"The eye sees only what the mind is prepared to comprehend."
Deadline
(Blood Trails Series, Bk 1)
By Jennifer Blackstream
Blurb:
As a witch with a dark past, Shade Renard knows the Otherworld isn’t always successful at policing itself. Humans don’t believe in magic anymore, and their ignorance renders them easy prey. So when an FBI contact hires her to consult on a possible haunting in a missing persons case, Shade seizes the opportunity to see justice done.
Her case takes an unexpected turn when an undead crime lord shows up on her doorstep. A bold thief stole the vampire’s little black book of secrets—and he’ll pay a lot more than an FBI consulting fee to get it back. To collect, Shade will have to confront a rogue sorceress, a vengeful wizard, and a lethally seductive fey, with only her wits, her growing magic, and a sarcastic pixie familiar.
Success means bringing a killer to justice and taking the first step to redemption. Failure means a war between humans and the Otherworld.
No pressure.
Available for purchase at
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Excerpts
“Didn’t
you say you weren’t drinking soda anymore?”
I popped the top on the can of Coke and took
a defiant swig, more than a little satisfied at the squeak of dismay that came
from my judgmental familiar as she wavered on her perch atop my head. “I
earned this. I killed a eurypterid before breakfast. Two eurypterids.
And I almost died. Not to mention, Mrs. Harvesty kept me on the phone for ten
minutes talking about that cat.”
“I
hate cats.” Peasblossom clung to my head like a living barrette. “Nasty
beasties, always try to eat me like I’m a flying snack. Barbaric.”
“I
love cats. I just don’t want to drop everything because Mrs. Harvesty claims
her furry little child is having an emotional crisis.”
“Emotional
crisis?”
“The
kitten is refusing to come out of his mummy’s boot.” I held a sip of Coke in my
mouth for a moment as if I were sampling fine wine.
Peasblossom snickered. “Puss
in Boots.”
I snorted, then swore as carbonated soda shot
up my nose, burning like fire. Peasblossom careened off my head in a fit of mad
giggles as I ran to the stove and the faded blue hand towel hanging there.
“Blood
and bones, that burns,” I wheezed, squeezing my eyes shut as I pressed the
towel to my nose.
More laughter made me open my eyes in time to
watch Peasblossom fly in a semi-drunken bobbing path to land on the counter
beside the stove. Tears of mirth glittered in her pink eyes, matching the
iridescent sparkles on her insect-like wings. “Serves you right for
drinking a second soda.”
I glared at her for a few minutes as I waited
for the burning to stop. When I’d recovered, I replaced the wet
towel with a clean one and deposited the soda-and-snot-spotted cloth in the
hamper. “If you’re quite finished, perhaps you could run me through today’s
to-do list? I want to make sure I didn’t forget anything.”
Still giggling, Peasblossom flew to the large
desk in the dining room and picked up a sheet of notebook paper tucked beside
the laptop. “Settle dispute between the hamadryads over who’s the
eldest,” she read.
“Done.
Once they realized the only way to age a tree is to lop off a piece of it, they
were happy to call it a draw.”
“Find
out if a goblin ate the Roberts’ dog.”
“No.
Sgt. Pepper was hiding under the neighbor’s house again. Mrs. Barns just didn’t
want to admit it because she didn’t want to hear Mr. Roberts accuse her of
trying to steal his dog for the tenth time. Sgt. Pepper went home when he got
hungry.”
Peasblossom peered at me over the top of the
list. “Find an office.”
I took a long swig of the soda, avoiding eye
contact. “Move it to tomorrow.”
“Again,”
Peasblossom said under her breath. She put the paper down and hefted a
miniature pen she’d taken from a child’s art kit. Sticking out her tongue in
concentration, she made a notation on the to-do list.
Aluminum groaned as I tightened my grip. “I will do it.”
“Of
course you will. Because you’re going to be a real detective.”
“Private
investigator. And yes, I am.”
“Mother
Hazel won’t like it.”
I clenched my teeth. No, my mentor wouldn’t
like it. I could hear her voice now, telling me to leave the battling to the
wizards—witches had more important things to do.
Like
play psychiatrist to a cat.
I strode over to the desk, put the can of
soda down with a determined thunk, then snatched up a stack of Post-its and a
black fine-point marker. Peasblossom watched as I scrawled, “Find
an office today,” and underlined today three times. I stuck the reminder to the frame of my computer screen.
“You
used a hot-pink Post-it. You must be serious now.”
I ignored her
sarcasm. I would find an office
tomorrow. It was time.
My instincts flared as I pulled into my
driveway. The sun had set and it was dark, but the automatic light on my garage
didn’t
come on. I frowned.
“Did
you disconnect the automatic light?”
Peasblossom curled against my neck, her wet
dress adding to a sudden chill in the air inside the car. “No.”
Unease rolled down my spine. I murmured a
spell, drawing a few circles in the air. “Lumen.”
Three glowing balls of
reddish light bloomed to life and hovered before me. I kept one over my head
and sent the other two forward, illuminating my path to the front door. I didn’t
open the garage door and pull in, but got out while I was still in the
driveway, already preparing another spell as I climbed out of the driver’s
seat.
“Revelare.” My power flowed in a wash of silver toward
the house, probing for any foreign magic.
Nothing.
“Stay
here,” I told Peasblossom. “If I don’t call for you, go to Mother Hazel and
tell her everything that happened today.”
“But
I won’t have anything to tell her unless I stay to see what happens,”
Peasblossom hissed. “I’m not leaving you.”
“This
might be nothing.” I kept my voice as low as possible. “The bulb may have
burned out. Don’t be silly.”
“I’m
not silly and I’m not stupid. You think there’s something bad inside. And a
witch never ignores her gut.”
A lump rose in my throat, and I fought to
swallow around it. “Please stay out here. I can’t bear the idea of anything
happening to you.”
Peasblossom gave my ear a ferocious hug. “I’ll
stay out here, but only as backup. I will never leave you.”
I waited for her to fly up and off my
shoulder before straightening my spine. This was my house. My village. Whatever
was here, whatever had violated my home, would be sorry. Power rose in my
throat, feeding the spell I’d readied.
“Shade,
look out!”
I whirled around and spat behind me. The
spell hurtled through the air, and I had a split second to see a dark figure
separate itself from the maple tree beside my driveway. The spell landed in the
grass, the viscous blue fluid of the entanglement spell pooling in the tree’s
shadow.
“Such
attacks will not be necessary.”
A man spoke from beside me, smooth and
masculine, voice heavy with an accent I hadn’t heard in a long time.
A very, very long time.
I turned, knowing I’d
never call up another spell fast enough. I raised my hand anyway, needing to
try, to go down fighting. A hand closed around my wrist, tight enough that I
swore I heard my bones creak. I gritted my teeth and stared into the face of my
visitor.
He was dressed in a suit that probably cost
more than my car. Long white-blond hair brushed his shoulders and framed a pale
face with sharp, graceful features. I couldn’t see what color his eyes
were in this light, but it didn’t matter. I remembered his face.
He went by the name Anton Winters, majority
shareholder of the Winters Group, a company that made the Forbes 500 list look
like a gathering of struggling start-ups. There were whispers he had criminal
connections, that he was former KGB. I knew the truth. And it was scarier.
Anton Winters had once been known by a
different name.
Prince Kirill of Dacia.
A vampire.
About The Author
USA Today bestselling author Jennifer Blackstream is…odd. Putting aside the fact that she writes her own author bio in third person, she also sleeps with a stuffed My Little Pony that her grandmother bought her as a joke for her 23rd birthday, and she enjoys listening to Fraggle Rock soundtracks whether or not her children are in the car.
Jennifer doesn’t have spare time, but she makes it a point to spend at least one night a week with her sibling binge-watching whatever show they’re currently plowing through (currently Numbers on Netflix), and she ferociously guards quality time with her son and daughter. She cooks when she has the sanity for it—adding garlic to the recipe whether it calls for it or not—and tries very hard not to let her arachnophobia keep her out of her basement on laundry day.
Jennifer doesn’t have spare time, but she makes it a point to spend at least one night a week with her sibling binge-watching whatever show they’re currently plowing through (currently Numbers on Netflix), and she ferociously guards quality time with her son and daughter. She cooks when she has the sanity for it—adding garlic to the recipe whether it calls for it or not—and tries very hard not to let her arachnophobia keep her out of her basement on laundry day.
Jennifer’s influences include Terry Pratchett (for wit), Laurell K. Hamilton (for sexual tension), Jim Butcher (for roguish flair), and Kim Harrison (for mythos). She is currently writing the series of her heart and her dreams, the series that has been percolating in her brain for the last decade…Blood Trails. An Urban Fantasy Mystery series that will combine the classic whodunit spirit with a contemporary fantasy setting. Expect mystery, magic, and mayhem, with characters that will make you laugh, cry, and probably stare at the screen with your jaw hanging down to the floor. Well, that’s how they affect Jennifer anyway…
You can find Jennifer at
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