31 Days of Halloween Giveaway: Bad Things and Thunder Road by Tamara Thorne

On the 29th day of Halloween, Kensington has a giveaway just for you! Today you have a chance at winning a gifted e-copy of Bad Things and Thunder Road by Tamara Thorne. To enter just fill out the Rafflecopter form below! Open internationally but limited to sites that permit ebook gifting.

The house has been in his family for generations.

But it really belongs to them…

The Piper clan emigrated from Scotland and founded the town of Santo Verde, California. The Gothic Victorian estate built there has housed the family for generations, and has also become home to an ancient evil forever linked to the Piper name…

As a boy, Rick Piper discovered he had “the sight.” It was supposed to be a family myth, but Rick could see the greenjacks—the tiny mischievous demons who taunted him throughout his childhood—and who stole the soul of his twin brother Robin one Halloween night. Now a widower with two children of his own, Rick has returned home to build a new life. He wants to believe the greenjacks don't exist, that they were a figment of his own childish fears and the vicious torment he suffered at the hands of his brother. But he can still see and hear them, and they haven't forgotten that Rick escaped them so long ago. And this time, they don't just want Rick. This time they want his.

The California desert town of Madelyn boasts all sorts of attractions for visitors. Join the audience at the El Dorado Ranch for a Wild West show. Take a ride through the haunted mine at Madland Amusement Park. Scan the horizon for UFOs. Find religion with the Prophet's Apostles -- and be prepared for the coming apocalypse.

Because the apocalypse has arrived in Madelyn. People are disappearing. Strange shapes and lights dart across the night sky. And a young man embraces a violent destiny -- inspired by a serial killer whose reign of terror was buried years ago.

But each of these events is merely setting the stage in preparation for the final confrontation. A horror of catastrophic proportions is slouching toward Madelyn in the form of four horsemen -- and they're picking up speed . . . 
 

(Blurbs via author's website) 

 

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31 Days of Halloween Guest Post: Ghost Stories and Pretty Dresses by Shirin Dubbin

Just want to give a BIG thank you to Shirin for guest posting today! I have known her since I began blogging and she is always full of interesting stories and surprises..:D

GHOST STORIES AND PRETTY DRESSES

In an apropos observance of Halloween, and for the entire month of October, I’ve started telling ghost stories.

In public.
In front of audiences.
In a Victorian era dress.

Yep. And it’s fun. American history is filled with enough murder, betrayal, and scandal to rival a Shonda Rhimes show. Neither Grey’s Anatomy nor Scandal can outdo the likes of a congressman killing the son of Francis Scott Key in front of witnesses, and only steps away from the White House. Or how about the grandson of John Quincy Adams who murdered his wife, made it look like a suicide, and went out partying afterward? See, toldja. No wonder it’s so much fun telling the tales of these restless spirits.

Adding to my glee is the fact I get to dress up. I adore my bright red Victorian frock and its black lace ruffles. I’ve even gone so far as to hide a white handkerchief up one of my sleeves. I whip it out in dramatic moments and watch my audience’s eyes light up. I love fashion as much as I love storytelling. My stint as a weaver of ghostly tales suits me perfectly. See what I did there? Suits. Heh.

Another of my strongest suits (somebody stop me) is my new short story in the Bloody Fabulous anthology, which releases at the end of the month from Prime Books. Here’s the rundown:

Lace.

Leather.

Open collars over exquisite collarbones.

A single red drop on paper-white cuffs.


From the brocade extravagance of the Unseelie courts to the ubiquitous leather of supernatural detectives to the old-fashioned good taste of wealthy vampires—we are as familiar with fantasy protagonists’ attire as we are with their paranormal deed. Tales of tormented designers and well-dressed vampires strut into the spotlight in this anthology of fantasy tales focusing on the world of fashion and its intersection with the uncanny. 

Oh, wait. The digital edition is available now. Hurry. Go take a read and tell me what you think. My story, The Truth or Something Beautiful, ensnarls two rival fashion houses in a supernatural blood feud. It’s dark, twisty, and quite sexy. Kind of like me when I’m telling ghost stories.

Both are well worth the price or your soul…um, I mean admission.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Shirin Dubbin is a closet wallflower with an addiction to laughter whose alter ego is the orange, ass-kicking geek. Besides being a voracious reader and lover of storytelling, she hosts D.C.'s Fantastic Forum, a show celebrating comics, sci-fi and fantasy. When not working in graphic design she's lost in writing: screenplays, novels, graphic novels and stage plays—all of which she adores, but her favorite genre to write is Urban Fantasy with romantic edge. Shirin's first novella, "Keeper of the Way," debuted in 2009 and she was overjoyed (and more than a little surprised) with the great response to the "modern Fae trapped in Washington, D.C., tale." Culturally, she's half American, half British and very southern; right down to the accent and love of grits—they're great with shrimp...try it! Government reports show a residence in D.C., but Shirin spends most of her time on the astral plane and is certain she's seen you there. 

PURCHASE BLOODY FABULOUS

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31 Days of Halloween Giveaway: How to Lose a Demon in 10 Days by Saranna DeWylde

On the 15th day of Halloween, Kensington has a giveaway just for you! Today you have a chance at winning a copy of How to Lose a Demon in 10 Days by Saranna DeWylde. To enter just fill out the Rafflecopter form below! Open to US/CA only.

Got Demon?

Grace does. She’s got more demon than she can saddle. In fact, she’s got a sinfully sexy Crown Prince of Hell named Caspian. She’s also got ten days to get rid of him or Bad Things shall ensue. See, her Russian mobster ex-boyfriend didn’t take kindly to her smutty Mephistophelean contract. It’s not that she’s conspiring with fiends; that was his idea. It’s that she’s conspiring against him with outrageous devilry that runs the gamut from embarrassing to a dead hooker turned dominatrix demon gunning for his soul.

One should never trust demons, let alone shag them. They don’t have hearts. Yet Grace is buying hers some slightly tarnished armor and hoping that once he’s been shoveled into it, kicking and screaming, he’ll find it’s just his size. This damsel in distress needs a dark knight for a Happily Ever After.

Chapter One

Technicalities

Caspian was technically a Crown Prince of Hell. Technically. And technically, he was royally fucked. Or was about to be, if he could manage it.

How did he get himself into these things? He felt the pull, and there was no use in fighting it. The Big Boss had seen to that. Fighting would just make this harder.

Caspian gave a dramatic sigh and followed the call up into the mortal world. Which he hated. Not the mortal world per se, but the bitch work. He materialized in the middle of what was obviously a woman’s bedroom. There was enough purple to choke a unicorn. He quickly realized he was trapped within a chalklike circle drawn with finely ground bone.

Correction, not ground up. It was old. It smelled like rot. It had turned to dust on its own. What was this happy- crappy, another weekend warrior? How come he always got the freaks? No one sensible ever tried to summon a demon. Perhaps that should have been a consideration when he’d been frolicking down the primrose path that led to his current career.

She wasn’t bad to look at, aside from the sneer, which was a bit scary. He was willing to overlook it because the rest of her real estate thrilled him. On the other hoof, as some of his co-workers would say, she didn’t look at all impressed at his entrance, and Caspian was a showman.

“WHY HAST THOU SUMMONED ME?” he began in a large, thunderous voice that rattled the windows and made books and knickknacks fall off the shelves in a most pleasing way. Pleasing to him, anyway.

“I hope you know you’re cleaning that up.” The voluptuous woman put her fist on her hip and tossed long dark hair over her shoulder.

“WHAT?” Caspian would have clapped a hand over his mouth had she not been staring at him so intently with those large chocolate eyes. Who was she to tell him that he was going to do anything of the sort?

Chocolate eyes? Where the hell had that come from? Did he care what her eyes looked like? No. Not in any meaningful sense, anyway. He wouldn’t remember them in a hundred years and describe them like foodstuffs he could get lost in or whatever.

“I know you don’t have to bellow like that. It’s not cute. I am not impressed.”

What did she mean, she wasn’t impressed? Of course, she was impressed. He was Caspian, Crown Prince of Hell and demon extraordinaire. He was Infernal Royalty. While Caspian couldn’t imagine the Big Boss being rendered somehow impotent and unable to perform his cosmic duties, on the off chance he was, it would be Caspian’s turn to pull the strings. No matter what the other twelve Crown Princes had to say about it.

“Look, lady. You summoned me. You take what you get.”

She damn well better take what she got and like it. He used his demon sight to look at himself. No broccoli in the teeth; they were all straight, white, and perfect. There was the hard jaw, broad shoulders, wicked tongue—check, check, and check.

“Why, pray tell, did I have to get stuck with the metro sexual demon concerned with making an entrance? You should be on Broadway. Do you sing?”

Apparently, the question was serious. She was looking at him expectantly. Not only that, but she’d insulted his manhood. Demonhood. Whatever. She’d challenged his prowess.

Caspian looked at himself again. Metrosexual? He didn’t think Regency GQ was metrosexual. He rather liked cravats, velvet coats, and breeches. Especially the breeches because they showed off his considerable package and his ass. All the girlies liked it, thought he was going to spout poetry and fling a sword about and . . . oh.

“Well, do you? I need to know.”

“Why?” he grunted.

Wow. That was intelligent. Way to make her understand that she was in the presence of Caspian, a Crown Prince of Hell, his power second only to that of the Devil himself. Way to make her quake. If it wouldn’t totally shoot his- credibility to shit, he would have palmed his forehead.

“I can’t have you bippity-bopping along behind me, now can I?” She sneered again, her cute little mouth curling in a very un-cute way.

Bippity-bopping?

His gaze lingered on her lips. They were making them better these days, human women. For a while, when summoning demons had last been all the rage, the women had been very skinny and worn ugly clothes. The ’70s hadn’t been a pleasant time for Caspian. Lots of offers for sex, though. He had actually inspired many of those gothics where the heroine gets it on with the Big Boss. Of course, he wasn’t the Big Boss, so that had gone over like an airborne pisser. See, the Big Boss was a showman, too. He didn’t really care to be upstaged.

This summoner really would be prettier if she smiled. He opened his mouth to tell her so.

“Oh, for the love of Hell. Not you, too.”

“Not me, what?” Again, he had yet to put her in her place, to make her quail before the might of—

“‘You’d be prettier if you smiled,’” she mimicked in a nasal little voice. “I can see the look on your face.”

“Well, you would be. I’m not gonna lie.”

“Why not? You’re a demon.”

He sighed. “Because lying is bad for business and it’s boring. Can we just get on with this? What do you want? Riches? Power? The ability to eat anything you like and not gain a pound...?”

She looked down at herself for a moment and snorted. “I like my figure fine, thanks. What I want—”

Caspian cut her off. “Really? Because you know most women are unhappy with themselves, regardless of size. It’s nice to see a woman with real hips and”—he paused to look her up and down again—“very nice breasts who—”

“Excuse me?” she practically growled. “Can I send you back and get another? Because this is not working.”

“No. And I’m offended.” He pulled at his sleeve for a moment. “I really don’t want to have to drag out the fire and the tail and the—”

“Fine! Let’s get on with it. Vengeance. I want ven geance.”

Caspian snorted. Hell, she was a woman scorned, which meant she didn’t need him. “Lady, I don’t know if someone forgot to tell you, but you’re a woman. You don’t need a demon to help you with vengeance. Most chicks do just fine on their own.”

“You don’t understand who he is. I definitely need help.”

“Let me give you some advice,” Caspian began. He could feel himself about to get into trouble again. He really shouldn’t be spouting off at the suck hole, offering free suggestions. He should get something from her.

She sighed loudly, as if anything he might say would be superfluous. It annoyed him far more than made sense.

“Sleep with all of his friends,” Caspian suggested. “They hate that.”

“Uh, he’d kill them . . . ?” She let it hang like a question, almost with a Valley Girl inflection, as if he were the stupidest of all creatures.

“Oh.” Well. Yeah, killing could definitely put a damper on that sort of plan, especially if one had a conscience. Which this chick seemed to have. Caspian supposed she hadn’t actually killed anybody for the bone dust, which was why it smelled old. He wasn’t sure if she was just enterprising enough to acquire what she needed in the simplest way or if she was against staining her soul with murder. He hadn’t pinned that down yet, but he was definitely interested in finding out. Which was bad. He shouldn’t care one way or the other.

“Well?” she demanded.

“Well, what, gorgeous?” He found his gaze zeroed in on those magnificent breasts. And they were magnificent. Creamy scoops of mouth-watering—

“Are you going to help me or not?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Caspian waved her off. He could stare at that rack for hours, imagining it in a push-up bra, in a corset, or just running wild and free, as he could tell those breasts so obviously yearned to do. Really, that was what he wanted for them. It was wrong to capture something so beautiful, unless it was using his mouth, which—

“But?”

“But what?” Caspian said, still pondering the pleasures of that milky flesh. If she would just shut up.

“Demon! Hello? Up here.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “They can’t talk.”

“I know. That’s part of the appeal.”

“Can we just get to the part where we make the deal?”

“Just a second,” he grumbled. He wanted to ogle the chest some more before he dealt with the head. Why did something so delicious have to be sour in the mouth?

“I’m not making one of those open-ended deals,” she growled. “I want to know the price up front. And I want it in writing.”

“By the Sulfuric Rod, you are a difficult little baggage, aren’t you?” He hated when they wanted things in writing. He sighed. “Yes, fine.”

“Signed in blood. I won’t settle for anything less.”

“No. You wouldn’t.” He rolled his eyes.

“You still haven’t told me the price. Don’t we need to haggle?”

“There will be no haggling, witch.”

“I’m n— a witch.” It was a pointless denial. She couldn’t even get the not out of her mouth.

“Aren’t you?”

“Mother of Christ!”

She was screaming at him now. Not that anyone would blame her. He was being difficult. But what could you expect from a demon? Really.

Caspian cringed. “Heed your tongue, witch!”

“Don’t call me . . .” She trailed off, then sighed. “I really don’t like you.”

“That hurts. I like you.” He eyed her lasciviously. “I like you very much.”

“I’m sure. Your price, demon. Now.”

“Well, usually it’s virgin’s blood. But I’m thinking you don’t have any of that.” He looked her up and down lasciviously again. “Do you?”

“A gentleman wouldn’t ask.”

“But I am no gentleman. I’m a demon.” Why did he feel the constant need to remind himself—and her—of the fact?

“This is so much more trouble than it’s worth.”

“Is it really? If you were angry enough to summon a demon, a Crown Prince of Hell, no less, it should be worth plenty of trouble. Because that’s what you are going to get.”

She smirked. “Oh? So you’re a Crown Prince? How did you get stuck with this gig, then, answering summonses in the middle of the night? Isn’t that like busting a detective down to traffic?”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “No. More like vice president down to jizz mopper.”

“Thank you for the visual.”

“You’re welcome.”

“So polite,” she volleyed.

“I try.”

“So, barring the virgin blood? What’s your price?”

Tenacious, wasn’t she? Caspian sighed, a very loud and bothered noise. Snide or not, he really wanted to get between this mortal’s thighs. How badly did she want vengeance? And also . . . how badly did her state of non- virginity concern him? It was something he had to consider.

See, there were rules to the game. Demons went around deflowering virgins not because they liked their purity. Oh, no. It was more because virgins wouldn’t ripen with fruit grown from the seed of demons. However, a more experienced Daughter of Eve? Well, her experience decided how fast and how easily she would ripen. One couldn’t go around banging the corrupted willy-nilly or else hordes of imps would destroy the world. And, contrary to popular belief, the Big Boss was happy with the status quo.

It was an ugly mess, denying demons their nature. See, angels on both sides of the Eternal War still found the daughters of Men to be beautiful. Hell, the Book even talked about it. So, how badly did he want this chit? It had been a long time.

A very, very, very long time.

His decision had been made for him the moment he was summoned, really. She was hot. Hotter than the Diablo peppers the Big Boss kept in a jar on his dining room table. Caspian had to corrupt her for all mortal men. It would be a good day’s work. He’d forgotten that it was dangerous to conspire against women, who are at their core capable of much stranger plots than any simple demon. Even a Crown Prince of Hell.
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31 Days of Halloween Review: Phantom Shadows (Immortal Guardians, #3) by Dianne Duvall

Phantom Shadows (Immortal Guardians, #3)

By: Dianne Duvall

Publisher: Zebra

Release Date: October 2, 2012

Format: ARC

Source: publisher for an honest review

BLURB via Kensington 

Dr. Melanie Lipton is no stranger to the supernatural. She knows immortals better than they know themselves, right down to their stubborn little genes. So although a handsome rogue immortal seems suspicious to her colleagues, Sebastien Newcombe intrigues Melanie. His history is checkered, his scars are impressive, and his ideas are daring. But it’s not his ideas that have Melanie fighting off surges of desire…

Bastien is used to being the bad guy. In fact, he can’t remember the last time he had an ally he could trust. But Melanie is different—and under her calm, professional exterior he senses a passion beyond anything in his centuries of experience. Giving in to temptation is out of the question—he can’t put her in danger. But she isn’t asking him… 

MY REVIEW

Oh, Dianne, you love to torment me with your boys! Duvall has done it again with another great addition to her Immortal Guardians series. I was so excited when I found out this was Bastien’s story I was excited and Duvall did not let me down.

Bastien’s past with the Immortal Guardians is not a good one. Before Bastien knew that he himself was an Immortal Guardian, he thought he was just a vampire and using his vampire army he was going to overthrow the Guardians. Now he works with the Guardians trying to figure out how to retain a vampires mind after their conversion. Working alongside Melanie is very distracting for Bastien. He wants her so bad but doesn’t want to admit it. Melanie has a soft spot for Bastien. She just wishes he would quite antagonizing some of the Guardians and just start getting along. It is hard for Bastien to get the chip of his shoulder but with a little help from Melanie he just might become part of the “team”. Both Bastien and Melanie are very strong characters and complement each other very well. I like that there is vulnerability in the tough façade of Bastien and when Melanie is around he lets it show.

The story line moves fast and the reader is caught up in the emotions of the characters. The world building that Duvall creates keeps the reader intrigued in where the next book will take them. With so many characters that I want to know more of, I am sure Duvall will keep me glued to her series. These books are a must read but beware...it is addicting!!

PURCHASE PHANTOM SHADOWS

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THE SERIES SO FAR

31 Days of Halloween Giveaway: When Darkness Comes by Alexandra Ivy

On the 15th day of Halloween, Kensington has a giveaway just for you! Today you have a chance at winning a copy of When Darkness Comes by Alexandra Ivy. To enter just fill out the Rafflecopter form below! Open to US/CA only.

Blurb via Kensington

It’s been a hell of a day for Abby Barlow. In just a few hours, she’s survived an explosion, watched her employer die, had a startling dream, and now she finds herself in a seedy Chicago hotel with the sexy, unearthly Dante, a man she both desires and fears.

For 341 years, Dante has stood as guardian to The Chalice, a mortal woman chosen to hold back the darkness. A terrible twist of fate has now made Abby that woman. Three hours ago, Dante would have used all his charms to seduce her. Now she is his to protect. And he will do so until his very death.

A terrifying plan has been set in motion, one that will plunge Dante and Abby into an epic battle between good and evil—and a desperate race to save their love…

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31 Days of Halloween Giveaway: The Seance by Heather Graham

On the 12th day of Halloween, I have a giveaway just for you! Today you have a chance at winning my personal copy of The Seance by Heather Graham. To enter just fill out the Rafflecopter form below! Open US/CA only.

Blurb via Amazon

A chill falls over Christina Hardy's housewarming party when talk turns to a recent murder that has all the hallmarks of the so-called "Interstate Killer" murders from fifteen years before. To lighten the mood, the guests drag out an old Ouija board for a little spooky fun…and that's when things become truly terrifying.

Summoned by the Ouija board, the restless spirit of Beau Kidd, the lead detective—and chief suspect—on the original case, seeks Christina's help: the latest killing isn't a copycat crime, and he wants his name cleared. Back in the real world, cop-turned-writer Jed Braden is skeptical of Christina's ghostly encounters, but his police sources confirm all the intimate details of the case—her otherworldly source is reliable, and the body count is growing.

The spirits are right. The Interstate Killer is still out there, and Christina's life is hanging in the balance between this world and the next.

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31 Days of Halloween Giveaway: Desire the Night by Amanda Ashley

On the 17th day of Halloween, Kensington has a giveaway just for you! Today you have a chance at winning a copy of Desire the Night by Amanda Ashley. To enter just fill out the Rafflecopter form below! Open to US/CA only.

Blurb and Prologue via Kensington

Held captive in a basement prison, wrapped in silver chains, the vampire Gideon is too weak to fight the monster who enslaves him. For years, she’s tapped his precious blood like a fountain of youth—sustaining him with human females she captures for his pleasure. But with the latest victim she brings him, he senses something intriguingly different. Something dangerous, yet oh so tempting.

Kay Alissano is no ordinary woman. Every full moon, she must answer the call of the wild—unleashing the wolf within. As daughter of the Shadow Pack’s Alpha, Kay is extremely powerful—and when she’s offered up to Gideon, she doesn’t surrender easily. In wolf form, she might be able to unchain Gideon’s heart and set them both free—if only he can resist the urge to consume her, body and soul, before the next full moon…

Prologue

Gideon Marquet stared into the darkness, his limbs aching from the weight of the heavy silver chains that shackled his ankles to the thick cement wall behind him. His body felt like it was burning from the inside out, causing his veins to shrink, while his skin grew painfully tight with the need for sustenance.

So long since he had fed.

So long since his thirst had been satisfied.

His eyes narrowed as a tall woman appeared in the base­ment. Clad in a shimmering white robe trimmed in white fur, she looked like an angel when, in truth, she was anything but.

The hem of her velvet robe made a soft, swishing noise as she drew closer, then knelt outside the cell. Verah.

Gideon groaned inwardly as she picked up the slender, silver­bladed dagger that rested beside a golden jewel­encrusted goblet on a low wooden table. His body tensed as she began to chant, her voice soft, almost hypnotic. He winced as she reached between the bars and dragged the blade across his right thigh. Lifting the goblet, she held it under the wound to collect the dark red blood that leaked from the long, shal­low gash. When the goblet was half­full, she made a similar cut in his left thigh, chanting all the while. When the cup was full, she left the cellar.

She returned a short time later.

Gideon sat up a little straighter, his fangs extending as the cell door opened and a woman clad in a wrinkled brown dress was pushed inside. She fell to the floor, crying out as she scraped her knees on the cold cement. His hands clenched as the warm, sweet coppery scent of her blood filled his nostrils.

Blind with panic, the woman scrambled to her feet and ran to the iron­barred door.

“Please!” she cried, her hands fisting around the bars. “Let me out! Please, oh, please, let me out of here!”

But her frantic plea fell on deaf ears.

His prey sobbed hysterically as Verah turned and left the basement. With her only hope gone, the woman darted to a far corner of the cell, her back pressed against the bars, her arms wrapped tightly around her waist. Tears flooded her cheeks as she murmured, “Please, don’t.” But all he heard was the frantic beating of her heart, the whisper­soft sound of the blood flowing through her veins.

“Please.” She fell to her knees, hands raised in supplication.

But that wouldn’t save her.

Nothing could save her now. It was feeding time.

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31 Days of Halloween Giveaway: Death Warmed Over by Kevin J. Anderson

On the 15th day of Halloween, Kensington has a giveaway just for you! Today you have a chance at winning a copy of Death Warmed Over by Kevin J. Anderson. To enter just fill out the Rafflecopter form below! Open to US/CA only.

Blurb and Chapter One via Kensington

Ever since the Big Uneasy unleashed vampires, werewolves, and other undead denizens on the world, it’s been hell being a detective—especially for zombie P.I. Dan Chambeaux. Taking on the creepiest of cases in the Unnatural Quarter with a human lawyer for a partner and a ghost for a girlfriend, Chambeaux redefines “dead on arrival.” But just because he was murdered doesn’t mean he’d leave his clients in the lurch. Besides, zombies are so good at lurching.

Now he’s back from the dead and back in business—with a caseload that’s downright unnatural. A resurrected mummy is suing the museum that put him on display. Two witches, victims of a curse gone terribly wrong, seek restitution from a publisher for not using "spell check" on its magical tomes. And he’s got to figure out a very personal question—Who killed him?

For Dan Chambeaux, it’s all in a day’s work. (Still, does everybody have to call him “Shamble”?) Funny, fresh, and irresistible, this cadaverous caper puts the P.I. in R.I.P….with a vengeance.

CHAPTER ONE

I’m dead, for starters—it happens. But I’m still ambulatory, and I can still think, still be a contributing member of society (such as it is, these days). And still solve crimes.

As the detective half of Chambeaux & Deyer Investigations, I’m responsible for our caseload, despite being shot in the head a month ago. My unexpected murder caused a lot of inconvenience to me and to others, but I’m not the sort of guy to leave his partner in the lurch. The cases don’t solve themselves.

My partner, Robin Deyer, and I had built a decent business for ourselves, sharing office space, with several file cabinets full of pending cases, both legal matters and private investigations. Although catching my own killer is always on my mind, paying clients have to take priority.

Which is why I found myself sneaking into a cemetery at night while trying to elude a werewolf hit man who’d been following me since sunset—in order to retrieve a lost painting for a ghost.

Just another day at work for me.

The wrought-iron cemetery gate stood ajar with a Welcome mat on either side. These days, visiting hours are round-theclock, and the gate needs to stay open so that newly risen undead can wander out. When the gates were locked, neighbors complained about moaning and banging sounds throughout the night, which made it difficult for them to sleep.

When I pulled, the gate glided open on well-oiled hinges. A small sign on the bars read, MAINTAINED BY FRIENDS OF THE GREENLAWN CEMETERY. There were more than a hundred ostentatious crypts to choose from, interspersed with less prominent tombstones. I wished I had purchased a guide pamphlet ahead of time, but the gift shop was open only on weekends. I had to find the Ricketts crypt on my own—before the werewolf hit man caught up with me.

The world’s a crazy place since the Big Uneasy, the event that changed all the rules and allowed a flood of baffled unnaturals to return—zombies, vampires, werewolves, ghouls, succubi, and the usual associated creatures. In the subsequent ten years, the Unnatural Quarter had settled into a community of sorts—one that offered more work than I could handle.

Now the quarter moon rode high in the sky, giving me enough light to see the rest of the cemetery. The unnatural thug, hired by the heirs of Alvin Ricketts, wasn’t one of the monthly full-moon-only lycanthropes: He was a full-time hairy, surly beast, regardless of the time of month. Those are usually the meanest ones.

I moved from one crypt to the next, scrutinizing the blocky stone letters. The place was quiet, spooky . . . part of the ambience. You might think a zombie—even a well-preserved one like myself—would feel perfectly at ease in a graveyard. After all, what do I have to be afraid of? Well, I can still get mangled, for one thing. My body doesn’t heal the way it used to, and we’ve all seen those smelly decomposing shamblers who refuse to take care of themselves, giving zombies everywhere a bad name. And werewolves are experts at mangling.

I wanted to avoid that, if possible.

Even undead, I remain as handsome as ever, with the exception of the holes left by the bullet—the largish exit wound on my forehead and the neat round one at the back of my head, where some bastard came up from behind, pressed the barrel of a .32 caliber pistol against my skull, and popped me before I got a good look at him. Fortunately, a low-slouched fedora covers the big hole. For the most part . . .

In the broader sense, the world hasn’t changed much since the Big Uneasy. Most people go about their daily lives, having families, working jobs. But though a decade has passed, the law—not to mention law enforcement—still hasn’t caught up with the new reality. According to the latest statistics by the DUS, the Department of Unnatural Services, about one out of every seventy-five corpses wakes up as a zombie, with the odds weighted heavily in favor of suicides or murder victims.

Lucky me to be on the interesting side of statistics.

After returning to life, I had shambled back into the office, picked up my caseload, and got to work again. Same as before . . . sort of. Fortunately, my zombie status isn’t a handicap to being a private detective in the Unnatural Quarter. As I said, the cases don’t solve themselves.

Days of investigation had led me to the graveyard. I dug through files, interviewed witnesses and suspects, met with the ghost artist Alvin Ricketts and separately with his indignant still-living family. (Despite Robin’s best mediation efforts in the offices, the ghost and the living family refused to speak to each other.)

Alvin Ricketts was a successful pop-culture painter before his untimely demise, attributable to a month’s worth of sleeping pills washed down with a full bottle of twenty-one-yearold single malt. (No sense letting it go to waste.) The ghost told me he would have taken more pills, but his insurance only authorized a thirty-day supply, and even in the deep gloom of his creative depression, Alvin had (on principle) refused to pay the additional pharmacy charge.

Now, whereas one in seventy-five dead people returns as a zombie, like myself, one in thirty comes back as a ghost (statistics again heavily weighted toward murder victims and suicides). Alvin Ricketts, a pop-art genius, had suffered a long and debilitating creative block, “artistic constipation” he called it. Feeling that he had nothing left to live for, he took his own life.

And then came back.

His ghost, however, found the death experience so inspirational that he found a reawakened and vibrant artistic fervor. Alvin set about painting again, announcing he would soon release his first new work with great fanfare.

His grieving (sic) family was less than enthusiastic about his return to painting, as well as his return from the dead. The artist’s tragic suicide, and the fact that there would never be more Alvin Ricketts paintings, had caused his existing work to skyrocket in value—until the ghost’s announcement of renewed productivity made the bottom fall out of the market. Collectors waited to see what new material Alvin would release, already speculating about how his artistic technique might have changed in his “post-death period.”

The Ricketts family sued him, claiming that since Alvin was dead and they were his heirs, they now owned everything in his estate, including any new or undiscovered works and the profits from subsequent sales.

Alvin contested the claim. He hired Robin Deyer to fight for his rights, and she promptly filed challenges while the ghost happily worked on his new painting. No one had yet seen it, but he claimed the work was his masterpiece.

The Ricketts heirs took the dispute to the next level. “Someone” broke into Alvin’s studio and stole the painting. With the supposed masterpiece gone, the pop artist’s much-anticipated return to the spotlight was put on hold. The family vehemently denied any involvement, of course.

That’s when the ghost hired me, at Robin’s suggestion, to track down and retrieve the painting—by any means necessary. The Ricketts heirs had hired a thug to keep me from succeeding in my investigation.

I heard a faint clang, which I recognized as the wrought-iron cemetery gate banging shut against the frame. The werewolf hit man wasn’t far behind me. On the bright side, the fact that he was breathing down my neck probably meant I was getting close.

The cemetery had plenty of shadows to choose from, and I stayed hidden as I approached another crypt. BENSON. Not the right one. I had to find RICKETTS.

Werewolves are usually good trackers, but the cemetery abounds with odors of dead things, and he must have kept losing my scent. Since I change clothes frequently and maintain high standards of personal hygiene for a zombie, I don’t have much of a smell about me. Unlike most unnaturals, I don’t choose to wear colognes, fancy specialized unnatural deodorants, or perfumes.

I turned the corner in front of another low stone building fronted by stubby Corinthian columns. Much to my delight, I saw the inhabitant’s name: RICKETTS. The flat stone door had been pried open, the caulking seal split apart.

New rules required quick-release latches on the insides of tombs now, so the undead can conveniently get back out. Some people were even buried with their cell phones, though I doubted they’d get good service from inside. Can you hear me now?

Now, if Alvin Ricketts were a zombie, he would have broken the seal when he came back out of the crypt. But since ghosts can pass through solid walls, Alvin would not have needed to break any door seals for his reemergence. So why was the crypt door ajar?

I spotted the silhouette of a large hairy form loping among the graves, sniffing the ground, coming closer. He still hadn’t seen me. I pulled open the stone door just enough to slip through the narrow gap into the crypt, hoping my detective work was right.

During the investigation into the missing masterpiece, the police had obtained search warrants and combed through the homes, properties, and businesses of the Ricketts heirs. Nothing. With my own digging, I discovered a small storage unit that had been rented in the name of Gomez Ricketts, the black sheep of the family—and I was sure they had hidden the painting there.

But when the detectives served their warrant and opened the unit, they found only cases and cases of contraband vampire porn packaged as sick kiddie porn. Because the starlets were actually old-school vampires who had been turned while they were children, they claimed to be well over the legal age—in real years if not in physical maturity. Gomez Ricketts had been arrested for pedophilia/necrophilia, but he was out on bail. Even Robin, in her best legal opinion, couldn’t say which way the verdict might go.

More to the point, we didn’t find the stolen painting in the storage unit.

So I kept working on the case. Not only did I consult with Alvin’s ghost, I also went over the interviews he’d given after his suicide. The ghost had gone into a manic phase, deliriously happy to put death behind him. He talked about awakening to find himself sealed in a crypt, his astral form rising from the cold physical body, his epiphany of throwing those morbid chains behind him. He had vowed never to go back there.

That’s when I figured it out: The last place Alvin would ever think to look for his painting was inside his own crypt, which was property owned by the Ricketts family (though a recent court ruling deemed that a person owned his own grave in perpetuity— a landmark decision that benefitted several vampires who were caught in property-rights disputes).

Tonight, I planned to retrieve the painting from its hiding place.

I slipped into the dank crypt, hoping I could grab Alvin’s masterpiece and slip away before the werewolf figured out what I was doing.

It should have been as quiet as a tomb inside, but it wasn’t. I heard a rustling sound, saw two lamplike yellow eyes blinking at me. A shrill nasal voice called out, “It’s taken—this one’s occupied! Go find your own.” “Sorry, didn’t mean to disturb you,” I said.
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31 Days of Halloween Giveaway: Haunted by Heather Graham

On the 12th day of Halloween, I have a giveaway just for you! Today you have a chance at winning a my personal copy of Haunted by Heather Graham. To enter just fill out the Rafflecopter form below! Open US/CA only.

Blurb via GoodReads
Matt Stone doesn't believe in ghosts. But there are those who are convinced his home, a historic Virginia estate that dates back to the Revolutionary War, is haunted. Pressured to get at the truth about some strange happenings at Melody House, he agrees to let Harrison Investigations explore the house. But he isn't ready for beautiful, intriguing Darcy Tremayne.

As a paranormal investigator, Darcy has learned to believe in the unbelievable. And she's given Matt fair warning: sometimes people don't like the skeletons she finds. She never dreamed that the warning would apply to herself. For she's about to discover that Melody House holds much more than a simple mystery form the distant past. What it holds is a very real and lethal danger, one that will cast her into a struggle against the worlds of both the living and the dead
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31 Days of Halloween Author Guest Post: Elizabeth Kolodziej

Villain is the new Hero

Have you noticed lately that the villain, or should we just simply say bad boy, is the one people are starting to vote for now? But who really is the villain and who really is the hero?

Normally the hero needs to accomplish a goal and has obstacles in front of them they must by-pass to reach their goal. Doesn’t this sound terribly similar to the bad guy in the story?

I remember being little and playing with comic book action figures (yes, I was/am a HUGE nerd) and my brother’s guy (Spawn) beat out my chick (Angel). I’m sitting there at like nine years old thinking “you can’t win, you’re the bad guy.” And my brother is of course like “I just did”. LoL

It’s a funny story, but that is something to keep in mind when writing/reading a novel. Who is really the bad guy and how much do you love/hate the villain?

Another point to make on top of this is: as a writer are you giving enough back-story and attention to your villains?

Yes, sometimes a villain might feel like something too simple to have a back-story. Sometimes that is the case. For instance, the movie Zombieland, it doesn’t give the zombies a back-story and they don’t need one. However, some stories really need to remember this.

I think of Kim Harrison and the Rachel Morgan series. I find it amazing that at first Trent is this huge villain and you are supposed to hate him. However, I don’t! lol. Eventually you find out more about him and realize why he isn’t such the bad guy after all and the reader finds himself or herself rooting for him over Rachel. Haha.

I don’t think this is a topic mentioned very much or enough. What do you think the antagonist normally is? It is normally the villain in a book. This might be something very simplistic to you, then again it might not be something you put enough thought into even though you know the point is there.

 Readers are starting to love the villains in the story and they need more attention paid to them. As authors we need to realize that every character in our books is important and needs attention and a back-story. It’s why doing character profiles are so important.

I know in my books for The Last Witch Series no one really knows if Vincent, my psychic vampire, is bad or good. However, in the third book it is all revealed and the reason for his actions is a big one. I gave him, what I think, is a great back-story and reason behind why he has done to Faith what he did. Some readers will still love him while others won’t. That is the beauty of the villain though!

You are supposed to love the hero, not always at first, but normally you should be rooting for them in the end. Obviously. The villain however can be more complex in a different kind of way. There are more twists and turns you can sometimes take them on.

Even more so is that sometimes the villain is the one to help the hero, or a bad guy turns good. So remember that your antagonist needs to be considered as much as your protagonist does.

What I will leave you with lastly is this thought. How interesting and fun is it that the hero and villain can be interchangeable? Don’t believe me? Think of the series Heroes. They did just that. So have fun with your characters and don’t leave the villain out of the mix!

Food for thought on a “villain” sort of week for me.

<3’s and fangs,

Liz ^_^

Find me on my website:

www.vampyrekisses.com

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