By Kelly Gay
It takes a powerful lady to maintain the peace in a urban of unending evening. . . . Deep underneath Underground, a crafty bid for strength and revenge has begun—one that threatens to make Atlanta the hot battleground within the final war of words among sturdy and evil. The powers of hellish Charbydon have the higher hand after plunging town into primordial evening. And lower than the canopy of darkness, a serial killer goals the main robust Elysians within the urban, the angelic Adonai. For Detective Charlie Madigan and her siren associate Hank, monitoring lethal predators is all in a day’s paintings . . . yet this example will attempt the bounds in their power and friendship because it attracts them right into a lethal global of strength performs, historical myths, explosive secrets and techniques, and a race opposed to time that dangers all that Charlie holds pricey.
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Sample text
It was quiet here, the sounds of the city drifting into the background and the streetlights giving off a dim, hazy glow. We stopped in front of the gate. Fourteen-foot-tall iron bars spanned eight feet across, attached to enormous stone anchors. Not that a gate would keep out enemies. It was a statement. A line drawn in the sand. Cross it without permission or invitation and all bets were off—you might be risking life and limb. About five years ago, the nymphs had purchased part of Piedmont Park.
Wouldn’t want any residual power to raise a body part … or a dead cockroach. ” Hank and I exchanged incredulous looks over the sunken, dead body we were about to raise, not sure if she was serious or joking. Liz tossed us two extra pairs of gloves. ” I cleared my throat, pulled on the gloves, and then grabbed both ankles. They felt wooden; no shift or give. The only thing that moved was the tangled mass of dark hair that dropped away from the shoulders as we lifted Daya onto the gurney. Hank took over Liz’s spot, threading his fingers through the canvas handles as Liz picked up her large duffel—the bag, I knew, held all of the ritual equipment needed to raise the dead—and began leading the way to the front of the warehouse and into the empty storage room.
What? ” A deficiency all natural necromancers were born with and one that got worse after a ritual. She seemed none the worse for wear except for the big elephant lurking over us that no one spoke about—how much of her life force this had cost her. ” I asked, folding my arms in front of me and trying not to look like I was hugging myself against the drizzle. Liz angled in the seat to face us, took one more long drink, then: “Just flashes that corresponded to the things she said. Her life force was sucked out of her body.