A werewolf, a witch, and a vampire walk into a murder scene . . .
Sgt. Marilyn Jaye of Supernatural Oversight (the investigative unit for all things which bump a bit too much in the night) is having a frustrating day. What should have been a simple case of a murdered ghoul has spun entirely out of control. It’s bad enough that she’s getting distracted from her investigations by her unreasonable attraction to Henry, a young werewolf with a terrible case of PTSD (Post-Turn Stress Disorder), especially since every Tom, Fang, and Hairy (previously known as her sensible friends) tells her she’s destined to be with him. Worse, her distraction allows a second murder victim to turn up, one of the gentlemanly Victorian vampires who lives in Highgate Cemetery. If that isn’t enough, the vicious werewolf who attacked and turned Henry is still on the loose. London’s creatures of the night seem to be in trouble, and it’s her job to protect them.
Marilyn is determined to find the killer and the rogue wolf, but she’ll need a lot of help. That will include her friends, Hanover (Henry’s handsome Alpha and Marilyn’s ex-lover) and Julius Beer (a vampire who watches over his distressed comrades in Highgate from his ornate mausoleum). Also alternately helping or annoying her are the other members of the S.O., including her powerful sorcerer boss, the eternal spirit of Romantic poet William Blake, her ex-NYPD partner, a pool (yes, an actual pool) of secretarial sirens, and an imp who’s in love with a cat. Even Henry has to tag along. And they better solve the case soon, because the killer has made it clear that she’s the next target.
This humorous, cross-genre paranormal mystery/urban fantasy/paranormal romance will make you fall in love with all of London’s quirky supernatural residents.
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Snippet from Unearthly Remains:
Marilyn made her way up the levels of the mausoleum, the candlelight flickering as though she were some maiden in an underwired nightdress in a ’60s Dracula movie. It disconcerted her slightly, as she tried to get far enough up to actually talk, but she attempted to push the feeling aside. She had been in much more dangerous places than this.
By the time she finally made it to ground level, she was certain it was Tabor calling her. Only he would know to keep ringing this long–and have a spell ready to avoid being shunted to voicemail. The ghastly glow of the torches and the rising shadows were starting to get to her, but she pushed the uneasiness down under long-honed professionalism. “Hello?”
Her guess was proved right, her boss beginning without prelude. “I looked into that information on Richard.”
The candles flickered even more wildly, although there didn’t appear to be any wind coming in the door. It distracted her for a second, making her have to try hard to refocus.
“He was preparing for the engagement party most of the time, but . . .”
She didn’t let him go on, wanting to update him–hoping that if she just concentrated on the case, that eerie feeling would diminish. “Wait a minute. I think we’ve been on the wrong path.”
There was a crackling spark, as one of the candles blew out, as though it wanted to attract her attention. It got it–although she tried to move on.
“I’ve been talking to Julius about the tenants here.”
The candles were blowing sideways in the completely windless passage, a chill rising up her spine. She had to try hard to keep her voice level, chastising herself for being so easily spooked.
“I think there may be someone else . . .”
This was as far as she was allowed to get, all the instincts she was ignoring proved right. The candles extinguished themselves as though on cue, the hall going dark–the absolute blackness of a tomb. Not even the moon seemed to shine through the doorway.
Suddenly, she was very certain that she wasn’t alone–and wasn’t feeling anything like immortal. After all, every kind of supernatural being could be killed. Even her.
“Marilyn?” Tabor prompted, but she wasn’t really listening.
No. She heard the movement first, had no idea which direction it came from. Then, there was the voice, a breath in her ear–a terror from the grave.
“Say goodbye, little one.”
Her breath caught, frozen in her lungs. And with the first movement of air toward her, there was no more time. She only had an instant to give one brief, entirely too girly, scream, as the claws at last came out.
Katherine was born at house number 1313 and then transplanted to a crumbling antebellum ruin so gothic that The Munsters would have run from it. She has since gained several ridiculously-impractical degrees in English, Religious Studies, and Women’s Studies. She now teaches at a South Carolina community college, where all her students think, correctly, that she is very, very strange, indeed.
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