Black And Blue
Quentin Black Mystery, Book Five
JC
Andrijeski
Genre: Paranormal Mystery / Romance/
UF
Publisher: White Sun Press * Date of Publication: 7/27/16
ISBN: 9781370573745 * ASIN: B01J4AXZ8U
Number of pages: 336 * Word Count: 101,005
Cover Artist: Jennifer Munswami * at J.M. Rising Horse Creations
Book Description:
“He’d be fresh meat here. And he
didn’t have his sight...”
Black takes a new consulting gig
with the LAPD, helping them find a contract killer who left a dead body behind
the Los Angeles Theater. Despite Miri’s lingering fears after what happened to
him during the last murder case he worked, he assures her it’s routine, that he
won’t be doing fieldwork, that nothing could possibly go wrong.
Then, during his first night on the
job at the Port of Los Angeles, all hell breaks loose and all bets are off.
Black wakes up in a nightmare he
couldn’t have foreseen, with no way out and no idea how he got there. Robbed of
his psychic sight, he can’t even call to Miriam for help, or use his abilities
to figure out where he is, who took him, or what they want from him.
On the outside, Miri is frantic,
working with the police and Black’s team to find him. She has even less
information than Black… until a confession from her Uncle Charles brings her
face to face with a much older enemy, the same enemy that may have killed her
entire family.
BLACK
AND BLUE is book five in the paranormal mystery romance starring brilliant but
dangerous psychic detective, Quentin Black, and his partner, forensic psychologist
Miri Fox.
Book Trailer: https://youtu.be/OWlwoa8lOBY
Excerpt: Prologue
HISTORY REPEATS
ALARMS EXPLODED
OVERHEAD, bells clanging. The sounds slammed into his skull like a rock wielded
by a psychopath. Grimacing, he raised a hand to his eyes, though it wasn’t
bright. Blood pressed against the bone of his skull, harder with each throb,
like a beating heart.
Even past the
pain, he was groggy. He felt nauseous––that specific kind of sick feeling he
associated with a head injury. But he might have been drugged.
He couldn’t clear
his head enough to decide.
Either way, the
specifics likely weren’t important. He got the gist. Someone clocked him good.
He’d been out cold, at least a few hours.
He tried to
retrace his mental footsteps.
The port. That
asshole, Mozar, dragged him out to the port with his SWAT guys and Hawking and
a few other detectives. It was supposed to be a simple job, advisory only. He
was there as a goddamned consultant, which was humorous in and of itself.
Then it all went
wrong. Seriously crazy shit went down.
Hawking... it all
started with Hawking.
He fought to
think, but everything kept fuzzing in and out. He got details, fragments, but
it wasn’t enough to piece together. He knew that might be the head injury too.
He also knew––unfortunately, from previous experience––that he might have gone
into ungrat, the seer stasis, if they’d hit him hard enough. If so, his
memories should start filtering back if he didn’t get himself too banged up
again in the next twenty-four hours or so.
Unfortunately, he
suspected he was in danger of banging himself up again right now.
The knowledge came
without words, without additional information.
It didn’t come
from reading anyone with his “psychic” ability, either––a term his wife,
Miriam, still insisted on using, no matter how much he bitched at her at the
inadequacy and fuzziness of the lame, New-Agey (and human) meanings of the word
“psychic.”
This was pure
instinct. That same instinct told him, unequivocally, that he had only a few
minutes to get his head on straight or he was in serious fucking trouble.
Opening his eyes
reluctantly, he looked around at where he was. That sense of danger started
vibrating his skin, making it hard to focus at first. A different clanking
sound came from a lot closer, ratcheting up that feeling of concern. He was
definitely in danger.
He reached out
with his sight, trying to pinpoint the source...
...And pain ripped
through his spine.
It was so intense,
so completely unexpected, he let out a broken gasp.
Then he lay back
on the mattress, panting.
Understanding
filtered into his mind, then disbelief.
He sat up in a
near panic that time––but had to stop, panting and hanging his head when nausea
overwhelmed him a second time. He lay on a thin mattress pad over what looked
like concrete. He recognized the institutional gray, even before his eyes
shifted to the bars and wire mesh that made up one wall of the cell.
His hand went to
his throat, a reflex he hadn’t had in years, one he’d broken in himself
deliberately. When he first got to this version of Earth, he used to reach
reflexively for his throat every time he woke up. He would feel around the full
circumference of his neck, making sure, reassuring himself that he really had
left that behind, that he wasn’t there anymore, in that world where his people
lived like animals.
As his fingers
closed over the cold metal now...
His mind fuzzed
out.
Then he was
breathing too much, panting, half-groaning as his hands followed the thing
around his neck, using both hands now, feeling around to where it hooked into
the base of his skull. He winced at the pain where the prongs sank into the
back of his neck.
It was the same.
Exactly. Fucking.
The Same.
He reached out
with his sight––carefully, that time––and the collar shocked him again. It was
a lot less intense that time, but it still gritted his teeth. And it hurt like
hell.
He let out a
furious growl, then tried again.
That time, the
collar shocked him harder––hard enough to blur his vision.
He sat on the edge
of the cement bench, panting, so filled with rage he couldn’t think straight
for what felt like several minutes.
Disbelief flooded
his mind a second time; denial blotted out everything else. He knew he had to
focus on the danger he could still feel coming, but he didn’t give a shit. Rage
and denial and disbelief erased the pain he felt in his body, the wounds he
hadn’t yet catalogued but knew were there. He forgot his pounding head,
reaching out with his light a third time, trying to see, to use his seer’s
sight.
The brushed metal
collar shocked him for a full minute that time. That pain in his head exploded,
getting so bad he couldn’t make a sound at first.
He barely noticed.
He tried to use
his sight again.
The shock that
time nearly blacked him out.
“No.” He spoke
aloud without knowing he meant to, his voice a low, deep mantra after that
first whisper. “No, no, no, no... fuck no, this isn’t happening... this isn’t
fucking happening...”
He yanked on the
collar, pure instinct again, no reason.
The pain that
rippled up through the back of his skull that time did knock him out.
He came to seconds
later, groaning.
Pulling himself
off the mattress a second time, he lurched to his feet, slamming his head into
a shelving unit above him, which forced him to sink back to the bed, letting
out another low cry of pain. He gripped the thin mattress below and the shelf
above, breathing through the blinding throbs at the base of his skull, fighting
to calm down, to clear his mind. His shoulder hurt too, bad enough to reach his
awareness beyond the deeper pain coming from his head.
Once he could see
again, he heard another loud clanking and looked up. He watched in disbelief as
the heavy metal door set in the far wall slid open in front of him.
Then, the rest of
it finally fell utterly into place.
He was in fucking
prison.
He looked around,
taking in the scratched, metal-plate mirror, the metal sink and toilet
combination, the table and shelf bolted to the opposite wall. A plastic
television with a clear-plastic body stood on that shelf. Otherwise, the room
was empty, stripped of life.
Someone knocked
him out, put a sight-restraint collar on him, and stuck him in a fucking prison
cell.
Looking down, he
saw he wore royal blue formless pants, a white tank top. He had a bandage on
his shoulder and one around his arm.
He touched the
collar again, tentatively that time.
His fingers
followed it to the back of his neck, where the prongs of metal burrowed into
his skin, wrapping coldly around his spine. He touched the whole thing with
both hands, still feeling that as the biggest point of unreality.
It was definitely
a sight-restraint collar.
Was he back in
that goddamned shit-hole where he was born? Did he fall through another
goddamned door? He struggled against the idea, the rising panic that came with
it.
Then another
realization hit him. Miri.
Gods. Miri.
If he wasn’t on
that Earth anymore...
But his mind
couldn’t finish the thought.
For a few minutes
he could only sit there, breathing too hard, fighting to think. He looked at
his body, at his clothes. As he did, the panic that briefly paralyzed his mind
began slowly to recede. This was fucking-A real, all right.
But he was still
on the right Earth.
None of this was
right for his home world. None of it. He was wearing prison fatigues, but they
were human. If he was back in that other world, they wouldn’t have left his
hands and feet free. No way. Not at his sight rank.
He’d be wearing
organic or semi-organic binders, not just the collar. They’d have him chained
to the wall. And no way in hell would they open the door with him un-cuffed
inside. The door was all wrong, anyway. Back home, that door would be pure
organic metal, possibly with a sliding view hole. Or organic glass.
The cell would be
dark.
He would also
probably be drugged, or hooked up to wires. He definitely would have been beat
up more, not just groggy from a head injury.
And yeah, the
clothes were all wrong.
Black’s rational
mind slowly began to take over as he looked around the small cell. This was
definitely what he thought of as his Earth. Back home, they didn’t house seers
like this, even during Black’s time. Now they probably had even more sadistic
tech toys to control people like him. They’d definitely have surveillance in
the room.
Taking another
deep breath, he flipped over his arm, looking at his old race-cat tattoo. He
found himself relaxing even more when he saw the skin unbroken.
If they’d picked
him up in the old world, they would have re-chipped him immediately. He’d had
the old one removed as soon as he possibly could, about ten years after he
first reached this world. Running his fingers over the smooth skin, he forced
himself to take another breath.
So he was still on
the right Earth. The Earth where his life was.
The Earth where
Miri was.
But how the fuck
would anyone know to collar him here? And if they knew that much, why would
they put him in with a general population at all?
Well, unless they
were trying to disappear him.
Or kill him.
At the thought, he
rose shakily to his feet––more cautiously that time. He gripped the cement
shelf as he got up, using it for balance. Turning his head slowly, mostly
because of the pain, he looked over both sides of the room, reassuring himself
it was empty. He knew he wouldn’t be alone in here for long, though.
His eyes returned
to the open door.
He could already
hear the sounds.
Prisoners leaving
their cages, joking, laughing, talking loudly, starting to walk the catwalks.
Heading in his direction.
New guy. He’d be
the new guy.
He again fought to
pull his head together, knowing he didn’t have a lot of time. He couldn’t be
found in here like this, half-blind with pain, clutching the collar and whining
like a wounded dog. He’d been in prisons before. That had been in a different
world, a different time and place, but some things wouldn’t have changed.
Some things never
changed.
He’d be fresh meat
here, just like he had been back then. And he didn’t have his sight.
Welcome to the
jungle, motherfucker.
Welcome home.
Bangkok Halloween
Guest Blog by JC Andrijeski
I’m an Amreican living in Bangkok,
which means every year around this time, I experience Bangkok Halloween.
Holidays are always kind of a trip when you live abroad, anyway. They were
weird when I lived in India and while they might be somewhat less weird here, they still have a
distinctly different flavor than they do in the States.
I’m lucky living here though, in
terms of American holidays –– Bangkokians love a good party. They’re also wide
open to celebrating any event deemed interesting by the locals, whether Thai or
not. It doesn’t hurt that there are a ton of Americans living here.
I learned this my first Halloween
living here, when I decided to venture out and see if I could find some fellow
ghouls and goblins for some (mostly) harmless Halloween fun. Even though there
wasn’t the full range of kids trick-or-treating on the streets or decorations
in all the stores... there were a TON of Halloween bashes. There was even a
Halloween street fair for kids and families, along with haunted houses, a big
horror film event, numerous costume parties and other themed events at bars and
restaurants for the more “adult” take of Halloween.
Thailand has a big market for
paranormal stuff in general, so I guess it shouldn’t be surprising. They have a
yearly Comicon in Bangkok, and of course all the supernatural and romantic and
action movies, as well as most of the television shows. My first Thai teacher
was a HUGE Supernatural fan, (meaning the television show) and we’d often get
totally sidetracked in lessons to talk about that, the Vampire Diaries and all
else sexy and supernatural.
Maybe that’s why I don’t feel too out of place
here, despite the culture gaps. Still, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss
Halloween in the States. It’s probably “the” holiday for a lot of my friends...
and I really miss the kid side of things, and all the decorations and
craziness.
Also, in a tropical climate, you
just don’t get the colors from the leaves changing or the carved pumpkins or
fireplaces... or the fall skies. The weather alone is a pretty stark reminder
of being in a distant land.
Still, I have to say, I really love
where I live. It works well for me as a writer too, so for now at least, I
might just have to plan more visits to colder climes during the spooky time of
the year...
Until then, Happy Halloween
everyone!
JC Andrijeski is a USA TODAY
bestselling author who writes paranormal mysteries and apocalyptic fiction,
often with a sexy, romantic and metaphysical bent. JC has a background in
journalism, history and politics, and loves martial arts, yoga, meditation,
hiking, swimming, horseback riding, painting… and of course reading and
writing. She grew up in the Bay Area of California, but travels extensively and
has lived abroad in Europe, Australia and Asia, and from coast to coast in the
continental United States. She currently lives and writes full-time in Bangkok,
Thailand.
To learn more about JC and her writing, please visit:
Website http://jcandrijeski.com
FB author page: https://www.facebook.com/JCAndrijeski/
Twitter: https://twitter.com/jcandrijeski @jcandrijeski
Mailing List: http://hyperurl.co/JCA-Newsletter
Amazon Author page: http://amzn.to/2dThSL9
Goodreads author page: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4470130.J_C_Andrijeski
Tour giveaway:
2 full ebook sets of the first four
Quentin Black Books
1 signed copy of Black In White
(Quentin Black Mystery #1)
$25 Amazon Gift Card
No comments:
Post a Comment