Titan_Kingdom of the Dead_An Epic Novel of Urban Fantasy and Greek Mythology

by Daniel Mignault

  — Daniel & Jackson

  Hades is Free! What happens next?

  The adventure continues in

  GIFT of DEATH

  The Gods War, Book III

  — available July 27, 2018 in eBook and paperback —

  Afterword

  If you enjoyed this book, please write a review!

  A lot of people think sequels are easy, and maybe they are if the author decides to “phone it in,” but that’s not the way Dan and I work. We knew we had something special with Titan, so for the sequel, we wanted to make everything bigger, better, wilder. We had to deepen the characters. We had to make them even more real.

  One of the things that made writing Book 2 so hard is that it takes place in a new location, Tartarus, so we had to world-build almost entirely from scratch! That meant research. A lot of research, into everything from locations to mythical creatures, even the type of rocks. Not to mention magic and the afterlife…

  Kingdom of the Dead sends our series in a more traditional fantasy direction, but we want to assure you The Gods War is still an urban fantasy series. Book 3 will return our heroes to Earth and the New Greece Theocracy. There will be plenty of shocks and surprises along the way, since they’re not out of Tartarus yet… What will Hades do? How will Cronus respond?

  You can be sure Andrus and Hannah will be caught in the middle as The Gods War rages on. Don’t miss the next exciting book in the series!

  — Daniel Mignault & Jackson Dean Chase

  WE NEED YOUR HELP

  Did you enjoy this book?

  If you did, please write a review of Kingdom of the Dead to help other readers discover the magic of The Gods War series.

  And if you haven’t written a review of Titan yet, please take a moment to leave one now. Thank you!

  — Daniel & Jackson

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  JACKSON DEAN CHASE

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  More Great Books to Enjoy

  THE BEST URBAN FANTASY AND SCIENCE FICTION

  EXCITING NEW NOVELS BY USA TODAY BESTSELLING AUTHOR

  JACKSON DEAN CHASE

  BEYOND THE DOME

  Science Fiction Series

  Book 1: Drone (releases August 3, 2018)

  Book 2: Warrior (releases August 10, 2018)

  Book 3: Elite (releases August 17, 2018)

  Book 4: Human (releases August 24, 2018)

  JON WARLOCK, WIZARD DETECTIVE

  Urban Fantasy Series

  Book 1: Warlock Rising (releases Sept. 14, 2018)

  Book 2: Warlock Revenge (releases Sept. 21, 2018)

  Book 3: Warlock Reborn (releases Sept. 28, 2018)

  NEW NOVELS BY

  DANIEL MIGNAULT &

  JACKSON DEAN CHASE

  THE GODS WAR

  Urban Fantasy Series

  Book 1: Titan

  Book 2: Kingdom of the Dead

  Book 3: Gift of Death (releases July 27, 2018)

  Want to read exciting previews of these series and more?

  Get a free book at

  www.JacksonDeanChase.com

  Warlock Rising Sneak Preview Chapter 1

  FULL NOVEL RELEASES SEPTEMBER 14, 2018

  It was another Black Friday in the Emerald City. November rain beat my spirit like a punch-drunk fighter from an angry sky. I sat in my office in the old Mireton Building overlooking Pioneer Square. It was a pile of bricks left over from a few centuries ago when the city was new. The rent was cheap, the downstairs windows barred. It was that kind of building in that kind of neighborhood. The Mireton was ugly, sure—there was no disputing that—but it had a certain character. Some might say charm. It also stood on a ley line, which is fancy wizard-talk for a naturally occurring magical power source. Basically, my office came with the magical equivalent of free wi-fi.

  I'd been working out of the Mireton for five years. The past few hadn't all been rosy though. The city had redevelopment plans for the area, and they'd begun by tearing down first one eyesore, then another. The two most recent casualties were on either side of the Mireton: the condemned Rent Rite Apartments and Pacific Star department store. The Pacific Star had been boarded up for years, but the city'd had some trouble convincing the last of the Mireton residents to vacate. Some of them had nowhere else to go—nowhere affordable, at least—and traded sleeping in their rent-controlled apartments for bedding down in rent-free alleys. Loft apartments had gone up in their place, though the new buildings had been slow to fill thanks to the economic downturn.

  I took a sip of morning coffee, winced, and sighed. No Starbucks for me, just a bitter bargain brand. Straight black. I rolled my battered chair over to the enormous bay window that was the central feature of my top floor office. The dirty glass hadn't been cleaned in years, and was one of those things I'd been hounding the landlady about. The window had my name emblazoned across it:

  JON WARLOCK

  PRIVATE EYE

  Of course, the words appeared backwards to me. They were meant to be read from the street, five stories below. There was a design element under my job description: the Eye of Horus. It was an ancient Egyptian symbol that was supposed to provide protection as well as good health. Symbols on their own are just that, and more to make the user feel better than provide any real benefit. I'd added it to the glass as part in-joke and part clue I wasn't your normal P.I.

  But it wasn't just to be clever. Inside the pupil, too small to be seen from the street (and barely noticeable even up close), I'd inscribed a protection ward written in my own blood. I hadn't had a chance to test it yet, and I hoped I never would, but investing in a good ward is like having a good insurance policy: Better safe than sorry.

  I rubbed my dirty sleeve against the even dirtier window and peered out. Seattle was still Seattle—wet, cold, and lonely. Above me, the sky was nothing but rain. Below, the street nothing but bums. Pioneer Square was crawling with them: the mad, the homeless, the damned. I was one of them once, before I came into my power.

  The knock at the door startled me. There was a hesitation in the first two raps, then the next two were more forceful. A bill collector wouldn't have been so nervous. That meant it was a client.

  “Come in,” I said, rolling myself back behind my desk. I was prepared for a client, but I wasn't prepared for what walked through my door. To call this redhead beautiful would be an understatement. Her hair was flame-red, framing a flawless face.

  “Are you Jon Warlock?” she asked. “The wizard?”

  I sat a little straighter in my chair and tried to keep my eyes on her face instead of where they wanted to go. “That's me. Please, have a seat.” I motioned to the guest chair across the desk and opposite mine.

  Whoever this redhead was, she was no slouch at making a good first impression. She smiled, revealing even white teeth, and shut the door behind her. Crossing to the chair only took seconds, but she knew how to make each one count. Lithe. Cat-like. She sat, crossing her legs and smoothing her skirt.

  Her perfume crept up my nose and made me forget my usual witty banter. It was all I could do to ask, “Um, how can I help, Miss…?”

  She gave another of those coy smiles of hers and I realized my jaw was hanging open. I snapped it shut with an audible click.

  “My name's Whately,” she said. “Constance Whately.” She seemed to be waiting for me to recognize the name, but not only was my mind drawing a blank, it was drawing a lot of other things too, most of them not fit to mention. “Of the Bellevue Whatelys,” she added.

  “Ah,” I said. I wasn't much for keeping up with the social register, but it seemed to me I'd heard the family name before. They'd made their money designing software, maybe some kind of app, like so many of the new rich. Bellevue was definit
ely ritzy. I'd only been there once, for a sci-fi convention, and that had been decades ago. The only thing I remembered (other than getting Leonard Nimoy's autograph), was how clean Bellevue was. For a city, it hardly looked lived in at all.

  I leaned forward, steepling my fingers and putting on my most serious expression. “How can I be of service, Miss Whately?”

  She shrugged. “You're the detective. You tell me.”

  “I'm also a wizard,” I replied, “but I won't be needing my crystal ball to guess why you're here.”

  “No?”

  “No, besides, if I did use it, I'd have to charge extra.” That got a small smirk from her, so I continued. “Let's see… Judging by your age, your appearance, and the fact that you picked me of all people, I'd say you're in trouble or you know someone who is.”

  “That doesn't take a genius,” Constance said. “Perhaps I made a mistake coming here.”

  I chuckled. “Yeah, I get that a lot, but I never advertised I was a genius. Just a wizard.”

  “Not the only one in the book,” she argued.

  “That's true,” I admitted, “so either you want a single man outfit who knows how to keep quiet or the Bloodstone Agency turned you down. Which is it?”

  Constance frowned and sat a little straighter in her chair. “I require discretion, Mr. Warlock.”

  “I see.” I turned toward her. “Well, I'm nothing if not discreet. So is this a missing persons case?”

  “How do you know it's not a cheating husband?”

  “You do know what you look like, right?”

  She smiled briefly at the compliment before her expression darkened. “Yes, it's a missing person. My sister, Veronica, hasn't come home in days. It's not like her. My father and I are worried.”

  “And does your father know you're here?”

  “No. Father wouldn't… well, he wouldn't approve, that's all.”

  “Of hiring a wizard?”

  Constance shook her head. “A detective. I don't think he'd even understand the wizard part.”

  “Not many do. Have you reported your sister's absence to the police?”

  “Not yet. Father and I are hoping to avoid any unwanted publicity.”

  “Of course. I'm assuming Veronica is an adult?”

  She nodded. “My sister turned eighteen last week.”

  I guessed Constance's age to be in her mid-twenties, but she might have been thirty. It was hard to tell. Beauty like hers had a timeless quality. I cleared my throat politely and asked a harder question. “Do you think Veronica ran away from home or do you think she was abducted?”

  Her eyes flickered before answering. “Does it have to be one? Can't it be both?”

  I furrowed my brow. “You'd better explain that.”

  “Well,” she hesitated, then continued, “She left the house on her own initiative, but I don't think she's being allowed to return. The people she's with—they're a cult.”

  Now things were beginning to make sense. There were plenty of cults in Washington state, some harmless, some not. Most were an offshoot of Christianity, some were Wiccan, and others worshipped darker things. The problem with any cult, of course, was their tendency not to want to let go of their members. Especially pretty girls. Or wealthy ones.

  “A cult?” I asked. “What kind of cult?”

  Constance shuddered, which like anything she did with her body, was a joy to watch. “They call themselves the Sisters of the Way. They're witches. They claim to be good—'white light' and all that—but it's just an act. I think they're after my sister's money. When she turned eighteen, she inherited a large sum.”

  “How large?”

  “Large enough. Half a million.”

  I whistled and leaned back in my chair. I hadn't heard of the Sisters, but there were too many cults to keep track of and new ones sprang up every day. “What makes you think they're not sincere?” I asked.

  “Veronica is young and impressionable, and not altogether right. In the head, I mean. She got into witchcraft about a year ago. Everything seemed fine at first, although she was acting a bit more eccentric than usual.” Constance noticed the look I gave her and shrugged. “No offense.”

  “None taken. Magic attracts the eccentric and tends to magnify that quality in its practitioners. That doesn't mean we're not right in the head…”—and here I paused for dramatic effect—“just that we're attuned to a different wavelength. You can't open yourself to the mysteries of the universe without being changed. Some of us more dramatically than others.”

  “I wouldn't know about that,” Constance said, “but I do know that my sister won't listen to anyone who isn't into the occult. That's the other reason I want to hire you; you speak the same language when it comes to all this funny business.”

  I forced a smile. The uninitiated often disparage the magically inclined, so I tried not to be offended. I tried hard because this was the second crack she'd made against my profession. Beauty can make a man overlook a lot of flaws the first time, but repeat offenses will eventually break any woman's spell. As far as Constance was concerned, I resolved to only give her three or four more chances before deciding I disliked her.

  “So you want me to investigate this cult and find out what their intentions are toward your sister?”

  “I don't care about the cult. I want you to bring Veronica home.”

  “That could be difficult. Your sister's an adult; she doesn't have to go anywhere she doesn't want to.”

  “Persuade her then. Make her see it's in her best interest.”

  “And if I can't? If she refuses to come with me?”

  Constance shrugged. “Can't you force her?”

  “I'm a detective, not a kidnapper.” I could tell my answer wasn't to her liking, so I added, “What I can do is try to convince Veronica returning home would be in her best interest. To do that, I'll need to dig up some background on the cult. What do you know about them?”

  Constance reached into her designer handbag and handed me a glossy brochure for the Sisters of the Way. I skimmed it, surprised by the professionalism of their marketing pitch, but what really stuck out was their talk about exorcism. Apparently, they promised protection from demonic forces and evil spirits. That wasn't the only thing they promised, but it was the one part of the sales pitch that someone—I assumed Veronica—had circled in red ink. I scratched my chin with my free hand, looked at Constance, then back at the brochure. The Sisters of the Way had a West Seattle address on Alki Point. OK, that meant a trip across the bridge, maybe twenty minutes assuming I could avoid rush hour and holiday traffic.

  I held up the brochure. “Mind if I keep this?”

  Constance nodded.

  “I'm assuming you found this in Veronica's room? That she's the one that circled the stuff about exorcism?”

  “Yes.” A pained look came over my new client's face. “She's delusional, Mr. Warlock.”

  “Call me Jon.”

  “Fine. Here's the thing, Jon…”

  I arched an eyebrow and waited.

  “My sister got drunk one night last week and told me she got in over her head with all her conjuring or whatever. She talked about demons stalking her; she thinks she's possessed.”

  “Is she?” It was a fair question, but I didn't expect a fair answer, just the usual close-minded talk of schizophrenia or bipolar. Not that those things weren't real and far more common, but what most “normal” people failed to realize was that possession was real too. A person possessed by a ghost or demon could easily mimic the symptoms of mental illness.

  “Of course not!” Constance snapped. “She's just confused, that's all. If my sister won't agree to come home, convince her to check herself into a hospital. A good one that knows how to evaluate people in her condition.”

  I was taken aback by the suggestion. “You mean a mental hospital?”

  Constance sniffed at the word disdainfully. “I mean a facility where she can get help from real professionals, not from these… these cha
rlatans! They're preying on her fear. You have to help her.”

  “I can try.”

  “You mean you'll take the case? Oh, thank you!” The redhead's whole face lit up. “You don't know what this means.”

  “Yes, I do. It means a thousand a day plus expenses.”

  Warlock Rising Sneak Preview Chapter 2

  FULL NOVEL RELEASES SEPTEMBER 14, 2018

  Part of me was glad when Constance was gone. I'm an introvert and enjoy my privacy. Dealing with anyone in the real world drains me, but dealing with a woman—especially one that looked like Constance—took even more out of me. It's a complicated dance talking to clients, feeling them out, then negotiating my fee. She hadn't even blinked when I'd told her. She'd just reached in her handbag and handed it over, her fingers close to touching mine, then drawing away at the last second.

  The bargain was made.

  I picked up the money, fanned it, counted it again just for fun, then stuck it in my wallet. A thousand bucks! And that was just to start. I didn't much care for material wealth, though I appreciated the things money could buy—or buy off. Mostly, what I appreciated it for was what it represented: freedom. The freedom to be left alone. To not have to slave at some mindless nine-to-five that would kill my soul faster than any demon.

  Freedom is important to wizards. Freedom from the reality the material world imposes on us, from bills and other nonsense.

  I paused to lock up, then cast the minor protection ward I always used over the door. It was a few muttered words and mystic gestures that created an antipathy effect should anyone try to break in. Basically, it made them feel uneasy, like they were being watched, and included the telepathic suggestion, “This is a bad idea; there's nothing here.” The ward stayed in effect until I returned or someone broke it, whichever came first. This had the added bonus of telling me if anyone had broken in, as I'd immediately know if it was still in place or not as soon as I touched the door.