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!
About
the Author:
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
FB
author page: https://www.facebook.com/JCAndrijeski/
Mailing
List: http://hyperurl.co/JCA-Newsletter
Amazon
Author page: http://amzn.to/1GqSJlq
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
