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Description:

Jacynda Lassiter is a Senior Time Rover whose job is to ride herd on these academics and keep them from inadvertently screwing up history. Her latest mission: find an overdue “tourist” visiting the Whitechapel district in 1888 London and return him to the present before he does any permanent damage to the timeline.

But Victorian London is a dangerous place for the unwary. Mysterious shape-shifters haunt the streets, making friend and foe indistinguishable. When a fellow Time Rover is murdered, Jacynda's mission becomes personal. Can she trust the two gentlemen who come to her aid, or do they harbor their own dark secrets?

In a few days, Jack the Ripper will add to his bloody legacy. But old Jack isn't the only threat in Whitechapel. Unless Jacynda can outwit a madman, her Victorian sojourn will rewrite history...

"SOJOURN is a rare, well-researched and entertaining tale of time travel set against the backdrop of the Whitechapel Murders."
— Casebook: Jack the Ripper

"Bravo! An exciting and riveting read."
— Yet Another Book Review

"An original and well-crafted story, SOJOURN is very highly recommended reading for Sci-Fi buffs and clearly documents Jana G. Oliver as a gifted storyteller and a master of the genre."
— Midwest Book Review

Excerpt:

Pompeii, August, 79 A.D.

The sky was falling. Pumice stones rained in a dissonant curtain, shattering roof tiles and clattering in the courtyards. An amphora near Jacynda Lassiter's feet exploded. Crimson wine splashed her pure-white stola, cascading onto the ornate tiles. She braced herself in the doorway as an earth tremor rocked the walls of the villa, her eyes flooding from the scorching stench of sulfur.

She wiped away tears with the back of her hand. “Alfred Bartlesby?” The academic didn't acknowledge her, his pale, bald head bent over a table illuminated by the anemic light of a half-dozen oil lamps. He huddled over a mound of papyrus scrolls, seemingly oblivious to Vesuvius' rage.

“Bartlesby?” she called again.

Cynda turned at the sound of a choked sob. A terrified girl, infant in arms, fled along the street. Cynda shivered at the sight. They were racing toward their graves. There was no sanctuary to be found here. The once-thriving metropolis of Pompeii, the jewel of Campania, was about to become an ashy footprint in history.

“Bartlesby?” she called again, taking a few steps forward. The academic still ignored her, murmuring to himself as he furiously inscribed notes. One of the lamps guttered and died, but he didn't notice.

“Hey!” she shouted. “The bus is leaving!”

Bartlesby glanced up, surprised to see her. “Ah, well, actually, I would like to stay a while longer.” He pointed at the papers in front of him. “I have a bit more work to do.”

“Not an option,” she called over the sound of the pounding stones on the roof. Ash filtered downward from the ceiling, from every crack and crevice, cloaking them in a fine layer.

“I paid extra to stay until the last moment,” Bartlesby protested.

Cynda swore under her breath as she opened the case of the golden pocket watch nestled in her palm. The time interface's digital display hovered in the murky air above the watch.

“It is the last minute, Mr. Bartlesby. You are about to become a permanent fixture of the Pompeian landscape.”

His eyes widened. “So soon?” Still he made no effort to rise.

Exasperated, she grabbed the academic's pudgy arm, hauling him off the low stool. He juggled his scrolls, grasping them to his chest while stammering protests. A parchment tumbled out of his fingers as they reached the door. He bent to collect it.

The digital display flashed bright red: Time Incursion Warning!

Cynda leaned out into the street and stared up at the boiling mountain. An unearthly roar split the air, nearly deafening her. Death surged toward them—an impenetrable wall of superheated material, the pyroclastic flow that would entomb the city for sixteen hundred years.

“Oh, my God.” Cynda's hand shook so violently, it took her two attempts to perform the required maneuver to initiate the transfer—wind the watch stem four times forward, two back, three forward, one back. A hum emanated from the device, barely audible over the cacophony of destruction.

The holographic clock wavered in the murky air, counting the seconds until the transfer. 3…2…1…

Cynda closed her eyes and prayed as the characteristic halo encompassed them. A moment before they shifted into the future, blistering heat shrouded them. In the distance, she heard the agonized screams of those who had no means of escape.

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