Adam Chance, a divorced, world weary PI has his life shaken up when his son goes missing in mysterious circumstances.
Yet what begins as a missing person investigation soon turns into an exploration of the supernatural as Chance finds himself lost in a world of the undead, demons and modern day sorcerers.
With the help of the mysterious Professor Zal-Al-Raad and his manservant Omar, Chance sets out to confront the shadowy figure behind it all, a dark Sorcerer who hides behind the mask of public benefactor. Recreating an ancient ceremony and using Chance’s son as a sacrifice he plans to resurrect Balec, an ancient Babylonian god, something that will give him ultimate power.
Yet as they set out for the Sorcerer’s secluded mansion they realize their enemy is more powerful than they’d imagined, protected by dark magic and a horde of un-dead.
And they only have until midnight to stop him.
Sensuality rating: 0
Cover Art by Bev Haynes
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It was a long night for Chance, made bearable by regular sips from his flask of bourbon. Spying on unfaithful husbands always wearied him for it meant hours of inactivity. He was sitting in his beat-up Ford with a camera in hand simply waiting for the right moment. He could wait for hours to get a shot or he could look away for a moment and miss it.
His opportunity finally came at six-thirty in the morning as the husband, a Mr. Joseph Carver, or ‘that fat, little, two timing prick’ as his wife affectionately referred to him, got out of bed to answer a call of nature. In the process of doing so he walked past the window of room number five of the Clifton Motel, butt naked, his pale, flabby body revealed in all its glory.
It was a good first shot. The second proved the clincher when Carver returned and his athletic, raven-haired secretary, whom Chance suspected couldn’t type for shit, got to her knees and displayed her affection for him. Any court in the land would screw him over in the divorce settlement for that one. Chance took a third and final shot ten minutes later when Carver sneaked out of the motel.
Chance waited a minute or so for him to disappear then started his engine. Despite the successful conclusion to the case he felt no real satisfaction with what he’d done, merely a mild self-loathing. Cases like this made him feel unclean. The only gratification he got was the knowledge he could pay the office rent next month.
The drive back to Brooklyn took about forty minutes and he was now beginning to feel the effects of fatigue. Coffee and whisky alone had kept him going this far. He decided to go for a walk and pick up his paper before he went back to his office. It was a cold, late October morning and he hoped the frosty air might help.
He yawned as he shuffled down the street, a weary, lumbering six-foot-five bear of a man. People with more pressing business hurried past, giving him a wide berth. He stopped at his usual vendor. The man behind the small, makeshift kiosk looked up at him. He was an overweight, balding figure, somewhere in his late fifties. He took a sip of something hot from a paper cup and gave a smile showing broken teeth.
“Chance,” he greeted the detective, his hot breath forming a cloud in front of him. “How you doing this morning you big lug? Ain’t seen you for a few days.”
The detective gave a shrug of his powerful shoulders. “Been busy Saul,” he replied as he took one of the tabloids from the rack. He handed the man the two dollars sixty for it. The vendor took the money and placed it in a leather pouch around his waist.
“Interesting case?” he asked.