Let's go back to the night I turned 13, the night Grandpa filleted my finger with his cane sword. I can't say what terrified me more, the cold anger in his eyes or the crazy things in his locked study. A talking trunk. Squirming coats. A bookshelf whose titles shifted before my eyes. And one chilling title in particular: Book of Souls. Ten years later I'm on my way to a Romanian monastery, in search of that lost book. But I'm not the only one. Three others have beaten me to the local village: two researchers and...
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Show me an amateur conjurer, and I'll stop him before he gets himself killed. That's the idea, anyway. But New York City isn't what it used to be, and I don't mean the recent crash. Amateur casters are calling up creatures they shouldn't be able to. And there's been a murder at the city's most hallowed cathedral, a message in blood on the victim's back the NYPD wants me to interpret, like yesterday.
Everson Croft here, professor of mythology and nervous as sin. Tonight's the night I tell Caroline the truth: about my feelings, my magic, everything. So why am I surprised when Detective Vega calls me to a new case? An elusive creature is chewing up residents in a housing project run by rival gangs. One more mangled body and the place will explode into warfare. Problem is, someone's protecting the killer.
When New York City unveils a program to roast supernaturals, I wonder if I should be sweating. The bloodthirsty Arnaud thinks so, and he's insisting that our survival depends on a wizard-vampire alliance. Never mind his history of wanting me dead. Or undead. Meanwhile, the mayor wants me on his team - an offer that's only slightly less unnerving given our recent clash. So who's really behind the purge? City Hall? The werewolves? Or is it the brainchild of the fae, whose newest advisor to the mayor slipped from my bed and life four months ago?