by Lee Isserow
“There are many truths, Kala, you know that more than anyone. He is a better man for having a doting grandmother, than a geriatric mother and an... absentee father.”
“Who are you calling geriatric?” she scoffed, catching his glance and holding it. He let a smile come to the almost uniformly straight line of his lips. Even in her advancing years, she was as vibrant and beautiful as the day he first met her.
They would continue to watch over Jules, both of them, all too aware of how easily power can corrupt. But they also knew that given his lineage, his upbringing, and the man he had become, there would be no real need to fear where the power may take him. Even if he was The Prince Of Darkness, commanding mastery of all the shadows in this realm and their own, he would never succumb to the darkness himself, because love surrounded and flowed through him. And when it came down to it, Shaman and Kala knew full well that when there is that much love in a life, there are no cracks in which true darkness can reside.
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Keep reading for an exclusive preview of the next book in The Circle series!
The Circle Series continues with:
The Knowledge
Some things are not for humanity to know. And knowledge is a destructive force in the hands of those not intended to wield it. . .
The world is dreaming. Dreaming of things that would be impossible whilst they were awake. Until now.
Something is brewing in the minds of the mundane populous. Those that could not command magick are finding themselves able to do unimaginable things.
And there is intent behind this new understanding, intent from a vast and powerful being, that has designs on the world of man.
The more minds it reaches, the more powerful it gets. And soon, it will come for us, for our world, and only The Circle stands in its way.
But even The Circle's combined might pales in comparison to the untold power of a creature that in no uncertain terms. . . is a god.
The Knowledge is available exclusively from Amazon and ABAM.info
The Knowledge
1
No matter how many died
It was a whisper, nothing more. Not even a whisper of words, but of a notion. And yet that whispered notion was to sow the seeds of something that could turn the status quo on its head.
Not that any of those who heard the hushed tones knew that. All they knew was what the whisper imparted. That reality was not as they knew it. The natural order was 'order' in name only, that if they put the right intent behind their thoughts and motions, they could bend it to their will. They could become the masters of their own destiny. And they could manipulate reality to reflect their inner-most desires. But of course, those desires were no longer their own. The whispers had seen to that.
Its benevolence was marred by self-interest, as the benevolence of man often is. Not that the whisperer was a man in any capacity. . . but his brethren had birthed mankind, and if nothing else, it had that lineage in common with those it whispered to.
And soon, they would have so much more that united them. No matter how many died to make that possible.
*
The stars were brighter than Mark Shapiro had ever seen them, and that was the first clue that led him to realise he was not in the real world, but in a dream. Vast galaxies shone in the sky, no longer the desperate twinkles and winks of the waking world. They were brightly burning behemoths, a blanket of stars interconnected by the fates, bound by forces that no mortal man could hope to understand beyond giving them the terms of 'gravity', 'dark matter' and 'dark energy'.
In this place, Mark knew that these forces not only had names, but there was a logic to them. Rules of the universe that men such as he were never meant to know existed. Rules that could be broken. Broken in such a manner that―if he could believe the soft, and near silent voice that whispered in the back of his mind―he had witnessed with his own eyes time and time again.
But those memories were gone.
Or not gone, but taken.
He did not know by whom, but that was no mere notion. He knew for certain the memories had been ripped from his skull, replaced, rewritten, to serve the will of some force that did not wish him to know that the world he lived in was a whole lot stranger than he―and so many others―believed it to be.
That irked him, the idea of being manipulated. But he would not let that distract him. The knowledge that his memories had been altered was going to fade as soon as he woke. The anger, however, would remain, getting greater and greater with every night that passed, every dream that came. However, the reason for the anger would dissipate as soon as he returned to the waking world.
Mark cast his mind in another direction, redirected his focus. He wanted to make the most of his time within this place of dreams―the Dream Realm―as the whispers called it. Because within this place beyond the restrictions of his real life in the real world―the Natural World―the rules did not apply. And it was in this place that he could do wondrous things, he mused, he had only ever dreamed of.
Fire, for instance, was his to command. It obeyed his every whim, danced and weaved through the air as if it was just another limb that he operated. He could make it twist and turn, shape it and control the density and heat it would make, and with the change in temperature came a change in colour. He threw his hands into the air and created a rainbow serpent that arced across the sky. It pirouetted with the stars, engaged with their orbits and flow, as if they were partners in a grand choreography on a galactic scale.
It was not that he knew how he was able to control the fire. Not truly. It was not his understanding that gave him this gift within the Dream Realm. Not yet, at least. It was borrowed knowledge, lent to him by the whisper that had become a constant undercurrent in this place. Its voice rippled through him, its words vibrating in and around every cell of his being. It wanted him to play, and to learn by playing. It was encouraging him to have fun and push himself, in the hope that through play he would garner the tools it lay at his feet, to ultimately gain proficiency in all manner of reality manipulations, fire and beyond.
Because the whisper had plans for Mark Shapiro.
As it had for so many others.
And given how easy it had been to traverse its intent across the realms, it was confident that there was nothing anyone could do to get in its way.
The Knowledge is available exclusively from Amazon and ABAM.info
Elsewhere in the world of The Circle...
The Spirit Box
SYNOPSIS
It's not a nightmare if you're awake...
Ana's grandmother has died in a horrific fashion.
Soon, she finds herself under assault by the same supernatural forces.
With nowhere else to turn to, Rafe, a low-level magical detective comes to her aid.
He's been tracking the creature, and the box that appears to draw it forth. Together, they set out to put an end to the malevolent fiend once and for all.
But all is not as it seems with the entity that's hunting Ana down. Nor is all as it seems with Rafe, or Ana for that matter.
Everyone has secrets, and some secrets are powerful enough to kill.
The Spirit Box is available now
exclusively from Amazon and ABAM.info
The Spirit Box
Chapter 1
Its latest victim
He had been watching the house intently through the day, waiting for night to fall, waiting for the right moment. As much as every sign had brought him this far, nothing about it sat right. He was parked up in a car he had borrowed―stolen would have been more accurate, but he intended to return it. . . eventually.
The street was picture book London suburbia, a real neighbourhood, where people knew the folks living next to them, houses full of apparently happy families. Hardly the place for nefarious forces to be lurking. But “hardly” and “definitely not” are two very different things, he knew that all too well.
As with many of the capital's suburban streets, it rarely remained quiet for longer than batches of ten or fifteen seconds at a time. The road was a thoroughfare for the nearby dual carriageway. There was a constant stream of traffic driving back and forth, and he couldn't risk being seen breaking in, not until he was certain this was the right house. There was a part of him that was restless, a part that wanted to act, to do something before it was too late. But, he reminded himself, sometimes the only time to act is when it's too late.
The old lady that lived in the house pottered around constantly, dusting and vacuuming, polishing and cleaning. She sat down briefly to drink tea and do a crossword, but as soon as she had drained the pot dry, got back to her feet and returned to her regime of making everything spick and span. Something was compelling her to clean. From his view on the street, it felt suspicious, the house looked damn near flawless, the window frames acting as borders for photos from Perfect Elderly Person's House magazine. Maybe that was him projecting. After all, his place looked like the resident was a hoarder who died along ago, and weasels had been cohabiting with squirrels since his demise.
This could be it, he thought, if it is here, perhaps this is the way the possession has manifested. It wasn't how these things usually went down: it was much more common for these things to make a mess rather than tidy things up. However, as he knew full well, every possession was different, depending on the possessee, let alone the variety of possessor. That said, he couldn't comprehend, if this was the creature manifesting, how it would result in the old woman's death.
He took a deep breath, let it out with a yawn that he tried to dispel. It had been a long day of staking out the house, on top of a long week of tracking the box with his crude attempts at scrying and divination, from its last location all the way back home in Australia. He almost got caught at the scene of that one, amongst the blood-spattered walls, the grotesque mess of flayed flesh, and skulls that had been pounded into a pink and grey mush―ground to the point he couldn't tell bone from brain.
He had arrived too late that time, but he had also gone in with a cavalier attitude that was not conducive to getting the job done. This time, he would be smarter. He would not let the creature have its fill, not again. Its path of death and destruction would end there.
Assuming he was at the right “there”. . .
The warm embrace of slumber was a spectre on the periphery of his thoughts. Its siren song sounding so inviting. His eyelids growing heavy as he nuzzled into the seat of the car. He had never sat in a heated seat before, it was like a warm baseball glove holding his body. It wouldn't hurt to just knock the seat back a few turns, get more comfortable. After all, he reminded himself, comfort is an important part of stakeouts.
*
An ungodly scream woke him. It was dark, night had fallen whilst he had been asleep, and the agonising howl was most definitely coming from the house. He burst out of the car, peeling straight into a run across the road. Damn being seen―there wasn't time for subtlety. His fingers danced through the air just before his shoulder slammed straight into the door, blowing the latch apart into its individual components as it swung open, each of them clanging to floor as they bounced off into the darkness.
The wail ceased. Sickly slopping sounds, slapping and sloshing somewhere deeper in the house. His ears pricked up, all too aware that there was no logical explanation for why the screaming would stop on his entry. Not unless the creature had finished with its latest victim. Or, worse still, was lying in wait for a more substantial meal. . .
Cautiously, he stepped from the wooden floorboards on to a Persian-style runner carpet that went along the length of the hallway. It'd dampen his footsteps, and if he were lucky, the damn thing wouldn't hear him coming for it. Not that luck was often on his side.
Scanning the darkness, waiting for his eyes to adjust, he caught sight of a postcard sitting on a sideboard, a generic 'we tried to deliver' slip, from an unfamiliar courier. He pocketed it, and continued onwards. There were no further sounds in the house, but there was a breeze coming from somewhere ahead. Turning left through the closest door, he found himself in the sitting room, to the left was one of the windows he had been monitoring for the best part of the day. And to the right was the old woman. Or at least, what was left of her.
Her body lay faced down, clothes torn open from the back, skin ripped apart, revealing her crooked spine and ravaged organs to the world. Lying in a pool of her own fluids that was spreading out, slowly seeping into the carpet around her.
He cursed himself for not acting sooner. The creature had been there, but whether it was still there was another matter entirely. Tentatively, he walked towards the body, stepping around it, out of the reach of the withered old hands. He had learned the hard way that the hands of corpses he encountered often had a habit of grabbing him at inopportune moments. The door to the back garden was open, sending a cool chill through the house. There was a sound at the door. Not at the back door, but the front, where he had entered. A light, hesitant knock, followed by a shrill voice shouting “Hello?”
He held his breath. Froze in place. Running into the house was an idiot move, and he knew it. Someone must have seen him. . .
“Mum? You left the door open again!”
A daughter. That's why she was cleaning the house. . . not some damn manifestation of the thing that crawled out of her. He grunted to himself softly, there was no time to check the rest of the house, he had to get out of there. Soft, plodding footsteps were already coming his way. He slipped through the back door and darted across the garden. He was too late again, and this one was on him. There was no sign of the creature, no sign of the damn box. Once again, it had slipped through his grasp.
- - - -
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Thank you kindly for being an observer to my mental deterioration.
Other Books By The Author
The Circle chronology
(free) Murder at Raven's Lodge (free)
Rafe Clarke is a magical private investigator. He's by no means a great detective, but sometimes the last guy you're willing to call is exactly the guy you need. . .
The Spirit Box (Freelancers #1)
Ana's grandmother has died in a horrific fashion, and soon, she finds herself under assault by the same supernatural forces.
With nowhere to turn, Rafe, a low-level magical detective comes to her aid.
But all is not as it seems with the entity that's hunting Ana down.
Nor is all as it seems with Rafe, or Ana for that matter.
Everyone has secrets, and some secrets are powerful enough to kill.
Shadowmancer (The Circle #1)
Jules was born with a gift, but until now, he's only used it for small and selfish reasons.
That will all change as he's inducted into The Circle, a mystical espionage organisation that puts the gifted to work, saving an unknowing world from malevolence that hides in the shadows.
And Jules knows shadows all too well; he can command them to do his bidding...
(free) The Loiterers (free)
Rafe’s house has been under surveillance - and as soon as his back is turned to teach Ana magic, they take full advantage.
All of a sudden, Rafe and Ana find themse
lves chasing the thieves around the world - because if the loiterers escape, there’s no telling what damage might be done...
The Roving Death (Freelancers #2)
An unexpected dinner guest seems the most innocuous of occurrences – however this guest heralds something dark and deadly that is spreading across London.
But death is the only way to defeat death – and Ana never signed up for murder. She'll have to decide whether she truly wants to be a freelancer after all... But the clock is ticking, and the mundane world is unprepared for what has been unleashed upon it.
The Knowledge (The Circle #2)
The world is dreaming. Dreaming of things that would be impossible whilst they were awake. Until now.
Something is brewing in the minds of the mundane populous. Those that could not command magick are finding themselves able to do unimaginable things.
But even The Circle's combined might pales in comparison to the untold power of a creature that in no uncertain terms. . . is a god.
The Prince of Darkness (Freelancers #3)
