Charm
City
The
Demon Whisperer
Book
One
Genre: urban fantasy
Publisher: Red Fist Fiction
Date of Publication: August 23, 2016
ASIN: B01J42MO7Q
Number of pages: 174
Word Count: 48,000
Cover Artist: Ash Krafton
Book Description:
The darkness is rising and one
man stands against it: the exorcist mage Simon Alliant. But in Baltimore, he
finally meets his match...a part-mortal divinity with the power to whisper away
demons.
Simon Alliant is an exorcist who
battles demons, whether he wants to or not. Sometimes it's not so bad...he gets
to play with magic, after all. But for Simon, magic represents a demon of
another kind. He's addicted to magic and it takes more than a handful of charms
to keep that particular demon at bay.
Chiara is part Light, part Dark,
and stubbornly mortal. The woman has a way with words: she literally talks
demons into abandoning their human hosts. Simon thinks that's not the only
trick she has up her sleeve-and that's pretty high praise coming from a mage like
him.
As intriguing as that may be,
Simon has too many reasons to distrust her...one of them being his more-or-less
partner, an angelic Watcher. Amidst all the celestial warnings of the rising
dark comes a new prophesy that makes him wonder: is Chiara a threat to him and
all of mankind?
Or will she be his salvation?
Excerpt:
CHARM CITY: The Demon Whisperer #1 by
Ash Krafton
CHAPTER
ONE
"You seem much improved, Mr. Murphy." The social
worker folded her hands on top of his file, a fat many-paged collection of his
previous ins and outs. Saint Berenice had become more than a temporary
lay-over. It was starting to feel like home.
Which meant he'd stayed too long. "Feeling better,
sweetheart. Time I move on."
"But you were extremely vulnerable when you arrived. I
must insist." She shook her head, peering into his eyes.
He avoided that burrowing gaze and stared at the folder. A
photograph was paper-clipped to the cover, the name KEVIN MURPHY printed in
block letters across the top. Dark hair, dark eyes. What his mom would have
called "properly Black Irish", clipped and shaved like a dandy. He
snorted a soft derisive sound, knowing that he looked nothing like that when he
was at his worst. That's the picture they should have—rumpled shirt, straggly
almost-beard, dark rings beneath gray ghost eyes, the magic still burning
through his veins. On the wagon was
such a school boy look.
"Kevin." Her voice made him look up again.
"For your own sake."
"I'm not doing this for my sake. I'm doing it for
yours."
She bit her lips, a look of resignation on her face.
"I think that this is premature. You feel rested, don't you? You look
healthier. But it wasn't just anxiety that brought you back here, or the worry
of a relapse. You are avoiding the true reason you haven't attained
peace."
"I avoid a lot of stuff. It's how I stay alive."
"But your addiction—"
"You don't know the first thing about my
addiction." Simon regretted the sharpness of his tone but was unable to
soften it. "Don't presume the answer lies here among your group therapy
and your Jungian theories and your psychological voodoo. If I say I'm better,
it's because it's as better as I'm going to get."
A long silence passed between them. She'd never been
anything but polite to him, even helpful at times; the game was different now.
Truths were going to out themselves, truths that tended to drag everyone nearby
down with them. He'd hurt her, just now. He couldn't prevent collateral damage
but he had a duty to minimize it. Even if it meant he had to be an asshole to
do it.
"You have to sign here to discharge yourself against
doctor's orders," she said, her voice heavy. She flipped open the back
cover to a printed medical form.
"I checked myself in." He took her pen and signed
the bottom of the paper with a flourish. Kevin
Murphy. As good a name as any, but he could never get the letter v right. Maybe it was time for a new
alias. "I can do the same in reverse."
The therapist sighed and closed the file. She pulled a
yellow envelope out of a basket. Opening it, she tipped the contents out onto
the signed paperwork.
Wallet, cell phone, wristwatch, religious medallions, the
wand. It rolled toward him and he snatched it up, shoving it into his breast
pocket before collecting the other items. "Ah. My worry-stick. I was
looking for that."
"Kevin, I don't think a simple worry-stick is enough
to conquer the demons inside you."
"We'll not talk about my demons, sweetheart. Not when
they can hear you." His smile faded, his eyes going glassy and hard.
"Until next time, eh?"
He snapped an about-face and strode out of her office, down
the taupe-colored hallway toward the door, pausing until he heard the
electronic buzz of the lock release. He left the facility, doors slamming shut
behind him.
The air was balmy, remnants of sea air tainted by traffic
fumes as it filtered through miles of city sprawl. Ah. He inhaled deeply
through his nose. The smell of freedom. Good to be out and about again.
Then again, he'd had a similar thought when he checked
himself in month ago. Shrugging, he straightened his jacket and set off toward
the news stand on the corner. Freedom came in many forms.
He hadn't made it to the sidewalk before a warm wind and
the scent of clean linen surrounded him.
"Simon."
He caught the whispered sound of his real name and tilted
his head toward it.
His real name was nearly an unknown thing these days,
especially after having played the role of Kevin Murphy, career mental case and
junkie from Boston's darker side. He'd created the alias so long ago that he'd
nearly forgotten the details of Kevin's manufactured life.
If only his time as Kevin allowed him to forget his life as
Simon.
Looking around, he spotted a tall, pale man wearing a tunic
and loose pants, leaning against a tree. Sandy brown hair fell in soft curls to
his shoulders, framing a sculpted face that seemed unbeguiling.
So out of place in modern Boston. If the dude wasn't
careful, he'd get mugged. Good thing he was more or less invisible to ordinary
people.
The tall man straightened himself and walked toward him. A
vague mist hung about his shoulders, trailing behind him like a shadowy fog.
It would have seemed unnatural if Simon didn't spend so
much time hanging about on the wrong side of nature. Odd mists weren't enough
to put him off. They weren't even enough for him to mention.
"Mack." Simon looked him up and down. Sandals.
Another reason to mug him. He really needed to get with the times. "Long
time, no see. What, you couldn't visit even once? Not even on Tuesdays? We had
Taco Tuesdays, buddy. You really missed out."
"You were trying to regain your sanity, Simon."
The man's voice was smooth and melodious, a mild accent that couldn't be pinned
down to any one region. Or millennium, for that matter. "I doubt visions
of an angel would have helped."
"Shoot, sanity. It was good old R and R."
"Was it, now?" Mack pursed his lips, eyes brows
raised. He had a very human-like quality to his features, if one ignored the
ghost of his wings. "I thought it was…antidepressants and group
therapy."
"Well, the first week or two. But then nothing but spa
days from there on out."
"Mmm." The angel smiled, a gentle radiance that
elevated his already-beautiful features. "A solid month of being
magic-free? How did it feel?"
Simon ruffled his hair. He couldn't lie, not to the one
entity that had never lied to him. Magic
and free never belonged in the same
sentence. "Feels like I can use a smoke. Shall I buy my ciggies now or
after we land?"
"After. We need to get your boots on the ground right
away."
"I just got out of the looney bin, pal. Give me a
moment to acclimate."
Mack slowly shook his
head. "There was a gathering at the Ladder today. Simon…the darkness is
rising."
"Why not?" Simon hung his head, defeated.
"Can we just skip the Metatron light show and just have the down and
dirty? They held my afternoon Valium and my head is splitting."
"But you lose the surety—"
"I've never gotten anything but the straight shit from
you, Mack. So let's have it."
"There is a…traitor."
He rolled his eyes. Half of Mack's heavenly announcements
began with those same words. "There's always a traitor. Why does this one
get divine attention?"
"Because it's an internal concern. A child of the
Light has one foot in the darkness. It needs to be handled…delicately."
"And you need good old Simon Alliant to be the heavy.
Figures. Nobody else willing to get their wings dirty." He cracked his
neck and spared a forlorn glance at the newsstand down the street. "Where,
this time?"
"Baltimore."
Simon groaned. The original Charm City. He'd taken a great
deal of ribbing from an old master about previous sojourns there. A man who
used amulets for a living had no business in a city with so trite a nickname.
"I hate being that close to D.C."
"You can complain afterwards." The angel stepped
behind Simon and wrapped his arms around his chest, emitting a soft glow that
began to encompass them both.
"I usually do." Simon closed his eyes, waiting
for the pull and the drop.
The power hit swiftly like freefall, pulling his breath out
in a gush.
For a moment, his essence was caught between two places,
his molecules stretched apart, his spirit suspended in a void. Memory couldn't
reach him here. His past couldn't catch up to him here. It was a perfect
singularity, this being in the now.
True freedom, the shortest lived of its kind. Yet the
perfection of the moment was tainted. Tainted with a dread he couldn't outrun.
He dreaded the inevitable instant this tiny reprieve would
end.
Hi!
Welcome to another stop on the Haunted Halloween Spooktacular blog hop!
I'm
Ash Krafton and I'm a writer of all things speculative fiction. I especially
enjoy writing novel-length urban fantasy…and recently I celebrated the release
of the first book in a new series. CHARM CITY is about an exorcist mage living
in Baltimore. Simon Alliant sees it all—angels, demons, and those who may be a
little bit of both. On top of everything else, he gets to play with magic. Now,
if only it didn't feel like a drug to him…
The
story can be a little bit dark at times, but it's not horrific or hopeless. I
like the dark. I like the shadows. Why wouldn't I? I'm the girl who thinks the
ideal fictional boyfriend is Jack Skellington. (Makes trips to Disney fun for
the whole family ;^) )
And
it's all because I adore
Halloween.
My
enthusiasm for Halloween is long-established and well-known (just check my
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/p/6--VFEHg8u/?taken-by=ash_krafton). I'm
the neighbor who keeps Halloween decorations up year 'round, has a life-sized
toy skeleton (named Napoleon) who accompanies me on long car rides, and who
lives every day like it's Edgar Allan Poe's birthday. Halloween isn't a one-day
celebration (or, in the case of someone who works in retail, a six-week event.)
It's a philosophy, an attitude, a way of life.
I love scary movies and love
being scared silly. I know 90% of it is in my head but I'm in my forties and
STILL can't look in a mirror in a darkened room. (You know why. Her first name
is Bloody and her other name is NO I WON'T SAY IT) My desk has, among other
things, a skull in a jar on it (with pretty LED lights. It's festive) and I own
more than one Tarot set.
But
not a Ouija Board. Nuh, uh. That's
bad juju.
I
suppose my guests are a little confused by my office décor (and the Grim Reaper
mannequin in the basement) especially since there is another theme prevalent in
my home: Catholicism. I'm an Irish-Polish Catholic and for every macabre
knick-knack there's a Crucifix or a saint statue or other blessed item.
I'm
pretty sure it aggravates my mother, who has learned to choose carefully where
to look when she visits and tends to stay in the kitchen. (No skulls in there.
Not good kitchen aesthetic.) But she knows me. She knows how my brain works and
knows that when I call and say "I have a new book coming out!" odds
are it's going to be something she doesn't think a good Catholic girl should be
reading. But she accepts it, in that way moms love even the goofiest of their
children. I love Halloween. She loves me. It's just the way it is.
I've
dealt with anti-Halloween prejudice all my life. In high school, I owned a
vampire cape, and I'm talking in the pre-Lost Boys eighties. Nobody got it. In
college, I discovered Anne Rice and assumed a safe place for people like me
existed, after all, since the Humanities Dept. pretty much sanctioned vampires,
right? Wrong again.
By
the time my kids were old enough to attend the local parochial elementary
school, I had just decided I was going to let my vampire flag fly. Too bad for
the kids on Halloween. They could Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle all they wanted
but the lady who ran the PTO Halloween party dressed like a vampire and
wouldn't make them feel better by insisting it was a just costume. (I also had
cultivated a rich throaty Mu-hahahahaha laugh that made first graders scurry
out of the room real fast. It still makes me laugh all these years later.
Mu-haha.) In fact, I still say they were lucky I limited it to Halloween. I
could have dressed like that every Monday when I ran the school bookstore.
The
teachers gave me a lot of side eye and probably thought, Oh well, she's a volunteer. Buy cheap, get cheap.
But
that was their anti-Halloween prejudice talking. If only they knew just how
Catholic Halloween really was.
Halloween's
Nativity
Many
people associate Halloween with pagan practices, but that's really not where it
all started. In fact, the connection people make between Samhain and Halloween
is actually an historically recent development.)
Halloween
began way back before the ninth century as an association to All Saint's Day,
which Catholics observe on November 1. It is a Holy Day of Obligation which
remembers all those who have been blessed in Heaven.
Way
back then, they used the word hallow
for saint. November 1 was,
accordingly, referred to as All Hallows.
That made the evening before, October 31, All
Hallows Even… or, you guessed it…hallowe'en, for short.
November
2 was celebrated as All Souls Day, a day to remember those in purgatory (a
time-out for those souls who hadn't behaved enough to go directly to Heaven.)
But what about those not in Heaven or Purgatory? If there is to be a Day of the
Damned, it needs to find a different spot on the calendar because one thing's
for sure: it's not Halloween.
Oooh, Spooky
What
about all the occult aspects of the holiday?
The
idea of the occult is Catholic, too, as it's based on our belief in the
afterlife. During Hallowtide (October
31-November 2) it's thought that the boundary between the living and the dead
was thinned, and ghosts or other communications from the "other side"
were more likely to occur. Whether we want to admit it or not, we Catholics are
a massively superstitious bunch. Those beliefs may have led to the practice of
dressing up like ghoulies on Halloween.
Culture
may have grown to associate Halloween with scary, dark, or even evil things but
it's really just a way to observe and recognize our own mortality. Consider the
Danse Macabre: an ages-old artistic
rendering of the truth that beggars and Kings, and all between are united by
Death. Danse art decorated cemeteries
and churches, and was performed in verse and in dramatic performances. Writings
from the fifteenth century proclaimed:
Wer war der Tor,
wer der Weise,
Wer der Bettler oder Kaiser?
Ob arm, ob reich, im Tode gleich.
Whether
foolish or wise, beggar or king, rich or poor, all are equal in death.
Perhaps
modern man lives too lush and comfortable a life to believe we are conquerable
by Death. Maybe we all believe we're a little bit immortal. Reminders of the
inevitable end are considered an interruption to our lifestyles, a thing to be
abhorred.
But
let's face it: there is a skeleton walking around inside each and every single
one of us. Where is the evil in that? It's just life.
So,
to all the holy Hallow-haters, I say: relax. Halloween is an expression of my
Catholic faith. I don't need a novena to save me from the dark side, even if I
do wish every day was Halloween.
My
stories are a reflection of my beliefs. Yes, I write about vampires and demons
and the fight between Light and Dark, good and evil. I believe that fight is
real, and is present in each of our lives to some degree. But I also explore
the element of faith and the hope of redemption. Art imitates life, right?
And,
while I may not wear my cape much these days (thanks, pharmacy day job, you
party pooper, you) the sweet shadows and macabre poetics will always fill the
corners of my heart.
Don't
be afraid to let them fill yours, too.
About
the Author:
Ash Krafton (@ashkrafton) is an
author of speculative fiction. She's an unrepentant Ultimate Sinner who once
guest-hosted a radio show on Sirius XM Radio channel Ozzy's Boneyard (and
proclaimed Alice Cooper to be "dead sexy.") She also writes urban
fantasy and paranormal romance, stories that seek to find redemption for her
characters. Vampires, demons, reincarnation…you name it, she writes it.
Currently, she's celebrating the release of the first in a new series of magic
and mayhem: CHARM CITY (The Demon Whisperer #1) is available on Kindle
Unlimited now.
Website: www.ashkrafton.com
Facebook: www.facebook.com/ashkraftonauthor
Twitter: www.twitter.com/ashkrafton
Goodreads: www.goodreads.com/ash_krafton
Pinterest: https://www.pinterest.com/demimondeash/
Instagram: www.instagram.com/ash_krafton
Tour
giveaway
Ash is giving away three print
proofs of CHARM CITY (The Demon Whisperer #1), each with a unique handmade
charmed bookblade. (She loves the shiny things!) Want to try your luck? Enter
now!
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