A
World Apart
Shades
Below
Book
One
L.J.K
Oliva
Genre:
Urban fantasy
Book
Description:
"There
are things that go bump in the night, Mr. MacMillian. It's my job to
bump back."
Private
investigator Jesper MacMillian was sure he'd seen it all. After all,
in a city like San Francisco, strange is what's for breakfast.
Following a long recovery after a horrific accident, his life is
finally the way he wants it- or at least, close enough. The only
monsters on his radar are the ones that keep him awake at night.
All
that changes the day he meets Lena Alan.
Before
MacMillian has a chance to brace for impact, Lena drags him into a
world where monsters aren't just real, they're hiding in plain sight.
Suddenly, everything he knows is suspect, starting with his current
case. For Lena, a medium since childhood, it's just another day at
the office.
For
MacMillian, it's the beginning of the end of everything he thinks he
knows.
Excerpt
The
elevator came to a stop. The doors started to open. MacMillian
backed away and shook his head. "Do me a favor. Leave now.
Don't come here again."
He
stepped into the hallway, then froze. Clustered outside the door to
the office was a horde of people, the widest slice of humanity he'd
ever seen crammed into one place. There were cowboys, businessmen,
soldiers. Native Americans, what looked to be early Chinese, and
more than a few women resembling the one from the side street.
The
woman stepped out of the elevator behind him. She hissed. "Jesus.
Is it always like this here?"
MacMillian
stared down at her. "What are you- you can see them?"
She
rolled her eyes. "Well, obviously. I'm a medium, remember?"
She started down the hallway, paused, and glanced over her shoulder.
"Are you coming?"
MacMillian
hung back. She shrugged. "Suit yourself."
She
walked up to the edge of the crowd and cleared her throat. "Okay,
someone want to tell me what you're all doing here?"
Multiple
heads swung towards her. An elderly man in a suit that would have
been the height of fashion in the late eighteen-hundreds stepped
forward. MacMillian strained his ears, but he couldn't hear what the
man said. The woman listened closely, made a curious sound in the
back of her throat and turned back to him. "He says there's a
medium here. Are you sure you're not sensitive?"
He
was feeling rather sensitive, but he shook his head. "I don't
even know what that means."
The
woman humphed. "That's what I thought." She turned back
to the man. "So you're all here to be moved on?"
The
man nodded.
Her
shoulders relaxed. She reached out and took the man's hand in hers.
His eyes widened, then a peaceful look came over his face. His lips
turned up. White light appeared in the center of his chest, expanded
outward until his entire body glowed. With what looked like a sigh
of relief, he evaporated.
MacMillian's
jaw dropped.
The
woman moved slowly through the crowd. Hand after hand reached out
for her. She took each one, held on until its owner flashed white
and disappeared. By the time she reached the office door, the
hallway was empty. She leaned back hard against the wall and closed
her eyes.
MacMillian
didn't remember moving, but somehow he was standing in front of her.
He closed his free hand around her arm and towed her inside, not
stopping until they reached his office.
He
slammed the door. "What the... what was..." He dragged a
sleeve across his brow. It was drenched in sweat, but his skin felt
freezing.
The
woman watched him, her eyes sympathetic. "Rough day, Magnum?"
He
glared.
She
sighed and rubbed her forehead. "That, my dear detective, was
the other San Francisco. You've probably seen it before, just out of
the corner of your eye. You've probably dismissed it all your life.
Maybe you always told yourself you'd just had too much to drink."
She paused, her gaze heavy on his face. MacMillian squirmed. "But
I'm guessing you always knew better."
His
head was throbbing. He shook it once, twice, but it didn't clear.
"I don't get it, Miss..."
"Alan,"
she supplied.
He
nodded. "Ms. Alan. Why are you here?"
Her
eyes darkened. "Because there are things that go bump in the
night, Mr. MacMillian. It's my job to bump back."
About
the Author:
L.J.K
Oliva is the devil-may-care alter-ego of noir romance novelist Laura
Oliva. She likes her whiskey strong, her chocolate dark, and her
steak bloody. L.J.K. likes monsters... and knows the darkest ones
don't live in closets.
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