Looking for something new to read?   I’m giving away from ebook versions of The Heretic: Book One of the Templar Chronicles to everyone who signs up for my mailing list.  Just enter your name and email address in the form on the right and you’ll receive instructions on how to download your copy of this bestselling urban fantasy tale.

Publisher Roy Robbins over at Bad Moons Books sent over the final cover art for the forthcoming Templar Chronicles Omnibus today and I wanted to share it with you all.  Pre-orders will begin very soon (next couple of weeks, I’m told) and I’ll be posting more information about that as soon as I have it.

One of the guilty secrets I’ve been keeping for the last few months is that Bad Moon Books will be releasing a trade paperback omnibus edition of the Templar Chronicles trilogy. The book will sell for somewhere between $25.00 – $30.00 and will contain the complete English text of all three Templar novels – The Heretic, A Scream of Angels, and A Tear in the Sky.

Here’s the really cool news – I recently heard from Roy at BMB and he tells me that we’re looking at having the books available by the end of July/early August!

Typesetting on the volume is nearly finished and it will be going to the printer shortly after that, which means pre-orders will start in just a few weeks. What this space for more information as we get closer to the date.

For now, though, let me leave you with the gorgeous cover art created by Kip Ayers. He’s done a marvelous job and I can’t wait to hold a copy of this book in my hands!

Book three of the Templar Chronicles – A Tear in the Sky – is now available in a variety of digital formats as part of the “Read an Ebook Week” promotion at Smashwords.

A Tear in the Sky: Book Three of the Templar Chronicles

When Cade discovers that his wife is not truly dead, but held in some kind of arcane status between the lands of the living and the lands of the dead, he vows that nothing will stop him from freeing her soul from the prison surrounding her.

But when an old friend calls on Cade to help protect the city of Boston from an ancient scourge, the Knight Commander will be asked to chose between rescuing his wife and saving the lives of those he has vowed a holy oath to protect.

Visit Smashwords to read a sample or purchase your copy today!

Available formats: Kindle, ePub, PDF, RTF, LRF, Palm, and Plain Text

(Use coupon code RAE25 at check out to save 25% off the price of the book)

Book One, The Heretic, is available here and book two, A Scream of Angels, is available here.

As I mentioned in my earlier post, I’m helping support “Read an E-Book Week” by releasing digital versions of all three of the books in the Templar Chronicles trilogy. This is the first time that books two and three have been available in English and I’m looking forward to hearing what you think of them – are they worthy successors to The Heretic?

A Scream of Angels: Book Two of the Templar Chronicles

When the lone survivor of a secret research installation wanders out of the desert, barely alive and babbling about demons hunting through the halls, the Templar Order is quick to call in Cade Williams and his Echo Team combat unit. Their orders – investigate the facility, determine exactly what happened there, and deal with any infernal presence that might exist.

But the being they encounter there beneath the desert sands has found a way to break the bonds of Hell itself and doesn’t plan on going back easily. This time, their foe might prove to be too much for even the men of Echo Team.

Visit Smashwords to read a sample or purchase your copy today!

Available formats: Kindle, ePub, PDF, RTF, LRF, Palm, and Plain Text

(Use coupon code RAE25 at check out to save 25% off the price of the book)

Book One, The Heretic, is available here and book three, A Tear in the Sky, will be available tomorrow, so come on back and check out the rest of the series!

As a big proponent of digital media and the ability it gives authors to expand their reader base, I wanted to do something special to help celebrate “Read an E-Book Week” that runs from March 7th through March 13th.  I’ve been planning a digital launch for the English language editions of the Templar Chronicles books for some time now and what better time to do it than during “Read an E-Book Week”?

So, starting today, and continuing throughout the week, I’ll be making the three books in the Templar Chronicles trilogy – The Heretic, A Scream of Angels, and A Tear in the Sky – available in a variety of formats through Smashwords at a discount price (25% off).  After that, the books will be available at various online distributors, including right here at this website in the new Digital Store, at the usual rate.

THE HERETIC: Book One of the Templar Chronicles

Centuries after the Knights Templar were presumed destroyed at the hands of King Phillip and Pope Clement V, the Order resurfaces as a secret military arm of the Vatican, charged with defending mankind from supernatural threats and enemies.

Of the Orders’ enemies, the greatest are the Fallen, supernatural beings that claim to be fallen angels and are devoted to wreaking havoc on earth.  It is contact with one of the Fallen that led to Knight Commander Cade Williams becoming a Templar.

When a cabal of necromancers tries to claims the legendary powers of an ancient holy relic for their own ungodly purposes, it will be up to Cade and his famed Echo Team to stop them before it is too late.

Praise for The Heretic:

“First-rate, stylish work from Mr. Nassise, with a steady escalation of the story’s speed that makes it almost literally breath-taking.” — Clive Barker

“With HERETIC, Joseph Nassise kicks off his TEMPLAR CHRONICLES in fine, swaggering style. This book bobs and weaves like the young Muhammed Ali, keeping us off-guard and entertained with its every surprising move.” — Peter Straub

Visit Smashwords to read a sample or purchase your copy today!

Available formats: Kindle, ePub, PDF, RTF, LRF, Palm, and Plain Text

(Use coupon code RAE25 at check out to save 25% off the price of the book)

Book Two, A Scream of Angels, will be available tomorrow and book three, A Tear in the Sky, will be available on Wednesday, so come on back and check out the rest of the series!

My German publisher wrote today to tell me that we have both a new title and new cover art for the second book in the Hunt Chronicles.

The official German title will be Geraubte Seelen, which translates into English as Stolen Souls (or, more accurately, souls that have been stolen.) I think that’s pretty good, given the book’s storyline. I also think the cover goes very nicely with the art to book one, Der Schattenseher, which you can see here.

I’ve always been a fan of both diversification and experimentation when it comes to my writing career. From my soon-to-be-launched cell phone project to making my work available in a variety of digital formats, I’ve tried to examine different ways to bring my writing to the people who value it the most – my readers.

2010 is going to be an adventure in living out that belief; I’m going to try different things and see just what folks respond to the most.  And I’m happy to say that I’m here to announce the first of these experimental ventures – The Mirror’s Road.

The Mirror’s Road is a novel I’ve had hanging around in the back of my head for awhile.  It’s such a mix of genres that I’ve never even tried to sell the idea to a publisher – it would probably give the guys in the marketing department fits as they tried endlessly to pigeonhole it into one genre or another without success.  But it’s a story I want to tell, one I want to share with all my fans, so I’ve been looking for a way to do just that.

I found it through a little site called Kickstarter.

You see, Kickstarter is a site devoted to doing just what its name implies – kickstarting projects with the help of others.  People pledge money to a project in return for cool rewards and a behind-the-scenes look at the development process from beginning to end.  The site is backed by Amazon.com, which provides an appropriate measure of security to the entire process.  It’s all or nothing funding, too; if a project does not meet its financial goal in the timeframe set (between 1 and 90 days) then no money changes hands.

I’ve turned The Mirror’s Road into a Kickstarter project, as you can see from the widget below, and I want to  invite you all along to share the ride with me.  If you decide to back the project – and there are various levels of doing so from $5.00 to $100.00, with appropriate rewards for each – you’ll get to participate in the project with me, providing suggestions on everything from character traits to plot lines.  You’ll get to follow along from development of the intial idea to the actual writing, from the production of the cover art to the final printed product.  And regardless of the level of backing you chose, you are assured of getting a copy of the completed book as my way of saying thanks for supporting the project.

So what’s the book about?  I can tell you it’s an urban fantasy novel, full of things that shouldn’t exist in a world that doesn’t quite believe in them. And it’s a road story too, about a young man on a journey, searching not only for his destiny but also for the almond-eyed girl that appears in his dreams each night, the girl that calls him on through the darkness. Who they are and what they mean to each other? Well, I think we’ll find that out in time.

If you want to get involved, and I really hope you do, simply click on the widget above which will take you to the project’s home page.  Click on the pledge level you want, select your reward, and follow the Amazon check out process.

And remember, the pledge period runs until April 16, so your card won’t be charged until then and only if we meet our goal.

It’s here!

Both Amazon and Barnes & Noble are listing my first Rogue Angel novel, The Spirit Banner, as being available for purchase, a good twelve days ahead of the lay down date the publisher had originally indicated.  B&N is even giving you a 10% off discount for a short time, whether you’re a member or not.

I’ve been waiting to get this book into the hands of Annja Creed fans the world over for some time now and I’m excited that the day is finally here.  Writing for the series has been a lot of fun and I’m anxious to see how people react to Annja’s latest adventure (or should I say misadventure?)

If you’ve ordered a copy, you have my thanks.  And please don’t be shy about emailing me to let me know what you thought!

For those of you who like to try before you buy, here’s the first chapter for your reading pleasure…

CHAPTER ONE

Mongolia

1245

Father Michael Curran, Special Vatican Envoy from His Holiness the Pope Innocent IV to the People of the Felt Walls, stared at the waves of oncoming riders and did what he could to keep the fear from showing on his face.

Not that there wasn’t good reason to be afraid.  They were at least three days hard ride from Karakorum, where Guyuk, the grandson of Genghis Khan and the current ruler of the Mongol Empire, held court over his subjects.  In the years since the death of the Great Khan, the Empire had fractured.  More and more of the tribes were returning to the old ways, fighting and competing against themselves.  The Naimans were one such group and Curran’s party was deep in a contested area that the Naimans claimed as their own.  The distance from the capital meant that no one was going to come charging in to save them.  To make matters even worse, the honor guard that Guyuk had sent with Curran for this trip into the Hentiyn Nuruu Mountains numbered less than thirty men, while the Naiman warriors currently charging their position appeared to number in the hundreds.

As the enemy swept forward, Curran could see that each man stood high in the stirrups, guiding his mountain pony with just his knees, leaving his hands free to use his bow with the unerring accuracy that had made the Mongol army so universally feared.  True, these were not the famed warriors of the great Khan, just a lesser khan’s raiding party, but he knew they were deadly just the same. The thunder of their horses’ hooves mixed with the screeching wind that whipped across the open plain and the priest no longer had to wonder what Hell might sound like for now he knew.  Knew beyond the shadow of a doubt.  Hell was the uncanny silence in which the enemy thundered toward them.  Hell was the thrumming of the enemy’s arrows as they filled the sky above him, so thick that for a moment he lost sight of the sun itself.  Hell was the thump of the shafts as they met leather armor and human flesh, the cry of the injured and the dying as they fell into the snow around him.

The Naimans, still harboring years of resentment against the unification brought to the plains by the army of Genghis Khan some fifty years before, had caught their small group in the open, crossing a wide valley between two separate mountain peaks, leaving them with few places to run and little to use as cover of any sort.  Curran had to admit to himself that it was a marvelous piece of strategic planning.  Volke, the group’s leader, had been too confident in his belief that no one would dare to attack a party under Guyuk’s protection, but the harsh winter and the lure of overwhelming odds had apparently filled the enemy with daring.  Curran knew the old adage usually held true; desperate men will do desperate things.

Having been forced into a desperate move, it now seemed that this group of raiders was determined to make certain that no survivors were left behind to report their audacity to the Khan.

Volke shouted something in Mongolian, but the wind whipped his words away before Curran could make sense of them.  It didn’t matter though; they hadn’t been directed at him anyway, but at the other Mongol warriors in their small group.  As one the soldiers around him wheeled about and sent their sturdy mountain ponies charging for the mountain pass they’d emerged into the valley from a half hour before.  Curran would have been left behind if one of the warriors hadn’t snatched the reins of Curran’s horse out of his hands as he thundered by, forcing the other man’s mount to follow suit.

As they raced away, Curran fought to remember the man’s name.

Tamaton?

Tanguyuk?

Tamarak!

That was it.  He was one of the older, experienced warriors assigned to the expedition by the Khan himself and ordered to personally see to the safety of the Envoy.  Curran had resented it at first, not wanting a babysitter and seeing Tamarak’s presence as a sign that the Mongols still didn’t trust him, but now he was thankful to have the man at his side.

Curran knew that if they could reach the pass behind them, they could either lose their pursuers in the maze-like passage across the mountains or take shelter in the many caves lining the passage walls.  Either one would more than likely grant them the time and safety they needed to regroup and restore their wounded.  If they could hold off until dark, they might then be able to sneak across the valley without the Naimans being the wiser.

Curran’s group was tired, they’d been travelling for days already, while the enemy appeared to be fresh, and it was obvious to Curran that the enemy had the advantage.  That didn’t seem to matter to these hardy warriors, though.  They would either succeed or die trying, apparently, and for the first time since he had come to live among them Curran felt a sense of admiration for their tenacity and sheer courage in the face of overwhelming odds.

Their horses thundered on through the snow while the enemy closed inexorably from behind.

After a time, it was obvious to everyone, even Curran, that they were not going to make it and it was at this point that Volke shouted out again and the small entourage turned to fight.

Curran watched their pursuers come on with fear in his heart but with courage on his face.

As the enemy closed the final distance between them, they split ranks, sending half of their forces sweeping to the left while the remainder went right, enveloping Curran’s small group in a wide circle two ranks deep, with each rank moving in opposite directions.  From out of those ranks the arrows came again.  Curran watched Volke topple from the saddle with more than a dozen black shafts jutting from his now still form.  Kaisar and Jelme, his senior lieutenants, met the same fate seconds later.  In moments the enemy had effectively stripped the small band of its most experienced leaders.  Curran had no doubt that the tactic had been intentional.  Cutting off the head to kill the body was a strategy as old as war itself.

If they didn’t do something soon, they were all going to die, the priest thought.  Apparently the men around him felt the same way, for there was a sudden shout from one of the more experienced warriors and as one the troops spurred their horses and charged the enemy.  Trained to act with the others, Curran’s horse followed suit.  The Jesuit was about to meet the enemy whether he wanted to or not.

“Lord, protect your humble servant,” the priest whispered under his breath as he drew his sword and went to meet his death with his head held high in the manner of the Savior he revered.

The two groups slammed together with thunderous force.  Men shouted, horses screamed, and Curran found himself slashing to and fro with his weapon, striking out at anything in reach, fighting for his life just as savagely as the enemy sought to relieve him of it.

For just a moment, he thought they might win free.  Their sudden concentrated attack had surprised the enemy and they burst through the first rank without stopping, surging forward, but in the next second a heavily mailed fist holding the pommel of a sword smashed into Curran’s face, toppling him from the saddle.  He struck the ground hard and as he lay there unmoving, the wind knocked out of him, a nearby horse stomped on his left leg, crushing it with a single blow.  Curran screamed in agony at the pain.  Darkness loomed and then swept over him like the tide.

*  *  *

Having fully expected to die when he’d lost his grip on his horse, Curran was surprised to regain consciousness some time later.  With consciousness, however, came an awareness of all the pain his body was experiencing and surprise quickly turned to regret.  In that first instant he was convinced that death would have been a better alternative to what he was currently feeling.  He screamed aloud against the pain and passed out again.

The second time he regained consciousness, the cold had wrapped him in its chilly embrace, dulling the pain to a minor roar and he was actually able to open his eyes.

He immediately wished he hadn’t.  The dead were everywhere.  They covered the ground in front of him and as far as he could see on either side.  After stripping the bodies of anything of value, the Naimans had followed the traditional steppes custom and left the dead where they had fallen.  Now their dead eyes stared unseeing back at Curran and their blood stained the snow in thick patches of crimson-black.  The bodies of his companions mingled haphazardly with the corpses of the horses on which they’d ridden, neither man nor beast being spared in the midst of the fray.

He shifted his position and a lance of roaring pain shot up from his left leg and threatened to plunge him into unconsciousness once more.  He fought against it, knowing that if he succumbed, he’d most likely freeze to death before waking up again.

When the dizziness receded and he could think clearly again, he looked down at his leg.  He turned away almost immediately, the sight of the dark shaft of an arrow jutting up from his thigh and his own blood staining the snow almost too much for him to bear.

He couldn’t ignore it, though.  He was going to have to deal with it, and soon, if only to keep from bleeding to death.  Steeling himself, and taking a deep breath to keep from vomiting, he looked down at his leg again.

The arrow had hit him high on the back of the thigh and had gone all the way through his leg at an angle, exiting about an inch above the knee.  He could see that the edges of the head were barbed, which meant he wasn’t going to be able to pull the arrow back through in the direction it had entered.  Nor could he remove it the other way; the feathered shaft would prevent it.

He was going to have to break the shaft on one side or the other and then pull the rest of it free.

The very thought of it made him want to be sick again.

Why even bother? he wondered.  Even if he could get the shaft out and stop the bleeding, he was only trading one method of dying for another.  There was no way he could travel in his condition and if nightfall caught him here on the plain he was sure to freeze to death.  It seemed God had saved him from a quick, sure death only to fall victim to a long, lingering one.

But Curran was not the type to go down without a fight.

The wind was picking up and the snowfall that had dodged their march earlier that morning had started anew.  Never mind the brutal cold that threatened to steal his every breath.  If he didn’t do something soon, he wasn’t going to have the strength left to try anything at all.

He tore several strips of cloth off the shirt of a nearby corpse, folding some in half a few times to create makeshift compresses and laying the others out where he could reach them without difficulty.  Working quickly so that he wouldn’t have time to think about it, he rolled partially on his side, exposing the feathered end of the arrow.  Taking it in his left hand, he gripped his thigh tightly with his right, holding it steady.  Curran took a deep breath and then snapped his left hand sharply to one side, breaking the wooden arrow in two just above the fletching.

He screamed against the pain, but managed to remain conscious.  It was a good thing he did, for the motion had started the wound bleeding again and if he had slipped into the blackness that had threatened to overwhelm him he probably wouldn’t have ever woken up.

With shaking hands, he stuffed several of the compresses against the open wound and then tied it off with one of the strips.

He was breathing heavily now, the pain making it difficult to concentrate, but he pushed through it, knowing he had to finish what he had started.

Laying his leg flat on the ground, he took hold of the tip of the arrow, wrapping his fingers around the barbed edges to give him more leverage, gritted his teeth and pulled.

With more than a bit of resistance, the rest of the shaft slid free.

He tossed the broken haft of the arrow aside, packed the wound with some snow and the rest of the compresses to stop the bleeding, then tied the whole thing off just as he did the rear entry point.

When he was finished, he slumped to the ground, sweating, exhausted, and in considerable pain.

After a while, he didn’t know how long, the pain again receded to a manageable level.  He prompted himself back up into a sitting position and took a look at his handiwork.

Blood had dried around the edges of the makeshift bandages, but it looked like it had stopped bleeding.

Maybe he was going to make it after all.

A soft snort to his immediate right made him nearly jump out of his skin.  He slowly turned his head, not wanting to jostle his injured leg but at the same time afraid of what he might see, and, to his vast surprise, found the horse he’d been riding standing a few feet away, rooting through a partially opened saddlebag for something to eat.

“Thank you, Lord,” he whispered.

If he could get on the horse, he had a fighting chance at survival.

Like the other Mongol steeds, his was a short-legged, shaggy beast which had seen its fair share of death and was unmoved by the carnage around it.  Losing interest in the saddlebag at its feet, it raised its head, catching sight of Curran in the process.  It trotted over and nuzzled him, looking to be fed.

“Good boy,” he whispered, petting its nose with one hand while grabbing onto the straps to the saddlebags it still wore with the other.

Using the straps for support, he hauled himself upright, using the strength of his arms and his one good leg.  It took several tries, but at last he was standing on one leg, his arms wrapped around the horse’s neck to keep from falling.

He rested in that position for a moment, praying the horse wouldn’t make any sudden moves and dump him back down on his ass.  When he’d caught his breath again, he reached for the pack still hanging around the horse’s hindquarters right where he’d loaded it earlier that morning.

Working slowly and carefully to limit jarring his injured leg any more than necessary, he untied the drawstrings of the pack and withdrew the ceremonial robe he’d worn when appearing for his audience with the Khan in Karakorum.  The material was quite thick, something he constantly complained about when wearing it but now he was silently thankful.  He slipped the material over his shivering form and slumped against his horse, already exhausted and he hadn’t even tried getting himself up into the saddle.

A sound to his left drew his attention.

He straightened up, trying to see.

The dead stared back at him.

The sound came again, a low moan, but this time he saw the fingers of a nearby form twitch in conjunction with it.

Another survivor!

“Hey!  Hey you! Can you hear me?” Curran called out in the pidgin Mongolian he’d picked up during his two months in Karakorum.

The strange croaking sound that came out of his parched throat surprised him; until that moment, he hadn’t even been aware of his thirst.  He coughed, then used a handful of snow to wet down his lips and throat before trying again.

“Are you okay?  Can you walk?”

There was no response.

He knew he hadn’t imagined it.  Which meant the man was either too injured to respond or simply couldn’t understand him.

Curran had no choice; he was going to have to go over to the injured man and take a look.  He considered climbing astride the horse, but decided the effort required to get up and then back down again was probably too much for him to bear.  Instead, he got the horse moving slowly in the direction he wanted it, using the horse as a make-shift crutch for support as he hopped along on his good leg.  When Curran was close enough, he pulled the horse to a stop and slumped down in the snow next to the wounded man.

He rolled the body over and discovered that it was the man who had saved him earlier, Tamarak.

The feathered shafts of two black arrows jutted from deep in the man’s stomach and a sword blade had taken a bite out of the left side of his head.  Given the barbed tips, Curran had no way of removing them.  He’d been able to remove his own only because the arrow head had come all the way through his flesh.  These were embedded deep in the muscle.  Pulling them out was likely to cause more damage than leaving them in.  The best he could do was to make Tamarak as comfortable as he could and to stay with him until the end.

An end that could come faster than either of them wanted if they didn’t find some shelter and protection from the cold.

He dragged the other man closer to the horse, where, to his surprise, the animal got down on its knees, allowing Curran to haul both himself and Tamarak’s now unconscious form onto the horse’s back.

The beast climbed to its feet and for the first time since the Naiman war party had been sighted, Curran felt a bit better about his chances at survival.

As if in answer to his optimism, the wind swirled around him and the falling snow began to thicken.  The storm was here to stay, apparently.

He took a moment to get his bearings and then turned the beast about to face the direction in which they had been fleeing.  There were caves back in the pass itself and it was Curran’s intention to hole up inside one for shelter from the storm.

He’d worry about how to get back to Karakorum in the morning.

First, they had to get through the night.

*   *   *

Several hours later Curran sat in a large cave that was deep enough to filter out the winds howling outside.  There had been a few sticks lying just inside the entrance and, when combined with some of the extra clothing from his pack, made a small fire with which to keep them warm.  It was still cold, though not as badly as it would have been had they been trapped outside, and it would serve to keep them from freezing to death.

At least until the fuel ran out, he thought, and then just as quickly pushed the image away.  The Lord would provide, he told himself.  The Lord would provide.

At least we won’t starve to death, Curran thought, with a glance at the corpse of his horse that lay just within the entrance tunnel.  The poor beast had collapsed after carrying so much weight through the freezing cold weather without rest.   Curran hadn’t yet managed to get up the nerve to start carving up the carcass.  He didn’t mind eating horse flesh; he’d been forced to do so during other missionary journeys he’d been on and it hadn’t been all that bad.  It was just that this particular horse had been instrumental in saving his life and it felt disrespectful to treat its remains in such a fashion.

Still, when the time came, Curran had little doubt that his reticence would quickly vanish.  Starving to death wasn’t on his list of endings to this saga.

The dead horse was proof of what they had endured to reach this point.  The trail had been difficult to find without the Mongols to guide him.  The ever increasing fury of the storm had cut their already slow pace to a crawl, as did the times that Curran lost his grip and toppled off his patient mount.   Thankfully, the horse had been this way before and when he finally stopped trying to control it and just gave it its head, it took him where he wanted to go.

With the help of the firelight, Curran had cleaned Tamarak’s head wound and had broken off the jutting ends of the arrows to keep the wounded man from accidentally driving them deeper into his body.

After that, there wasn’t much to do but wait.

The snow had continued to fall and by now the entrance to the cave was now half covered from the heavy accumulation.  Curran didn’t mind, as it served to keep the heat from the fire trapped in the cave, warming him and his unconscious companion, while still allowing the smoke to escape.

Unable to sleep, Curran took out his worn-leather journal and began to write, recording the events of the last several days in as much detail as possible to ensure that there was some record of what had happened to him should he not make it back to Karakorum.  He’d been doing the same thing since his mission had started many months before and what had once been an annoying chore had turned into a soothing balm for his spirit.

At the very least, it gave him something to think about other than the pain in his injured leg, he thought ruefully.

It wasn’t long before Tamarak, delirious with fever and pain, began raving aloud.  At first Curran ignored it, knowing there was little he could do for the man, but then something Tamarak said caught his attention and he listened more carefully.

What he heard amazed him.

If it was true, he was being given the secret of the ages!

I really need a miracle now, Lord, he thought, as he turned to a clean page of his journal and began writing frantically, trying to get it all down just in case the good Father decided to deliver on his request.

Der Schattenseher, the first book in my new series featuring the character of Jeremiah Hunt, was released in Germany a few days ago and readers are already responding with some excellent reviews:

“Frightening and fascinating at the same time” says Phantastik-News.de

“One of the best books of 2009″ says Buchcouch.de

“Couldn’t put it down…highly recommended” says Bucherwurms Blog-Welt

UPDATE (12-18-09)

Initial reactions continue to be positive:

“8 out of 10 stars” rates Grimoires.de

Michael Sterzik, of the Things, Books, and More blog states Der Schattenseher is “an exciting, paranormal thriller that delivers great entertainment with potential for future volumes.”   Thanks Michael!