I think most people will say they like it when an author takes risks, goes for something different and writes outside the box.
This is an ambitious novel, a novel that shuns the formulaic pitfalls and conventionality of other bestselling paranormal fantasy sagas. This is Stacia Kane at the top of her game—it is a writer evolved, a storyteller matured, an imagination fully unleashed upon the world…Dark, stylish, and wildly original….
I think that this book should have come with a do-not-read-before-going-to-bed-or -you-will-be-up-all-night disclaimer. There were so many twists and turns! Chess was a very unique individual. In a genre full of kick ass bounty hunters and assassins and law enforcement officers, it was a breath of fresh air to read about a less than perfect, flawed character that read almost like an anti-hero.
Of course that also means said series is going to have a lot to live up to. Note: this excerpt is from the pre-copy-edited manuscript. Final version may vary slightly. For there are no gods. Had the man in front of her not already been dead, Chess probably would have tried to kill him.
Damned ghosts. Now when she needed her bonus more than ever, there he was. Mocking her. Hyram Dunlop, formerly of Westside, banker and father of two, all deceased. Dunlop should have been resting for the last fifty years, not turning up here to rattle pipes and throw china and generally make a nuisance of himself.
Next came the tall forked stang in its silver base, garlanded with specially grown blue and black roses. She set the bag of dirt from Mr. Her small cauldron in its holder took a few extra minutes to set up. Dunlop moved behind her, but she ignored him. Showing fear to the dead—or any sort of emotion at all—was asking for trouble. She filled the cauldron with water, lit the burner beneath it, and tossed in some wolfsbane.
The set of his jaw lost some of its defiance as she pulled out the salt and started sprinkling it. Her gaze wandered to the grandfather clock in the corner, just outside the sloppy salt ring. She was starting to itch. Not badly, of course. But it was there, making her mind wander and her toes wiggle in her shoes, when she needed to be sharp. Pausing only long enough to snatch up the bag of grave dirt, she raced after him.
She grabbed a small handful of dirt and flung it at them. Dunlop fell. His silent lips formed words which were probably not kind.
She ignored him, ducking into the fireplace to mark the flue with chalk before he could try again. From her pocket she pulled her Church-issued Ectoplasmarker—nobody ever said the Church was clever, just that they knew how to protect humanity from spirits—and uncapped it. Dunlop stared up at her, his face rippling in panic. She leaned toward him and he sank through the floor. Before he managed to disappear completely she ran back downstairs and grabbed her salt, finishing the hallway while Dunlop floated through the ceiling—outside of the circle.
Chess glanced at her altar. The psychopomp was coming. Dunlop backed away when she started towards him, holding the Ectoplasmarker out in front of her. Now she just had to get him back into the circle and get the symbol on him before the dog came. He got lucky. The dog took the ghost. But that was luck, nothing else.
Without the passport, the minute that dog finished materializing could be the last minute of her life. Dunlop bumped into the wall and glanced back, surprised. Ghosts could choose to touch inanimate objects or slide through them…until the object was solidified on the metaphysical plane. This will be a lot easier if you just relax and let me do my job, you know. Have it your way. I command you to leave this plane of existence. She jumped when the growl echoed through the room and the skull leapt into the air.
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