Raven
[The Byron Trilogy,
Book 2]
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It’s 1921 in San Francisco.
It’s been quiet since
Byron and Raven sent the demon Moloch to hell. Maybe too
quiet. But all that changes with the stroke of midnight
on New Year’s Eve. Byron’s demented sister wakes up sane
in the asylum, at the same time a rotten slumlord
plunges off a cliff in a brand-new Rolls Royce. And from
the demonic essence attached to a sinister ancient coin
found beneath the front seat, Byron knows he didn’t do
it alone.
Soon, other demonic objects start showing up around the
city, all of them attached to crimes. It seems the
demon-fighting trio (which includes their cop friend
Jimmy) has a new case... but can they figure out the big
bad behind these recent events, before Raven’s
vindictive archbishop grandfather gives them all the
boot? And what about the tender feelings starting to
kindle between the ex-street rat and the bookish
investigator?
Come along on a swell adventure full of suspense, the
second entry in The Byron Trilogy.
Author's Notes:
The adventure continues in a world of flappers, vintage (not then!) Rolls Royce cars, and... demons? It was fun to revisit my trio of supernatural investigators, now united to defeat a demon of unknown origins who leaves Byron in dire straits. And then Raven's grandfather came along to complicate things. This plot came to me suddenly and I wrote the entire book in about a month, with very few changes that showed up in subsequent drafts. It's just a solid plot that takes a lot of unexpected twists and turns. Hold onto your fedoras, gumshoes! You won't want to miss a minute of this thrilling second installment.
Excerpt:
A pale, sickly moon
hung low in the night sky over San Francisco Bay,
casting a melancholic hue across the road leading to
Cliff House. Byron Hayes caught a glimpse of the bent
opening in the iron railing, a clear sign a car had
plunged over the edge. He parked his Model T behind the
line of police cars that filled the hotel’s driveway. As
soon as his leather Oxford shoes touched the gravel, he
knew why his cop pal Jimmy Garret had called him.
Evil spread from the wreck in green tendrils, as the
noxious odor of demons loomed over the dizzy surf. Byron
directed his flashlight towards a Rolls Royce, now in
ruins on the rocks. There was no chance the driver made
it out alive. A feeling of deep discomfort washed over
him and made him want to hurl on the gravel. All demons
had an effect on him, but some were worse than others.
The older a devil, the foulest the stink. A touch on his
shoulder startled him. His gaze met a worried face
surrounded by tousled blond hair and looks to die for on
a cop.
Under his breath, Jimmy asked, “Are you alright?”
Even a trained supernatural investigator could get
spooked. Byron nodded. He crunched his way down a steep,
pebbled path that led to the crash site, careful not to
lose his footing. The cops kept their distance in a
tight huddle on the road. Good. Byron refused to let any
of them come into contact with a demon. None of them
believed they existed, for one. Most people were
oblivious to their constant presence.
“Who drove off the cliff?” Byron asked.
Jimmy lost his balance on loose pebbles and nearly
collided with him, but extended a hand to catch hold of
a crevice. Gasping for breath in the moonlight, his pale
face sweat-dappled, he said, “Charles Edgar.”
The slumlord? Byron’s brows shot to his hairline. That
news changed things. He surveyed the vehicle in a new
light. This death wouldn’t keep anyone up at night or
make them cry themselves to sleep. More of a mobster
than a businessman, Edgar had friends in high places and
lots of enemies, thanks to his dirty deals. He acquired
four companies in the past month and fired their
employees to hire cheaper labor. A lot of folks wanted
him dead. Wearing a frown, Byron massaged the ache in
the back of his neck.
This could complicate matters...
