The Hellfire Legacy - New Release!

It's here, it's here, it's finally here! In honor of the release my blog's gone green!

The Hellfire Legacy : Night Wars Volume III

Everything has fallen apart. With the Night Shift HQ destroyed and supernatural murders spreading across Chicago, the Night Shift circles the wagons. Reeling from their losses, Fynn has to draw on every friend he has left to track down the monster responsible, a chase that will take his team far from home and the comfort of the world he thought he knew.

Questions about his family, an old feud and the Night Shift’s origins will bring Fynn closer to the truth, but he’s not sure he going to make it out of this one. He’s not sure he wants to. 

Ooh...I'm so excited. I promise, this makes up for the ending of the last book, and explains why that book had to end the way it did. It was not something I did lightly, I assure you of that. You can click on the cover image and you'll be taken straight to Torquere's buy page! 

The Night Shift Release Day!

That's right folks, The Night Shift has hit cyber shelves! The e-book version is available now. (And don't worry print book lovers, it's coming)

Blurb:

Two years of experience in the Night Shift and Fynn Adder still has a lot to learn -- before his newest case drives him back off the wagon. Recently he's been assigned a new partner, a trainee named Simon Murphy. In the middle of breaking in his new partner, a grisly murder rocks the foundation of Fynn's shaky sobriety. And not just any "regular" murder -- the murder of a child.

As more ritual killings start to spread out across the city, Fynn, Jack, and Simon scramble to track down the necromancer responsible and stop them before they complete whatever ritual they're performing. Meanwhile, Simon has to deal with the overly ambitious FBI Agent Gabriel Sheppard, whose dogged determination to put Simon's mob boss father in prison is putting Simon at risk, and hindering Fynn's investigation. As if that wasn't enough, the king of the elves wants to have a sit down, Tara’s birthday is only a few days away, and it seems the family secrets just keep on coming. The tension and pressure just never seems to end for Fynn and his crew.


That's right, Fynn and Jack are back! Enjoy!

The Night Shift

It's the Night Shift cover art folks! Look, shiny! Finally got a man in a scarf... I hope this is enough of a teaser for you folks at the moment, but in case it's not, here's an actual teaser:

Enjoy!

 The Night Shift

        Sharp, sweet and smoky tendrils of scent followed us. The stone floor beneath my feet was getting slick as Simon bled on it -- he ran just in front of me. Behind us the howls were starting. Throaty, piercing sounds that made your hair stand on end and burned into your memory as surely as that time you walked in on your Great-Aunt Shirley in the bathtub.

          Simon -- my partner in this case and an unhealthily good looking young man several years my junior -- had been injured during what had been supposed to be a simple reconnaissance trip. The creatures behind us were ghouls; a nest of them had gotten together in a section of the Old City, and we’d been trying to make a count before taking affirmative action.

            I wanted to set fire to the whole damn complex, but somebody overruled me.

            “I see the stairs!” Simon shouted over his shoulder.

            I looked up, spotting the sliver of sunlight that was our escape hatch. The ghouls wouldn’t be able to follow us out into the light, thank God.

            After a moment’s thought, I caught up to Simon and slung him over my shoulder with a grunt. “You see one, shoot.”

            “Yes, sir.” He wasn’t particularly surprised to be manhandled, I’d done it before -- not to say the boy was injury prone but… He rested the butt of his shotgun against my shoulder, and I went for the stairs. The howls were getting closer as I took the first step, and Simon fired a warning shot that sent a sharp blow to my shoulder as I absorbed the recoil. I ignored it for the time being and kept going.

            At the top of the stairs I set him down, shoving him through the open doorway and turned on the crowd of ghouls that had paused just out of reach of the sunlight. They were ugly bastards. Unlike zombies, ghouls didn’t rot after they dug themselves out of the ground -- they dried. It was particularly unattractive. Several of them had huge distended stomachs to go with the long claws and pointed teeth. They’d fed recently.

            “Hi guys.” I smiled and pulled the grenade I’d been saving out of my pocket. “Bye guys.” I jerked the ring out and tossed the grenade amongst them, throwing myself out the door, slamming it shut and running. “Fire in the hole!”

            Simon took off and the explosion went off about five seconds later, blasting bits of building, and ghoul, into the air. Simon and I continued our retreat to the van, climbing in and shutting the door. The reinforced panels would keep off the worst of it, though I could hear the tinging as bits of stone and wood and bone struck the exterior.

            “That was fucking insane!” Simon snapped, lounging against the wall of the van and panting. “You’re nuts.”

            “Aw, it wasn’t as bad as the siren in Humbolt Park and you know it.”

            “One of these days, Adder, you’re going to get me killed.”

“Not today.” I took a closer look at his injury, a nasty gash along his side. “We’re heading to the hospital. Bronson, start her up.”

            The slender, salt and pepper redhead started up the van without further prompting and took off fast enough to leave tire behind on the concrete. “You blew something up again,” he complained.

            “No choice.” Well, there’d been a choice, but I’d liked mine.

            “How bad is it?”

            I looked at Simon, noting he had passed out. “He’ll be okay, just hurry.”

            Simon wasn’t particularly stalwart about pain, it seemed he’d pass out at the drop of the hat -- if you didn’t know why. Simon had been diagnosed with narcolepsy, because what was really wrong with him was too unbelievable for the medical community.

            “Is he out?”

            “Like a light.” I maintained pressure on the wound. “I’m fine too, thanks for asking.”

            “I assumed you were, because you weren’t complaining.” He took a sharp turn that knocked me into the wall. “Now hush.”

            Bronson wasn’t technically my superior; we were basically equals, but I still tended to do as he said. For one, I was almost certain that if I pissed him off he’d curse me. Bronson was, after all, a witch.

            I refrained from mouthing off and concentrated on keeping Simon from bleeding to death. All in all, not a bad day of training. 

 

It's Time for the Giveaway!

My additional copy of The Hanged Man's Ghost arrived today! Which means it's giveaway time folks! I'll be giving away one signed copy (dedication specific just tell me to whom), a pair of Clover knitting needles, and a skein of mystery yarn.

There could be other goodies thrown in there, I tend to be big on extra goodies. I like getting them, so my rule is give and ye shall receive.

Speaking of rules. The rules are simple.

You must, comment here, on Facebook, Twitter or Goodreads by April 7th with the answer to the following question.

What does Fynn have tattooed on his back?

I will pick a winner using one of those random number generator thingies. And then poof! I'll announce the winner, who will contact me with pertinent details.  Good luck!

Coming Out Ficlet

After several attempts to find someplace in one of the next two Night Wars books to put this, and coming up empty, I figured I'd put it up here. This is the story of how Fynn came out to his parents. It being Fynn, it's definitely not according to plan.

Coming Out

            “Mmm.” Timmy kissed the tender spot just below my collar bone. “I feel like a walking bruise,” I muttered.

            “That’s because you were tackled six times,” he replied before kissing my neck. “I keep telling you to run faster.”

            “Right.” I ran a hand through his hair. “Run faster.”

            “You want to—” he ran a hand under my shirt.

            Oh, if it had been any other time… “Giant bruise, remember? You want me to be able to walk at the next game we’d better not.”

            He sighed. “Okay, fine. We’ll cuddle, just for your tender muscles.”

            “Gee, thanks.”

We curled up in my bed under a sheet and I fell asleep, exhausted from practice. So I didn’t hear Da come home and shout to see if I was home. I sort of started to swim towards waking when someone knocked on the door to my bedroom.

            “Fynn? What’s—”

            I sat up  as the lights came on, just in time to see Da’s face

            “Da—”

            He turned around and walked out of the room. I heard him head down the hall and a door slammed.

            “Fuck!” I climbed out of bed and hurried to get shoes on.

            Timmy was right behind me. “Oh my god—oh god. We are so dead. I am so dead. He’s going to kill me. I have to go.”

            “Kill you? Can I hide out at your place?”

            “Are you kidding me?” He gave me a look. “What if he tells my parents? They can not  know I’m gay. Sorry, Fynn, but you’re on your own.”

            “You bastard, I hope he kicks your fucking ass!” I grabbed a jacket and my wallet and hurried to get out of the house, Timmy was hot on my heels but I ignored him.

            We were so through.

            “Fynn!” he called after me but I didn’t bother looking back. I slung my jacket on and just kept walking. The chill of spring was still in the air, but it wasn’t what bothered me. The chill I felt was fear. I didn’t know what Da was going to do. Hell, what was Connor going to do?

            I—I couldn’t go home.

            So I wandered the streets of Chicago, took a bus to the lake and threw rocks in the water. I couldn’t think of where to go. I thought maybe I could go see Uncle Charlie, but what if he sent me back to Da? So I kept walking. Sometimes I sat on a bench and just… I couldn’t think at all.

            It was around three a.m. when my wandering was interrupted by the sound of police sirens. A patrol car with lights on pulled up at the curb next to me. The driver’s door opened and my big brother Connor stepped out. His hat was on crooked.

            “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

            “Connor—”

            “Get in the car, right now!”

            “I—no. Get the fuck away from me!” How could I go home? What if Da was so pissed he shot me? I mean, he was a cop, he could totally murder me and get away with it.

            It was so the wrong thing to say. He slammed his door shut and started after me—I ran. I was a fast runner, despite what Timmy thought, but Connor was taller and used to running down assholes who thought they could snatch a lady’s purse and get away with it. Not on Connor’s beat, that was for sure.

            He snagged me by the collar of my jacket and then by the back of my neck, and then dragged me back to the car. I was tossed into the backseat. Connor’s partner, Trish, glared at me from the front seat.

            “What the hell is wrong with you? Your parents are out of their minds with worry!” she snapped.

            “I—”

            “Just keep your mouth shut until we get home,” Connor growled. “You better believe Da is going to beat your ass.”

            What was I supposed to say? Gee, sorry, I didn’t mean to run away after my dad found me in bed with another guy. Yeah. That would work out well.

            That car ride was really long.

            Connor dragged me up the stairs to the house, Trish at my other side in case I decided to run again, and went straight in, my arm in his grip. It was so not fair that he was—enormous. Seriously, why didn’t I get the Viking genes? There I was all of five foot nine and skinny as a fucking rail. Not fair.

            Ma and Da were in the living room. Ma’d been crying. I kind of wondered where Shannon was, but was too afraid to ask.

            “I’ll let you take care of this,” Trish said softly to Connor. “Don’t worry about anything—I’ll take care of it.”

            “Thanks, Trish.”

            She nodded and left the house. Connor dumped me on the couch and then went to stand with our parents, folding his arms over his chest after he took off his hat. You didn’t wear hats in the house.  

            “You had your mother worried sick!” Da shouted first. “Who knows what could’ve happened to you? Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

            “I—”

            “We do not run away from our problems in this house, young man.”

            “Da, I—”

            “And that boy, he’s what, two years older than you? That’s a crime,” Da continued. “Did he use protection? Did you? Do you have any idea how many other people he’s slept with? Do you?”

            This, this is what he’s pissed about? I could have cried I was so relieved. “We didn’t have sex, Da.” At least, not on this particular occasion.

            His raised eyebrows clearly said he knew we had done so, even if we hadn’t today. “Why the hell did you run?”
            “I thought…cause I’m—gay.” I swallowed. “I thought you wouldn’t—” I couldn’t say anymore.

            “Oh—sweetheart.” Ma sat down next to me, taking my hand into hers. “You are our son, Fynn. Nothing will change that. It’s this reckless behavior that’s more of a concern. Sex is a big deal.”

            “You’re sixteen-years-old,” Da added. “Do you think he really loves you? I’ve seen that kid around, he will drop you the minute he gets bored. And I don’t see him here now. He wasn’t with you when Connor found you. Very supportive.”

            “He was afraid you’d tell his folks.” I tried to defend him even though I didn’t really want to.

            “Like it’s my business to tell them he’s gay.” Da shook his head. “I’m not about to open up that can of worms. Family business is family business.”

            “So—you don’t care that I’m gay?”

            “I’d be lying if I said it didn’t bother me,” he admitted. “But you’re my son. I love you.”

            “Same goes for me,” Connor added. “You’re my brother, Fynn.”

            “And Shannon?”

            “She’s at a friend’s house,” Ma said. “We didn’t want to worry her.” Uh huh.  

            “From now on,” Da said. “I meet with every boy you date. You will not sneak around in my house, are we clear?”

            “Yes sir.”        

            “Good. I think you have something you need to say to your mother.”

            I looked at Ma. “I—I’m sorry I ran away. I’m sorry I scared you.”

            “Oh—” She wrapped her arms around me. “I’m just glad you’re safe.”

            “Also,” Da added. “You’re grounded until the end of the school year.” Three months. If I was lucky he wouldn't tack my summer vacation onto that. I wouldn't put it past him to ground me when I went to college in the fall if I did date someone behind his back.

            “Yes sir.”

            I suppose it wasn’t the worst way things couldn’t have gone.

            I was so going to kick Timmy’s ass the next time I saw him.

The Hanged Man's Ghost Release Day!

So, apparently there was a typo in my calendar, or I'm blind, but The Hanged Man's Ghost hit cyber shelves today! I have some cool stuff up, including a knitting pattern by the lovely Sophia inspired by the book (it is completely relevant, as the MC is a knitter himself) and there's a short story companion piece to the novel as well up and...drumroll...you'll get a chance to win a signed copy of the paperback!

There could be more goodies to come, so keep your eyes peeled!

Cheers!

About the book

Detective Fynn Adder is embarking on the case that will change his life forever. The ghosts of murder victims are leaving him clues, his drinking problem is out of control, and no matter how nepotistic the Chicago Police Department might be, there are some forces his family’s reputation can’t save him from.

Just a few years ago, Fynn’s longtime partner Robert was murdered and the case went unsolved. As he gets deeper into a new investigation, it becomes apparent that somehow the two cases are connected. To make matters worse, it’s clear to Fynn that forces beyond this world have come into play.

Forces like Internal Affairs agent Daniel Voight, who’s determined to make dirt stick to Fynn any which way he can. The only real bright points in Fynn’s day are when he’s with Jack, his unfortunately straight partner. Fynn is going to have to pull himself together--because if the dead don’t kill him, his family will.

An excerpt from the book

The driving skills of Detective Jack Winchester have never been in contention. It is the manner in which he applies those skills I find disturbing. I also have my suspicions that he made a deal with the devil to always find a parking space when he needs one.

But I can’t prove it.

"So…it’s a yoga studio." I stared at the glass and metal monstrosity that was Modern Gym. Part of it was weights and treadmills, at least, the first floor was, and the sign above the very tan receptionist’s desk had the second floor labeled for yoga and meditation.

My ex with the yoga thing hadn’t gone to a gym like this. His gym had been conveniently located one floor up from his apartment that was all part of a renovated cannery.

"It’s a monstrosity," Jack confirmed. "These places aren’t gyms. My gym doesn’t have mirrors."

"Your gym is in an old car garage and run by a guy called Spider." I gave him a look. "I don’t know that you can talk."

"You can’t say he’s a bad fitness coach though." Jack flexed one arm. "I beat you in the ring, last I checked."

"Luck."

He snorted. "You wish."

The receptionist was talking on the phone in a voice that I was fairly certain was near the limits of the human ear.

"Miss?" Jack waved a hand in front of her face. "I’m looking for -- "

She held up a hand to silence him and continued to yammer away about her yorky’s delicate digestion.

"Miss, I’m with the police."

Still nothing.

I gave Jack a look and then reached over the counter and pressed down on the button, hanging up on whomever she’d been chatting with. She gave me a look that would have killed a lesser man.

"Hi." I grinned. "I’m Fynn, this is Jack, and we’re detectives investigating a homicide. I need to talk to Jason Campbell. Where is he?" After which I showed her the star dangling around my neck.

"Uh…he’s upstairs in the Shangri-la room. But there’s a class going on right now."

"That’s okay, I’m sure they’ll understand that murder comes before yoga," Jack said. "Thanks so much for your help."

We headed up the stairs, I took them two at a time just to prove to Jack I was still in shape and beat him to the top with a grin. "Ha."

"That proves nothing. You get back in the ring and we’ll talk."

"Maybe I will."

He snorted. "I’ll believe that when I see it."

We headed down the hallway the stairs opened onto and found the Shangri-la room about halfway down. I put on my cop face and gestured for Jack to go first. He opened the door and I followed after him.

The room was occupied by about fifteen very limber young women currently engaged in bending their bodies to resemble pretzels, and a man at the front of the room. Behind him was a raised platform where sticks of incense burned, giving the place an odor of musky herb over warm bodies.

The man had a sheen of sweat over his tan skin. I noticed lean muscles, and the tight shorts he wore gave a clue to the reason for the amount of pretty faces in the room. He wasn’t bad looking, but there was something about him that rubbed me the wrong way.

I tugged at the collar of my shirt and suddenly wished I wasn’t wearing so many layers.

It was kind of hot in there.

The man gave us a look. "I’m sorry but we’re in the middle of a class…"

"Jason Campbell?"

"Well, yes -- "

"Detectives Jack Winchester and Fynn Adder, we need to ask you a few questions about the murder of Jessica Yates." Jack flipped open his wallet to flash his star. "Why don’t we talk in the hall?"

"Uh…okay. Ladies, take five; I’ll be right back." He smiled reassuringly and followed Jack and me out into the hall, closing the door firmly behind him.

"You and Ms. Yates dated, correct?" Jack asked.

"Yeah, like four months ago. It’s old news."

"Why don’t you let me be the judge of that," I said. If this was the guy…well, I wasn’t all that sure if he’d make it to the station in one piece. "What caused the breakup?"

"Jessica wasn’t willing to share me," Jason said. "I told her I couldn’t be monogamous, and she freaked out. She threw a bottle at my head. I had to call the cops."

"Where were you the night before last, around four a.m.?" Jack shouldered in front of me ever so slightly.

"I was giving a private lesson at my apartment," he said smugly. "I have three witnesses."

"I suppose that’s a cute little code for fucking your students?" I raised an eyebrow.

"Maybe. I can even give you their names. We were occupied until sunrise. Dawn greeting is very cathartic."

"Right." Jack pulled out his notepad and a pen. "Write down the names of your tryst partners and the best way to contact them."

Jason wrote while Jack stared at him.

"Here." He practically shoved the notepad back into Jack’s hands. "Can I go back to my class now?"

"Of course," I said. "But don’t leave town."

Jason sneered at me and then stormed back into the yoga class.

"Well, I think his chi is off balance."

Jack rolled his eyes. "We can’t really hold him on anything you know."

"I don’t like him."

"That’s not a crime."

"It should be. Who else are we talking to today?"

"Well, I think we’d better call his little playmates. Let’s make sure that alibi is legit. If it’s not, we can arrest him for interfering with a homicide investigation." Jack’s grin was positively feral. My heart skipped a beat at the sight of it.

God damn it. Why does he have to be straight?

"I -- I’m hungry. Let’s get lunch before we start making phone calls."

"Sure. Chinese okay with you? There’s a place just around the corner from here with really good spring rolls."

"Sure."

Jack tucked his notebook into his pocket and gave me a sharp look. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah. I just really don’t like that guy."

"Okay." He started to head down the hallway, and I stood frozen for a moment. Sometimes Jack made me feel like a high school kid with his first crush on the captain of the lacrosse team. Timmy Mullins…a lazy smile crept across my face. Just him and me in the locker room after the championship match.

I shook my head. Why was I thinking about that? I gave myself a mental slap and hurried after Jack.

Teaser

Here's a little teaser of The Hanged Man's Ghost. Enjoy!

Chapter One: 187

The Windy City. I was born here, and my father and his father. Caught in tradition, bleeding blue for the city. Catholic to the bone, too. It was like watching a made-for-TV movie.

    For me, the wind caught the voices of those souls lost to passion and fear. The ones that we found on the street, in back alleys and under bridges.

    But those are the voices of the past. This was the start of a case that would change things. That would change me.

    It started with a hangover, and the hangover started with a party. As it turns out, fourteen mojitos and a dozen or so Jell-o shots do not equate to a healthy morning. At least, I think it was only a dozen or so. There also may’ve been a couple beers in the count. The empty bottles at the end of the bed seemed to indicate that. The young man next to me, brunette with a slim build and pouty lips was pretty, and had probably been just as far gone when we tumbled into bed.

Blinking, clearing the crud from my eyes. I climbed out of the bed and pulled my discarded boxers back on, before stretching out my sore muscles. Where are my jeans? I looked around. His jeans, two sizes smaller than mine with a designer label, were huddled just under the bed. God, he still wore white briefs. I really hope he’s over the age of consent.

His wallet stuck out of the back pocket of his jeans, I scooped it up and flipped it open. Eric Howard, age nineteen. Thank God. I really did not need that hanging over my head. Someone needed to buy the kid boxers. Tucked just behind his driver’s license was another card, student ID? I couldn’t help myself, I jerked it out. Eric Harrison, age twenty-three. It was a fake. A good one. I kept that and put back the wallet.

My jeans had managed to climb the bookshelf. Strange. I jerked them down and pulled them on. The fake ID went in my back pocket. My shoes and ankle holster were sitting by a chair. I strapped the holster on and put on my sneakers.

Is this his place? It had a very dorm-like look to it. Book shelves crammed with junk and the occasional textbook, laundry slumped near a hamper in the corner and posters of half naked men on the walls. Okay, a gay boy’s dorm room, but a dorm room. I looked out the window. There were flowers in a box on the sill. Daisies. I didn’t recognize the street. A sign read East Monroe. Huh. Maybe I’m just down from the club. I grabbed my shirt, checked for my wallet—finding it in my pocket—and headed for the door. The kid woke up with a yawn and grabbed my hand.

“Hey, leaving so soon?” He blinked. Damn, he’s young.

“Yeah.”

He pouted. “Don’t I get a name and a phone number?”

“No, and if I see you in that club again, I’ll arrest you for underage drinking. Do we understand each other?”

He gulped, eyes wide. “Yes.”

Heh, I didn’t even have to flash my star. Hell, knowing me, I’d probably used a pick up line along the lines of, Hey, I’m a cop, you want to go have some fun? I have handcuffs. “Good. Sleep tight.” I paused. “And buy some boxers. You aren’t twelve.” He might as well have been. I buttoned my shirt on my way out the door. My cell phone buzzed as I hopped down the steps. I jerked it out my pocket and flipped it open. “Fynn Adder.”

“I don’t care how fan-fucking-tastic you think you are, Adder. You get your ass down here right now!” Captain Monroe screamed from the other end. I winced.

“Down where?”

“Don’t you check your voicemail? We have a homicide on East Adams and Wabash. You were supposed to be here twenty minutes ago.”

I winced again. “I’ll be right there.” I hung up and shoved the phone back in my pocket. On the street, I hailed a cab. Miraculously, I got one. Maybe today wouldn’t be so bad. I hopped in. “Adams and Wabash.”

“Be there in five.”

Fin


The Hanged Man's Ghost
Coming February 12, 2012!

I'll be running a contest for a signed copy of The Hanged Man's Ghost in February, so keep your eyes peeled! Well, not literally, that would be horrible.

- Cheers!