by Eric Turowski
Story By Tess Cooper
Thirteen words in a want-ad turn Tess Cooper’s world upside down after she signs on as a paranormal research assistant to the mysterious Davin Egypt. He reveals a world of grave robbing, clockworks artifacts in blue amber, antique revolvers that fire strange ammo, and powerful forces beyond human comprehension.
As ancient occult energies threaten to destroy her city, Tess must use her journalistic instincts to stay one step ahead of the public works director, Drew Dawson, whose agenda seems bent on destruction rather than maintenance. And possibly murder, but will anyone believe her?
Yeah, right. When garbage trucks fly.
If Tess teams up with the hunky police lieutenant, Kirk Gunther, and the pale, oddball Mr. Egypt, they might be able to save the city in time. That is, if Egypt even wants to. And if Tess overcomes her phobias long enough to do battle in Granddad’s 1983 Subaru Brat.
Things are about to get icky.
I almost smiled. “I’m thinking I probably can’t take on this new job. I don’t think it’s for me. At the same time, I don’t know if I can work for a gutless newspaper even if they don’t fire me. There’s so much going on. I don’t know what to do. Hell, I don’t even know what I want to do anymore.”
“Well, you won’t have to worry about it after tonight.” He lifted a slip of paper from the table beside the window.
“That lotto ticket you bought. The drawing’s tonight.”
“I didn’t buy a lottery ticket.”
Granddad shrugged. “It was in the bag with the snuff and the coffee creamer. I asked for French vanilla, by the way, not that hazelnut crap.”
I’d forgotten about it. “Oh, that. I didn’t buy it. I found it.”
“Don’t matter. If you sign the back, the ticket’s yours.” Granddad put the slip back on the table and sank into the recliner. “Yep. We’ll be living it up, come tonight.”
“One less thing to worry about,” I agreed.
“Speaking of one less thing to worry about, you could do worse than that Davin Egypt.”
I searched for words for a second. “Excuse me?”
“Oh, I get why you wouldn’t want to work for some half-assed pet psychic. But the guy’s got dough. Plus, he’s tall, thin, a sharp dresser. I’m no homo, but I figure the gals probably like a guy like that.”
My own personal conception of Egypt was lanky, bony, and dressed like an undertaker, circa 1961. “You’re serious? And, please, don’t use the word homo in public, okay?”
“I got nothing against homos. Let people do whatever the hell they want. No skin off my nose. I’m just saying, the guy is well spoken; he’s polite, and you two seem to get along good. The way you’re talking, it sounds like you need to get a life. So go get one.”
“Okay, listen up, Granddad. Davin Egypt doesn’t own a car. As far as I can tell, he owns one suit. He lives in a church. He set up a Christmas tree in our kitchen, a tree that looks like a mental deficient on LSD decorated it. He doesn’t have a computer. Hell, he doesn’t have a phone. The guy is an absolute, total weirdo.”
AUTHOR Bio and Links:
Newspaper founder, bookstore owner, artist, musician, and man-about-town Eric Turowski writes lots of mixed-genre books when he’s not too busy playing laser tag with Tiger the Cat and his fiancée Mimi deep in the Central Valley of California.
You can learn more about Eric at www.ericturowski.com.
Connect with Eric online
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