers, always pushing them to
bring me more. The crueler I was to the best of them, the more they
loved me, like flagellants worshipping me as the master of their order.
Only at the end, lying here facing my own death, did I understand
why. They embraced the pain, thinking it birthed something greater
than themselves. I saw how pitifully wrong they were. There was only
pain. This is why I was ready to die. When you finish the last chapter
and close the book, there is nothing but pain. It would have been better
never to have written. Words betrayed me. And for that, I betrayed the
best writer of them all.
“Burn any manuscripts that arrive for me,” I had ordered my nurse,
Marisska. “Tell them I’m already dead. Tell them anything.”
“I’ll let you write the truth,” the man whispered. I focused on him
again.
“I’m not a writer,” I replied. My fear tumbled down into the dark
place of my secrets.
“No, you’re not,” he answered. “But you coveted those best sellers,
didn’t you? You knew you could do better. This is your second
chance.”
It caught my attention. “How?”
“I will dictate my story to you,” he said. “Then you’ll die.”
Taking dictation? My mouth fell open. “I’m in hell, aren’t I?”
He tilted his head. “Not yet.”
I pushed away from the pillows and grabbed him. Blisters sprang
up on my palms and in between my fingers, but I gritted my teeth and
spat out my words. “Who are you?”
Ginger Garrett 19
“The first writer, the Scribe. My books lie open before the Throne
and someday will be the only witness of your people and their time in
this world. The stories are forgotten here, and the Day draws close. I
will tell you one of my stories. You will record it.”
“Why me?”
“I like your work.”
I started laughing, the first time I had laughed since I had been
brought to this wing of the hospice, where the dying are readied for
death, their papers ordered and discreet pamphlets on “end-of-life
options” left by quiet-soled salesmen. I laughed until I was winded. He
rested his hand on my chest, and I caught my breath as he spoke.
“Let’s go find Marisska.”
Ginger Garrett 309
The door burst open, and I heard the nails moving across the floor,
devouring whatever was left in my body, screaming in fury that the
spirit-marrow was stolen from them. They could still taste it. I pressed
my face into Aryeh’s chest, breathing in the warm fragrance of peace.
I saw the book close.
My story was ended.
C
Scion Publishing
New York, New York
“Amazing, really.”
He poured a brandy from a crystal decanter. Mariskka loved that;
she had only seen it in the movies. He was a classy man, she could
tell.
The woman at his right nodded vigorously. She did that a lot.
“My imagination could run away with me on those night shifts.”
Mariskka giggled.
“We’ve already had one preempt for the movie rights. This is going
to do very well,” the woman said.
“Yes, Mariskka,” he said, cradling the glass as he walked it to her.
He handed it to her and she took a little sip, careful not to breathe in
the fumes. She usually drank beer.
“I’ve never met a first-time novelist who created such a rich, fascinating
story. You’re going to be very famous, and very rich. How does
that feel?”
310 In the Shadow of Lions
She smiled and shrugged, remembering how she used to charm her
teachers in school, remembering how none of them ever caught on. “I
can’t take credit for the book. It’s a gift from God.”
She set the glass down on the table between them, the table littered
with papers she had signed. The early reviews of the book had
been raving and plentiful. Marisska saw how the Rolex sparkled on her
tanned wrist.
When the woman stared at it, Mariskka realized she was lusting for
it. She had never caused envy before. It felt wonderful.
“A little something to celebrate your first book?” the woman
asked.
“Oh.” Mariskka smiled. “Let’s just say … I couldn’t resist.”
... view entire excerpt...

Discussion Questions

1. Are there any true villains in this story? Sir Thomas burned
Christians alive, but believed he was saving the world from
heresy. Henry cast Catherine aside and beheaded Anne, but he
was trying to give England an heir to the throne and prevent a
civil war. Good people can do bad things in the name of God.
How are we to judge between good and evil?

2. What were you taught in school about the Reformation? Did
you have a low opinion of Anne Boleyn and a high opinion of
Thomas More? Who controls history, and how does this affect
our judgment?

3. Not everyone is pleased to think there may be supernatural
creatures walking with us. How does it make you feel?

4. Angels are eternal beings. They have seen the women of your
family line for thousands of years. If the Scribe appeared to you
tonight and gave you one chance to see a woman from your
past, what woman-or what time period-would you most
like to see?

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