Release
Date: February 10, 2014
Target
Reader: Adult
Keywords: Urban Fantasy
Description
Demon hunter Ty Burdin hung up his
guns, knife, trench coat and fedora a year ago. Bags packed, hands washed of
all demon politics, he’s done. Forever.
In fact, to get far far away, he dragged Nora, his rockabilly secretary, from
Miami to the Tennessee mountains where he’s lived a life of peace—if peace can
be defined as drowning in scotch and taking private eye jobs to keep the lights
on. Jobs for real people. Not demons.
No demons.
He’s retired from that. Remember?
Demon hunters aren’t a dime a dozen, though, and when Ty’s brother asks him for
a favor—just one—what’s a brother to do? Agreeing to take down one hillbilly
demon shouldn’t take that long. In. Decapitate. Out. Favor complete. Back to
the office where Nora and his bottle of whiskey are waiting.
Unfortunately for Ty, staying retired doesn’t seem to be in the cards, and an
avalanche of bad luck draws him right back to an agency he despises and the
career that nearly cost him his sanity.
This time, Ty has no way out and will have to face his own demons just to
survive.
Links
Guest Post
Tips for Fighting Demons from Alex Nader
Hey, everybody. So Jen has asked me to drop in and
give you all the lowdown on fighting demons. Demon hunting is pretty serious
business and not something just anyone can do. So remember, these are worst
case scenario tips here. I would not, repeat, WOULD NOT go seeking out a demon
to slay. They are scary and
evil and generally have bad breath.
First thing to know is: holy artifacts,
incantations, whatever else are all useless. Demons don’t really come from
hell, they come from your head and the demons in your head aren’t at all
concerned with what the power of Christ is compelling. So holy water, crucifix,
rosary, altar, etc should all be left at home.
Let’s stick with obvious weapons choices here. I
mean, a grenade would be a lot of help, but not everyone can get their hand on
those babies. So, next obvious choice: omelets. Wait, no, we’re talking demons,
not breakfast. I get distracted sometimes, but really, omelets are so good.
Some cheese, a little hot sauce, and
veggies…I’m rambling.
Okay, phew, back on point. Obvious choice: guns.
Yes, guns will slow down your average demon. There aren’t many things out there
that are oblivious to grape-sized pieces of metal lodging themselves inside
their flesh. So yes, if you have a gun open fire like it’s St. Patrick’s day
and you are firing off warning shots toward green beer haters. Wait, I hate
beer. No, please, don’t shoot at me…
Sorry, sorry. Won’t happen again, I promise.
This is the point where you’re asking yourself,
‘What the hell can I do to stop a demon?’. I’ll tell you what the hell you can
do, cut its head off. Decapitation kills everything. It’s a motto those in the
demon hunting business live by. Bullets, arrows, fire, repeated groin shots:
all these things can slow a demon down, but if you really want to end the
thing, you have to take its head off. Well, of course it’s grim, we are talking
about hunting demons. What did you think I would say, buy it some ice cream?
Thanks so much for the Alex! I'll be sure to go for the head if I ever come across a demon. Who am I kidding, I'd probably run away screaming ;)
My Review:
Here’s
a story about a man named Ty
Ex
demon hunter, now private eye.
He
barely escaped the hunting life
Grotesque
demons and a hell of a lot of strife.
One
year later he’s being dragged back in
Back
to killing demons and his own demon within.
Only
something is different this time around
More
demons than ever are here above ground.
Can
this tortured man do what no one else can?
Can
he stop the demons and their master plan?
Trust
me, you will not regret reading Beasts of Burdin
Because
sarcastic wit, action, & mystery you’ll find within.
Still
not convinced? Perhaps Nora can persuade you
Her
confident style won me over and I’m sure it will you too.
An
undiscovered author who doesn’t take any of Ty’s crap
She’s
a force to be reckoned with and well that’s a wrap.
If
you’re still not convinced then I don’t know what to say
Other
than it's great and I hope you pick up Beasts of Burdin today.
Excerpt
Chapter 1
“Ty Burdin! Answer the phone already. It’s your brother.” The voice comes from
the next room in a tone usually used by stress-fried mothers, not
twenty-something-year-old receptionists. The harsh words crack through my
whiskey-soaked brain like someone snapped a bullwhip in my ear. I pick my head
up off the desk and wipe the drool from my mouth, as she bursts in the door.
“He’s adopted, and good morning,” I say, opening the drawer to my desk and
digging through it.
“It’s not morning. It’s past noon, you lazy drunk.” Her tone is accusing, but
there’s a slight smile to her ruby red lips. I really do think Nora gets
enjoyment from trying to keep me in line. Her rockabilly style, all tattoos and
polkadots, might scare some people off, but honestly, I think it’s kind of
cool.
“Fine, I was wrong about the time, but you’re wrong, too,” I say.
“Oh, yeah? How’s that?” Nora kicks her hip to the side and props a hand on her
leopard print skirt.
“I’m not drunk. I’m hungover.” I pull out a flask full of scotch and take a
long drink. “I’m working on getting back on track, though.” I tip the flask
toward her.
“I swear someone’s gonna find you in a ditch one day.” Her voice has a trace of
concern, but it’s mostly drowned out by annoyance.
“In my line of work, that’s almost a guarantee. Now, can you tell me why you
disturbed my ugly sleep?” Ugly sleep is a gross understatement. No amount of
alcohol ever seems to drown out the vision of the young, innocent girl burned
into my memory. The scene is even more ominous in my dreams than it was in real
life.
A thunderclap breaks the silence of my memories. Nora stares down at me, hands
stuck together. “Wake up, drunkard. Hartnet’s been trying to reach you on the
phone for the past fifteen minutes.”
The pocket of my jacket buzzes, probably been ringing the entire time. Nora
walks over to where it hangs by the door and withdraws the phone. “Jesus, Ty.
You’ve got four missed calls, ten new messages, and over twenty emails. Do you
ever check this thing?”
“No.” I have the phone, but honestly, I hate it.
Nora sets the still ringing phone on my desk, puts her hands on her hips and,
using only facial expressions, guilts me into picking up.
“Hello,” I say into the phone that smells of smoke. I use my free hand to dig
out cigarettes and a lighter.
“Ty! Finally, man, where you been?” Hartnet asks.
“Oh, you know me. I just got back from hiking the Swiss Alps with Edmund
Hillary.”
“Real funny, Ty, but I imagine you’ve been spending more time with Jim or
Jack.”
“God, no, I hate southern whiskey,” I say. “I prefer a fine scotch, Macallan to
be specific.”
“You prefer whatever’s in front of you as long as there’s a proof label on the
bottle,” Hartnet says.
I don’t have any argument for that. “So, what do you want?”
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