Blurb:
Someone’s been raising the dead and it’s J’s job to find out
who. As a detective operating in the Underworld, J—with her powers of shadow
manipulation—is uniquely equipped for the job. What she isn't counting on is
the help of an escapee from a mental institution who seems to attract trouble
just by existing.
It’s up to J and T—two very unlikely allies—to find the
necromancer and bring him before the Underworld Balance Magistrate for judgment
before the human world gets wise to the dead walking among them.
Excerpt:
Done with her
perusal of the room, T leaned over to J and pointed at the Magistrate. "This
place is cool! Who's that?" She spoke in a low voice, but the acoustics of
the room amplified her words so that they were audible to everyone.
J resisted the
impulse to smack her forehead with the palm of her hand. "That's the
Underworld Balance Magistrate."
T leaned forward
for a closer look before pronouncing, "He looks like an insurance
salesman."
J rolled her eyes. This was the problem with
the UBM; everyone expected something outwardly demonic—horns, cloven hooves,
fire shooting from fingertips tipped with diamond claws, acidic drool,
something. They were inevitably disappointed when what they got was Haywood
Moore, a former accountant in the medical supplies industry and now the
official channel for the UBM. The UBM couldn't manifest on this plane of
existence without tearing it apart, so Haywood—having been in the wrong place
at decidedly the wrong time—had gotten the job. Anything he heard, the
Magistrate heard. When the UBM needed to pronounce sentence or interact with
the world at large, he did so through Haywood.
"So did he do
the magical disappearing act on us?"
"YES, I
DID." The booming voice that emanated from Haywood did not belong to the
bespectacled, balding, middle-aged man before them. He came around from behind
his desk. He stopped when he was still several feet from them.
"DETECTIVE." He nodded at J. "HUMAN." He nodded at T.
"I have a
…" T trailed off when J's elbow connected heavily with her ribcage.
"IT WOULD
SEEM YOU HAVE BOTH BEEN VERY BUSY UPSTAIRS THESE LAST FEW DAYS," the UBM
began, pacing around the two of them like a shark circling a swimmer.
"YOUR PENCHANT FOR DESTRUCTION IS ADMIRABLE, BUT IT DOES DRAW A CERTAIN
AMOUNT OF UNWANTED ATTENTION."
"Your Honor,
I've been doing research for a case that my employer has accepted from
this…" J stifled a flinch when he cut her off.
"I KNOW
EXACTLY WHAT YOU'VE BEEN DOING, DETECTIVE. RESEARCH IS HARDLY WHAT I WOULD CALL
IT." He turned his considerable attention to T. "AND YOU HAVEN'T BEEN
PARTICULARLY CIRCUMSPECT EITHER."
"So are we in
trouble?" T didn't sound concerned about it. To J's ears she sounded like
she might welcome it. The detective resisted the urge to strangle her.
The UBM halted his
circling and put a hand to his chin. He cocked his head as though thinking
about something—he could have been debating what he wanted to eat for dinner or
he could have been imagining what they would look like flayed and burned. It
was hard to tell with him.
"OH YES, LADIES. I WOULD SAY YOU ARE IN TROUBLE. THOUGH
JUST HOW MUCH REMAINS TO BE SEEN."
Authors Info:
Tracey Phillips bio:
Tracey is a science writer by day and gamer by night. She’s
worked in a tea factory, dropped creamed spinach on a four star General,
wrangled the prose of college freshmen, and stage-managed more amateur
theatrical productions than you can shake a stick at. Her random and misspent
youth also included a yearlong sojourn in Scotland that left her with a strange
fondness for daffodils and fife and drum music. She lives in North Carolina
with her husband, two children, every video game console known to man, and an
extremely low-maintenance cat.
Jeanette Battista bio:
Jeanette graduated with an English degree with a
concentration in medieval literature which explains her possibly unhealthy
fixation on edged weapons and cathedral architecture. She spent a summer in
England and Scotland studying the historical King Arthur, which did nothing to
curb her obsession. To satisfy her adrenaline cravings—since sword fighting is
not widely accepted in these modern times—she rode a motorcycle at ridiculously
high speeds, got some tattoos, and took kickboxing and boxing classes. She gave
up the bike when her daughter came along, although she still gets pummeled at
the gym on a regular basis.
When she’s not writing or working, Jeanette spends time with
family, hikes, reads, makes decadent brownies, buys killer boots, and plays
Pocket Frogs. She wishes there were more hours in the day so she could actually
do more of these things. She lives with her daughter and their two psychotic
kittens in North Carolina.
No comments:
Post a Comment