Author's Notes:

I am so proud of this book. I decided to challenge myself with a ghost story, which is something I have never done before, and I wound up paying homage to C.S. Lewis in my own way in the process. How? You'll see when you get into the in-between. This is the conclusion of Byron, Raven, and Falan's story, and I hope my readers enjoy it as much as I loved writing it. This time, my supernatural gumshoe gets an animal companion of his own, in his faithful mutt Gamr. A little bit of a love interest. The story comes full circle and brings closure to Raven, our phoenix rising from the ashes. And it wrestles with deep concepts. Go forth and enjoy.

Excerpt:

Nothing pleased Falan DuLoc more than a test of his skills, and this case could be a real doozy. An evil spirit had moved into Mrs. Proust’s boardinghouse on McAllister Street, which she claimed reeked of week-old cadaver and gave the residents nightmares. The teenaged supernatural investigator surveyed her home from across the busy road, his hands shoved in his pockets and his dark brown eyes keen beneath the brim of his flat cap. The Victorian architecture filled him with excitement. Something about its vibes told him he faced no mere demon this time.

The approach of familiar footsteps turned him to watch Cassi Wu catch up to him, a little winded from her rush through the few raindrops that dampened the pavement. His friend carried a tan rucksack over one shoulder with a casual elegance, full of anything they might need. A fashionable bob framed her slim features. She had a natural knack for reading auras and predicting the future. Cassi glanced at the house and shivered. “A nasty presence lurks in there, Falan, and it won’t want to leave, but I can’t see its shape.” 

“If you sense anything, warn me about it,” he said.

She nodded, her hair smashed beneath a stylish hat. Only Cassi would come to a job dressed in the latest fashion, a mauve gown with impractical pumps. She made sure she always looked good, no matter what.

They waited for several slow cars to pass in either direction before they dashed across the road and up the front steps to pull the bell. Small demons flitted above the downward shine of the iron streetlamps, but most were harmless; they stole keys, made people drop coins into gutters, or caused streetcars to stall in intersections. Falan could deal with them if asked, but his real targets were the malicious spirits that inspired murder, violence, riots, or abuse. Some of those demons wore faces and passed for mortals.

The clouds overhead let out a few cold raindrops, which left a wet pattern on his pinstriped jacket. As the doorbell jangled, a distinct sense of evil pressed upon him. He wished he’d brought his dog. Gamr could sniff out trouble and deal with it with a snap of his jaws, but not everyone welcomed a mutt into their home. He glanced at Cassi and found the same keen uncertainty in her golden-brown gaze.

The front door opened a crack to reveal a slender, worried face framed by soft waves of brown hair. A middle-aged woman eyed them in surprise, but once Falan gave his name, she ushered them inside with a polite nod. “I expected someone older,” she said.

“It’s not the age of the supernatural agent but the amount of divine authority that matters, Ma’am.” Falan stepped into the house and it recoiled from his presence. A spiral of deep unease unraveled in the pit of his stomach. They stood in a foyer facing a staircase to the second floor, at the top of which sat a stained-glass window. Deeper shadows lurked here than the light cast. A scuttling under the floorboards suggested a potential demonic pest infestation.

Good. He could use the practice. Things had been too quiet in San Francisco since the summer. It felt like something big was about to happen, somehow.

Cassi tightened her grip on his rucksack, but turned to the hostess. “You have a beautiful home, Ma’am.”

“Thank you, but none of us feel safe in it anymore. I have owned it a couple of years, but had no trouble until now.” Mrs. Proust led them over to a closed set of doors, beyond which lurked a strange glow. A faint stench of soul-rot pervaded the air that usually accompanied evil. “Our unease has been building for several days, but when we returned from the market tonight, we sensed a difference when we crossed the threshold. An evil presence dwells in this room. None of us wants to open the doors and we haven’t, since Byron said not to touch them.”

His mentor advocated safety, since many folks did not know how to approach demons or possess the divine authority to banish them. You had to be born with it, or choose it for yourself. Most people never noticed them. Aware of the dark energy in the parlor, Falan said to ease her anxiety, “There’s no reason for concern, Mrs. Proust. We do this all the time. But it’s better done in private. Demons often get surly.”

“We’ll be next door until you’re done.” Mrs. Proust walked upstairs to collect her family and renters. No one protested. They detected a threat to their souls.

In her absence, Falan touched the door handle. An unfamiliar coldness passed over him that piqued his interest. “Cassi, do you sense anything new now that you’re inside the house?” he asked.

She closed her eyes to concentrate on the mood beyond the top panel of frosted glass and grew silent. Light played across the folds in her dress and hit the silver buckles on her shoes. He waited with patience, knowing it could take her several minutes to discern and unravel her impressions. Worry flickered across her face. “This spirit feels different from the others, and I sense its anger. This is not a benign presence, Falan. It’s full of hatred and violence.”

That meant it would put up a fight. 

Looked like he might get his challenge after all...

Click here to order on Amazon!