Luna: The Anthology Trailer

As I said, the Luna anthology is finally out.

Brought to you by the awesome Tuscany Bay press.

The Night My Father Shot the Werewolf, by Josh Griffing

The boys in Mrs. Carroll's third-grade class learned a lot last year, about things like cursive, and multiplying, and werewolves.

Welcome to the Luna anthology.

Things are gonna be strange.

Josh Griffing, on writing The Night My Father Shot the Werewolf

When a boy is nine, his Dad is the most important person in his life, and he should be able to look to Dad to defeat the monsters that hunt in the dark.  Sean Grady always knew his Dad would do whatever it took to keep the family safe:  this is Sean’s story.

I didn’t really write this one with the Luna Anthology in mind: in fact it was declined by Intergalactic Medicine Show before I’d even heard of the project.  I wrote it as an examination of a man’s duty to watch over his family and the measures that duty may require of him.

In some ways it’s a very personal story:  I used my own initials for the Dad and like him, I have something of a temper at times. One reader who saw the self-caricature even asked “Is there something you need to tell me?” But the events and—aside from a few broad lines of memoir—the characters are entirely the product of my overactive imagination. 

 A nod to Stephen King’s “Cycle of the Werewolf” is in order, if only subliminally, and a nod to the architects of leaky old schools in Southern cities where I daydreamed in my formative years.

The question of lycanthropy has long fascinated me, in terms of the division between human and animal identity, and the issue of the “moral monster” that Larry Correia handles so well in his MHI books, especially Alpha and Nemesis.  In fact, without a moral axis to the universe, one cannot well call a monster “evil” or call evil “monstrous”.  Even in H. P. Lovecraft, the horrors and demons that lurk behind the wrongness of the shadows seem to be merely Other and their terror is as much in the physical threats they pose or the psychic chaos of their divergence from the natural world.  Because Lovecraft’s amoralist world offers no Good, the evils he depicts cannot be defeated or even quite acknowledged before “The Rats in the Walls” devour all.

But in a moral universe, Good may conquer Evil, and even when it’s buried, it rises again to destroy the corruption.  This principle is a common trope in the old Lon Cheney Jr. wolfman films and much of the werewolf genre, and in the Hammer flick “The Gorgon” (1965) as well, when the monsters’ deaths revert them to their proper human forms, in honor (acknowleged or not) of the imagio dei within.  

In the fourth chapter of Daniel, King Nebuchadnezzar tells of God’s punishing his hubris with boanthropy—though no physical mutation happens—for seven years, and in Kipling’s famous Jungle Books, Mowgli grows up as a human boy among the wolves and beasts of the Indian jungle. Again and again, the theme of man’s distinction from the beasts he resembles is a source of wonder and inquiry, and many cultures share some form of a shape-shifter myth of creatures that are neither quite man or beast.  

Is it demonic, or a virus, or magic, or a long-muddied record of some other event long since forgotten, like dragons and giants and  world-washing floods?  Wherever the Man-among-Beasts comes from, it is the moral agency and duty of Man, integral to who he is as Man (or what C. S. Lewis called hnau in his Space Trilogy), that differentiates werewolves from almost every other monster genre, and without humanity as hnau, the monster might be called “werewolf” or “loup-garou”, but the result is merely one more generically shape-shifting monster story.

But I have said almost too much already.  Go get the anthology and read it for yourself!

Josh Griffing is an Army Reservist in Georgia who writes when he can, and reads when he can get away with it. 

He has two young children, four insolent cats, and a pair of small and yappy dogs. Amazingly, his wife is still very nearly sane, and for this he is eternally grateful.  

He blogs sometimes at https://subcreated-worlds.com/.

Tuscany Bay's Planetary Anthology: Luna

I am now happy to announce that Luna, the Planetary anthology I edited for Tuscany Bay, is live.

If you recall from when this project was first proposed, Luna was about madness, despair, dreams and illusions.

You know, all of the cheery subjects.

This will also debut the second short story by my wife, listed here as Margot St. Aubin.

Of course she's under an alias. Neither one of us want to be an easy target.

Luna has the following stories and authors.

These are the tales of the orb that lights our night sky and drives the tides of our oceans. The bright companion that orbits our planet, invades our dreams and drives us mad.

The Curse and the Covenant by Ann Margaret Lewis – Tal, in the land of Ur, is son to a Lord. When a demon offers his father a gift to make him and his people like gods, Tal knows it’s a bad idea.

The Doom that Came to Necropolis, by Steve Johnson – Necropolis is a small town, complete with small town values and small town myths. Unbeknownst to them, their doom is about to arrive, riding a motorcycle, and armed with the weapons of science.

How to Train your Werewolf, by Margot St. Aubin – Jason Branch recently escaped from a home for the insane. His only goal now is to rest and be left alone in the woods. But when strangers decide that the same stretch of land would be perfect for their needs, they will soon discover Jason's true madness.

Luna Sea, by Jody Lynn Nye – the moon can be a harsh mistress … or can she?

Regolith, by Penelope Laird – How far would you go to prevent your favorite band from being kidnapped and held for ransom on the Moon?

Crazy like an Elf, by Declan Finn – When astronomer Barbara Davis hired a private security firm, she didn’t expect a man who claimed to be from Middle Earth.

Samaritan, by Karl Gallagher – Thomas' people settled on the Moon to avoid contamination from biotech and nanotech gadgets. But when a high-tech spacer crashes Thomas must risk exile from his home to save the stranger's life.

Moonboy, by Karina L. Fabian – Cory Taylor is the first boy born on the moon and may just be the first to die on it. But his first attempt to leave the moon may move up that date to closer than even he expects.

Fly Me To the Moon, by Mark Wandrey – Annmarie Smith dreamed of going to space, and she finally succeeds in creating a company to mine water on the moon. Everything looks great, until alien first contact makes it all much, much more complicated.

The Hyland Resolution, by Justin Tarquin – Charles Hyland is caught in the crossfire of an interplanetary war, their only hope is that Charles can extricate himself from the labyrinth of his own mind.

Another Fine Day in the Corps, by L.A. Behm II – Some days you get the bear. Some days, the bear is packing mortar rounds.

The Mask of Dhuran Zur, by John C. Wright – Some manuscripts you just shouldn’t read.

Elwood, by Bokerah Brumley – Mysterious things happen to Emma Kelly when she meets the lunatic gypsy at the end of the lane and the gypsy's invisible púca.

Much Madness is Divinest Sense, by Lori Janeski-- A madman doesn't usually believe that he's insane. But the ones who are truly dangerous are the ones who not only believe it, but embrace it.

The Night my Father Shot the Werewolf, by Josh Griffing – The boys in Mrs. Carroll's third-grade class learned a lot last year, about things like cursive, and multiplying, and werewolves.

The Black Dogs of Luna, by Paul Go – The crew of the Sirocco find a nightmare of the ages on the Moon.

Despot Hold ’em, by Caroline Furlong – You have to know when to hold them, know when to fold them. But most importantly of all, know when to run.

Polar Shift, by Richard Paolinelli – After the pole's shift, Sam Peck may just be the last living human being in the entire universe.

The Price of Sanity, by A.M. Freeman – Never make deals with the unknown. Especially when it's paying for your freedom with your soul.

Vulcan III, by William Lehman – Unfortunately for the crew of "Scorpion" the Vulcan III, the moon is the harshest engineering environment we've ever built in, especially when something goes wrong.

Merry By Gaslight, by L. Jagi Lamplighter – What if that million-dollar mansion you hardly dare to long for were so much less than you deserved.

Squeeze on the Moon, by Lou Antonelli – An expert in disaster recovery gets the opportunity of a lifetime – plus a little walk down memory lane.

So, yeah. 

This party is just getting started.

Tuscany Bay is an awesome press, lead by a true mensch and an awesome professional in Richard Paolinelli who made certain that this anthology would still happen, and that the last two years worth of work wouldn't be in vain, on the part of either the authors or the editors.

Table of Contents for Deus Vult

For those of you who are wondering, well, this is what the chapter headings for my novel Deus Vult ** look like.

Do any of these, perchance, look familiar?

Chapter 1: Visitation 

Chapter 2: Your Mission 

Chapter 3: Walking the grid 

Chapter 4: Behind the Wall of Downey 

Chapter 5: Hell Spawn 

Chapter 6: The Evil in the Walls 

Chapter 7: Cardinal Tape 

Chapter 8: Beyond Bullets 

Chapter 9: The Exorcist

Chapter 10: Death Cult 

Chapter 11: The Essex Horror 

Chapter 12: Infernal Affairs 

Chapter 14: The Dreams in the Summer House 

Chapter 14: Campus of Shadows 

Chapter 15: The Doom That Came to Dunwich U 

Chapter 16: Deal with the Devil … But Only at Gunpoint 

Chapter 17: House in the Mist

Chapter 18: The Last Statement of George Matchett 

Chapter 19: Whispers in Darkness 

Chapter 20: A Shadow over Essex 

Chapter 21: At the Cliffs of Madness 

Chapter 22: The Call of Tiamat 

Chapter 23: Unleash Heaven 

Chapter 24: Crusader

Heh heh heh.

Let's just say that there's a reason I keep this in Essex, Massachusetts. And it's not just because I wanted to blow up parts around Boston.

And, if for some reason, you have been waiting for the last book in the planned series to drop... buy all six books right here in the Kickstarter for the audio book. If you do buy all six, in any format, it comes with the audiobook. And who knows, the stretch goals will probably have audio books for the other novels in the series.

Be well all.

**If you're looking for the E-book version of Deus Vult, click here. Note, all links on my blog are part of the Amazon affiliate program, meaning that I get a small cut of selling my own book. This does not increase the price you pay in any way whatsoever. The only reason I'm even bringing it up is because Amazon legal CYA BS demands it of me.

DragonCon 2019: Magic Systems 101

A primary component of urban fantasy, the sources and uses of magic vary widely within the genre. Our panelists will explain the forms magic takes in their work and the role it plays in the stories they tell.

Panelists: Patricia Briggs, Melissa F. Olsen, R.R. Virdi, Jim Butcher, Tim Powers, Marie Brennan. Moderator: Carol Malcolm

And if you're new here, you're just in time for my new releases: 

Too Secret Service Part 1        Too Secret Service: Part 2   

Too Secret Service: Part 3

DragonCon 2019 AAR: Heroes of High Fantasy

Authors of High Fantasy meet and tell us their tales of adventure and derring-do!

Panelists: Aleron Kong, Jim Butcher, Brandon Sanderson, Marie Brennan.

Moderator: Jennifer Liang

And if you're new here and would like to try out some books.Try the ones on the right hand side.

Saint Tommy, NYPD

Love at First Bite

Review: The Lost War

When I was sitting next to Karl Gallagher at LibertyCon, he mentioned that Torchship was about his day job (yes, he is a rocket scientist), and that The Lost War was about his hobby.

It was supposed to be a weekend of costumed fun. Instead these medieval historical reenactors are flung into a wilderness by magic they don't understand. They must struggle to survive and deal with monsters who consider them prey . . . or worse.

Buckle up. This is going to be fun. This is my fantasy pick for best fantasy for the Dragon Awards this year. It is awesome, and you are going to like it. And if you don't, you're wrong.

Our main character is Newman Greenhorn -- and if you can't tell that he's a newbie at a gathering of the Society for Creative Anachronism, now you know. When his girlfriend brings him to the pagan circle on the first night, well, what's the worst that can happen?

This. This is the worst that can happen.

As the circle disbands, the entire camp has moved. The flora is different. The fauna are different. The stars are different. And there are three moons in the sky. The entire camp has been moved and the struggle to survive has begun. They need food. They need weapons. They need to know what threats are out there. And look up in the sky! It's a bird.... no, it's a plane.... crap, that's a dragon.

If you're thinking "SCA surviving in a fantasy landscape. Hmm, sounds like John Ringo's Council Wars".... that is a very superficial view of it. Let's put it this way, when I read Karl's Torchship trilogy, I said in a review "Well, if David Weber ever needs help finishing Honor Harrington, maybe he should take to Karl."

Having topped David Weber, Karl has apparently decided to top John Ringo. And I don't even mean the Council Wars. Because there is a very specific reason that Newman and the camp have been brought over to this new world. The world has a problem, and the humans are to be the pest control. Thank you, rotten, mutha-bleepin elves. (Yes, think Posleen. Only worse).

However, the plot is not what got me started on thinking about John Ringo. There is so much readable logistics in this book, it's amazing. There is a ton of effort put in on how things get done -- are the flora safe? Are the Fauna safe? The amateur astronomer who confirms, "Yes, the stars are different. We are not in Kansas anymore, Toto." "Oh look, here are piles of bones, we can deduce that we aren't the only hunters out here." There are considerations about medicines, hygiene, resource consumption, resource allocation, down to "How do we make soap?" and the question of law enforcement. Karl does a great job of setting up the situation, the variations of reactions to the setting, the governing of the new world -- both official and unofficial. You can see how it feels a bit like a Ringo novel, as he's one of the few I can think of who can recreate and rebuild an entire society that completely.

Amateurs study tactics. Karl's a professional.

Also, I dare you to find someone else who will deal with fantasy parasitology, microbiology and serology.

AND EVERY LAST MINUTE OF IT WAS EASILY READABLE AND ENJOYABLE. Unlike most geniuses, Karl writes plainly and easily without dumbing it down.

The character of Newman himself is ... a lot of military guys with two brain cells to rub together. (Which seems to be most of them -- I've only met one or two I wouldn't trust to breath into a paper bag.) Down to one section of "I'm more comfortable with strangers trying to kill me in the wild than dealing with protocol for nobility. Your excellency."

It was perfect. Down to the placement of the period.

There is a lot of easy character development. At least one character became my favorite in a one-page description (look for the character of "Burnout." I suspect she is a PA).

And then human beings start developing magical powers, and we have SCA X-Men.

This leads to some interesting moments, including several instances where the characters make a deduction, follow through on the deduction, and it is apparent to the reader what is going on -- and it is AT NO POINT SPELLED OUT FOR THE READER. Because Karl figures that the reader also has two brain cells to rub together. And he's right. I didn't have to be told what was going on ... in fact, I had to double back to make certain that Karl didn't spell it out. It's great writing.

And it's so nice when a character calls out "Thalassa!" and I know what the bleep he's talking about.

I have only one problem with the book -- no chapters. The novel is more or less one continuous work. Luckily, I read quickly, so I didn't have to lose TOO much sleep.

Anyway, as I said, a great book, brilliantly executed, and I've already finished books 1 and 2 this weekend. I hope to have the sequel reviewed by tomorrow. I'm hoping there's a book 3.

Buy book 1, The Lost War, here.

It is my pick for the Dragon Awards -- to see what else I've nominated, click here.

To go straight to voting for the Dragon Awards, without looking at anyone else's thoughts.that would be here.

The Final Dragon Award Discussion, 2019

Dragon Con has one massive award, with thousands of people voting on it. In the second year, there were 8,000 people voting.

And now, the eligibility window has closed as of the end of June. Start marking the books that have come out since July 1st for next year.

However...

Voting doesn't close until July 19.

That's right. Anything that comes out before the deadline of June 30th is eligible, but voting cuts off on July 19th. So if you haven't voted yet, you might want to finish off the books you have coming.

This time, the format is going to be a little different. This time, I'm going to tell you who I'm voting for, based off of books I've read and enjoyed.

The NEXT section is going to have everything and everyone I could scrape together just on a level of pure eligibility.

This second section will include books I haven't read, from people I don't even know.

It is a huge freaking list, and I would clutter up the blog post if I dealt with them as I have previous posts.  The lists of the purely eligible are so long, I considered making them a separate post entirely. But I figure having one place for my conclusions and everyone else's suggestions would make it easier on everyone.  Okay, easier on me, but moving right along....

Here we go.

Best Science Fiction Novel

I have already reviewed Heroes Fall by Morgon Newquist. You might think. Still one Hell of a solid novel, and some of the best SF I've read in years.

What is it? Superheroes. If you liked Astro City, or JMS's Rising Stars, or, hell, the MCU, you're going to want to read this one, and I think you're going to agree with me that it's pretty kickass.

And I really, really wanted to nominate Richard Paolinelli. But I haven't gotten to When the Gods Fell yet. Sorry Richard. Don't worry, I'm going to get there much, much later. Probably next year. With my luck, it'll be after the sequel comes out.

Best Fantasy Novel 

(Including Paranormal)

Karl Gallagher's The Lost War.

Wait? What? What happened to Bokerah Brumley's "Keepers of New Haven: Woe for a Faerie?

Two things happened. And I'll explain in the next section...

Okay, three things happened. One of which was I actually read Karl's book.

Best YA / Middle Grade Novel

Bokerah Brumley's "Keepers of New Haven: Woe for a Faerie."

Yes, I know. After months of talking about The King's Regret by Ligon before it was published, I'm shifting one novel, and deleting the author. WTF?

Three things happened.

1) I read Karl's book.
2) Bokerah mentioned online that this was more YA than Fantasy
3) Amazon screwed the pooch on releasing Ligon's book that I don't think it's reached a wide enough audience to gather votes.

If you have read and liked Ligon's book, I still recommend it. But right now it's a matter of timing and a matter of math.

Lucky for everyone, Jagi hasn't come out with another Rachel Griffin novel. Otherwise I'd be pushing that one like a maniac, because she's earned one for the last four novels.

Best Military SFF Novel

Daniel Humphrey's A Place For War... Still.

For the record, no, I have not yet read David Weber's Uncompromising Honor. I suspect he will not need additional support.

Imagine this is like Ringo's Black Tide Rising, only ten years after the world fell apart, during the reemergence of human civilization.

And then the shit hits the fan again.

Best Alternate History Novel

Hans Schantz's Brave and the Bold (reviewed here).

So, my vote goes to Hans.

Best Media Tie-In Novel

Thrawn: Alliance
Timothy Zahn is doing a Thrawn novel. Your argument is so invalid, it's not even funny.

Best Horror Novel

This is funny, since by the time the Dragons comes out, I will have SIX horror novels eligible.

Hell Spawn
Death Cult
Infernal Affairs
City of Shadows
Crusader (
Deus Vult (Coming soon....ish)

..... But as I argued, it's best to nominate Hell Spawn and move on. And if you disagree and would like to nominate one of the other books in another category ... okay, but I'd like you not to split the vote too too much.

Please refer here for my thoughts on the matter.

Then again, Hell Spawn has already won an award, so yeah, it's worth it. It's endorsed by the CLFA for their book of the year, and Jim McCoy, Richard Paolinelli, and Karl Gallagher have all said they're voting for it. So... yeah, not bad.

Best Comic Book

Dark Maiden #2, by Jonathan Baird.

Joan of Arc fantasy comic book.

I dare you to find me something better.

Best Graphic Novel

I may leave this one blank.

Best SFF TV Series

God Friended Me ...

Best SFF Movie

Aquaman.

Because everyone else is going to vote Endgame.

Best SFF PC / Console Game

Spiderman, PS4, Insomniac games.

Yup. No hesitation. This was .... amazing.

As for ... Best Science Fiction or Fantasy Mobile Game ....
AND
Best Science Fiction or Fantasy Board Game....

No idea.

However, 

Best SFF Miniatures / Collectible Card 

/ Role-Playing Game....

Nathan to the rescue on this one: Warhammer 40,000: Kill Team


And if you want to vote RIGHT THIS MINUTE, without looking at anyone else's thoughts.that would be here.

HOWEVER, if you want to look below the break, LET THE DISCUSSION BEGIN!!!  BWAHAHAHAHAHA

On Ending Game of Thrones

I get this joke.

I've heard the rumor that some people are less than thrilled with the ending of Game of Thrones.

Never being a fan in the first place (of books or movies), I am hardly surprised. My chief surprise is that anyone was taken aback by the terrible ending in the first place. Every time I looked in on the series, someone else is getting raped, murdered, banging a sibling, or murdering people in large groups. In the novels, the plot ran on character death so much that a friend of mine once made a mathematical formula that calculated the next death to within five pages.

Honestly? I always felt that Game of Thrones was a Lord of the Rings snuff porn parody.

Though what makes it interesting to me is that, once again, we have a series where the writers fell short, and are disdainful of the viewer backlash.

And, unlike The Last Jedi, which sucks harder and harder the more I look at it (were I to review it today, I'd give it negative numbers), I don't think this was a matter of politics. This wasn't a matter of "we had to wrap it up or be canceled." George RR Martin wanted three more seasons to get to the ending. HBO is planning FIVE GAME OF THRONES SPINOFFS, and making money hand over fist from this.

The Game of Thrones show runners just wanted off. They had been offered a job making a Star Wars trilogy, and they figured more money could be had elsewhere.

I get this joke.

I'm told that there are over fifty million Game of Thrones fans. That's 50,000,000.

That's approximately 50,000,000 people who aren't going to see those Star Wars movies. Not counting the friends and family of those fans who will spend between now and then bitching about how badly they dropped the ball with Game of Thrones.

So, doubling down on the "screw your fans, we're outta here" aspect is ... interesting to me. I didn't think that HBO had the sort of influence that Disney does. But this is starting to reach Last Jedi level push back on both ends.

Please think back to a decade ago, when Lost wrapped up. The obsessed fans were pissed at the lackluster, disappointing ending that wrapped up exactly nothing. No plot threads were resolved. The ending needed to be explained. It was a mess.

The creators didn't really answer. They passed it off as "Oh, the fans had so many ideas in the fan forums, we didn't want to disappoint any of them with a definitive ending. So we let them make their own." It lent the appearance of being deferential while at the same time covering the fact that they had no idea where they were going, despite all the claims to the contrary. (Sorry Damon Lindelof, you never know where you're going. We know that now)

Now? The fans are pissed, and the response is no better than "If you don't like the ending, go write your own fanfiction and jerk off to it." Normally, I expect that sort of reaction from people who are motivated by politics.

Now, again, I am no fan of George RR Martin (who has personally insulted friends of mine). I am no fan of Game of Thrones.

I am actively disdainful of writers who backhand their readers / viewership.

As Brad Torgersen put it.

And never, ever blame the fans for being less than thrilled with your ending. Show patience and good humor with the scolds, and be thankful for the constructive critics among your readers who can explain why something didn't feel right, did not work for them, etc. There's learning in that exchange of ideas.

I .... wait, really? What the Hell...?

There will be no learning here.


Though I am starting to wonder just how much of this is success going to their heads. "We have fifty million fans! We could alienate half of them and still rake in the dough."  Or "I'm a best-selling author with a book deal! I can do no wrong." These people later become shocked that yes, they can do wrong... but hey, they've made their money, they can afford to screw up, as long as they don't spend like a drunken sailor. And the show-runners of Game of Thrones can afford to mess around on Star Wars, they're playing with house money.

Or should I say... mouse money.

So the next time you see how fans are being dismissed as "entitled," maybe you should take a gander at the material they're complaining about, and consider that the writers are the ones who feel entitled. While yes, endings may be difficult, there is no excuse for doing a rush job because "I have to get onto another project."  Sheesh. This is HBO. These are the people who put TV shows on pause for several years so actors could run off and do other projects. Even if "Game of Thrones must go on," isn't that the point where you take all of the notes and outlines and hand them off to someone else?

This assumes, of course, that there was a plan. This assumes that there were notes and outlines to be handed off.

That is an assumption I'm not willing to make.

Here, have a book that has an ending, 

and 

Consider some for the Dragon Awards.

Infernal Affairs, Chapter 2

After a shoot out happens in the church of a police officer, the only logical thing to happen next is, well, the clean up.

Here, I just wanted to hint at things to come.

Chapter 3 is when the fun really starts....

Yes, I know I just said that after I had a shootout in a church and on the street with three armed gunmen. What's your point?

Anyway, Chapter 2

Chapter 2: Everybody Knows Your Name

When my partner, Alex Packard, arrived, the party was already in full swing. The entire church had been sealed off, as had the surrounding block. This was especially fun when you consider that the road to one side of the church was the southbound service road for the Cross Island Expressway.

Alex strode in the front door of the church, and up the stairs into the vestibule, now called the gathering space for reasons that surpassed all understanding. My family and I were on a bench in the corner and he came right for us. He sat on the bench going at right angles to ours, leaned back, and smiled.

Alex was a slender, older man. He had an odd pot-belly in the middle of all of that skinny. It was probably from years of booze, but I wasn’t going to inquire too closely. I had never seen him take a drink. I only knew about his former drinking problem from a demon, who had been psyching him out at the time. His suit was gray and rumpled, just like he was. He was balding on top, with a graying mustache that Tom Selleck would have approved of. He carried a large paper bag.

“Really?” Alex asked. “Your wife is pregnant. You’re with your kid—hey, Jeremy—and you’re in church. Church, Tommy. Can’t you take even one day off?”

With my arm around Mariel’s shoulders, I gave him a half-shrug. “They find me. They always find me.”

Alex smirked. He shook his head. “No kidding.”

“I’m really not.” I explained the last words from the first gunman.

Alex winced. “No surprise.”

“Yeah!” Jeremy exclaimed excitedly. His voice dropped to a whisper that only mommy, daddy, and Uncle Alex could hear. “Because Daddy’s a superhero! They’re always going to find him.”

Isn’t that an encouraging thought? I pondered.

Alex merely smiled at Jeremy. “Kinda, Jerry.” He looked back to me. “I ran into Sarge on the way in. She handed me a nice little starter package for you.”

Alex raised the paper bag. He reached in and pulled out individual items, explaining each as he went along. Everything was in clear evidence bags, sealed with the red tape of the NYPD Crime Scene Unit.

“They went through the shooter’s pockets. We had these.” The first item was a large evidence bag that could have held the contents of Mariel’s purse. “Anti-psychotics by the truckload. I’m actually surprised he had the ability to walk upright.”

Alex placed it down on the bench next to him, and grabbed the next bag. This one looked like the contents of his wallet. “Membership cards. He was a registered Demoncrat, as though we couldn’t tell from the Che T-shirt and that he was trying to shoot up a church.”

I smiled despite myself. Alex had taken to referring to anyone on the Left as a ‘Demoncrat’ ever since a demon-possessed serial killer who worked for the Women’s Health Corps tried to kill us—and after we discovered that the WHC itself was, in reality, a front for a Moloch-worshipping Death Cult. After a while, it did seem that evil had a particular political affiliation.

I had little problem with him saying it because he had genuine cause for a grudge. As most of New York City either voted Democrat or just didn’t vote, I was a touch more reluctant to brand all of them with the same demonic brush.

Then again, discussing much of the fallout from the WHC incident was another conversation.

“And,” Alex continued, “here’s the fun part.” He pulled out a smaller bag. This one clearly showed a large newspaper clipping. It was one photo—me, from nearly a year ago, during the incident with said demon. I didn’t know which headline it was under. It may have been the one who framed my arrest of the perp as Saint versus psycho or the one that claimed I framed an innocent abortionist because I was a Catholic.

“He really was there for you,” Alex explained. “Just you. We don’t have anything speaking to why.”

Mariel scoffed at that. “Maybe he was employed by LaBitch?” she asked, referring to the former head of the Women’s Health Corps that Mariel had personally pushed into a fire pit. “Or the Mayor? Or maybe he’s a dirty commie and just doesn’t like high-profile Catholics like Tommy?”

I frowned. I opened my mouth to dispute that … and gave up before I started. While I had spent most of my life trying to keep my head down and out of the public eye, the last year had been filled with enough various high-profile incidents that if I had caught the eye of some nut cases online, they would have had little trouble tracking my career.

“Lucky for me,” I said, “I moved after that article was published.” There were two reasons for that. One, the property damage caused the local village committee to drive us out of the private neighborhood. Two, the newspaper article that picture had been taken from had come complete with my home address. The newspaper had issued a non-apology, but the damage had been done, and we moved a little over eight months ago.

Unfortunately, someone already knew my home address and had had sent zombies to my house shortly thereafter.

“‘Lucky’ isn’t the term I’d use,” Alex said. He shrugged. “But that’s not my problem. My problem is they may hit me by accident.” He slid away the evidence back into the bag. “For the record, the first shooter, the one in the church, is connected to very little, unless we think the entire Communist community is out to get Nolan.”

I chuckled. “In that case, time to arrest Columbia University.”

Alex rolled his eyes. “Funny.”

I frowned. “No. Not really. Especially considering the number of people they murdered last century.”

Alex laughed. “Columbia or Communists?”

Mariel nudged me with the crown of her head. “Is there a difference?”

I looked to Alex. “When you say Communist …?”

“I mean that he’s a card-carrying commie. He has cards in his wallet for the party, for Anti-Fa.”

I winced. I had never had a personal encounter with them, but I had read enough to know I didn’t like them very much. For a group claiming to be “anti-fascist,” they were amazingly, well, fascist. Their tactics ranged from violence against people they disagreed with (which was anyone to the right of Mao and Stalin) to … even more violence against property. They had operated in Europe, beginning as anarchist Communists … because orderly Communism was bad, surely chaotic Communism would be even better? If you can’t take over a government-- or in the case of Russia keep one – maybe destroying it all would be progress? The European version of the moment hated Catholics … Quel surprise.

“We know that it wasn’t an actual Antifa attack,” I said. “They tend to swarm. We would have had a few dozen raiding the church just to rip me apart. It might have even worked.”

Alex frowned. He was probably considering the various and sundry abilities I possess, running the odds of which would be the best option for going up against a riot. After putting down an entire prison riot by myself the previous year, surely a bunch of local thugs wouldn’t be a problem for me.

I wasn’t going to explain, yet again, that I wasn’t a superhero. While I exhibited some of the miraculous abilities usually discussed about saints, they weren’t something that I could take for granted- or even explain why they were given me. The powers came from God, not from me. I wasn’t a comic book superhero, no matter what Alex or Jeremy insisted. Jeremy had a good excuse. He was ten.

At least Jeremy knew better.

“Dad couldn’t do anything!” he exclaimed. “Too many witnesses. Do you want to bust his secret identity?”

Mariel and I smiled while Alex shifted uncomfortably. “Yeah. Well, it would be hard to fit into a DD5 report. But that’s why I write them up when that happens.”

I said nothing, but said a silent thank you prayer to God that I hadn’t needed any of the fancier abilities that He had graced me with. While I still smelled out evil on a day-to-day basis, there had been no need to be in two places at once, levitate, drink poison, or heal deadly wounds. Considering the circumstances I was in, I would be perfectly happy if I never needed those abilities. Though to be honest, I was a little surprised that it had taken this long for a situation to arise again. I had gotten into so many firefights, I had a reputation. The calm between storms had been so long, I hadn’t been called “Wyatt Earp” in nearly a week.

So much for that going away.

“I’m told that the Bishop’s not too happy with the whole thing.”

I winced. That was something I didn’t want to deal with: Church politics. “Of course he’s not. He’s going to have to reconsecrate the church.” I sighed. “Can we leave now? Didn’t eat breakfast before we came.”

Alex shrugged. “I hear you. At least there’s one good thing: you won’t be investigating what’s left. With any luck, this will be an isolated incident. The first shooter was just another in a long line of Demoncrat shooters.”

My brows arched. The secondary shooters had had M4 automatic weapons, ready to take out cops and a full church to get to me.

Alex sighed. “Yeah. I know. I don’t believe it either.”

Continue to read the story here.

Infernal Affairs, Chapter 1: Martyr and Saint

I'm tough on my characters.

Take Detective Thomas Nolan, NYPD, for example.

I've killed friends.

I've killed friends of his children.

I've put him in the hospital three times.

He's been shot, stabbed, impaled, and beaten into the pavement ....

And that's just book one.

This book, well, it's time to see what Tommy can take.

Because this time, we're going to try to make him a saint.

By hook or by crook.

Welcome to Chapter 1 of Infernal Affairs.

Chapter 1: Martyr and Saint

Martyr -- a title in the Catholic Church for saints who died for their faith. One that I never expected to have.

As I sat in the front row, side seat of my church, Saint Gregory the Great, it only occurred to me that at least the former title would be slapped upon my tombstone when the bullets started to fly.

Father Jerome Delany, the celebrant, was the first to be shot. The sharp crack of the rifle echoed through as he started to talk about how God was and is Love. He shuddered with the impact as the five bullets punched into his chest. He fell back with the last bullet, which was impressive for a man as old as he had been.

My family and I were seated to the right of the altar as you faced the altar. We were less interested in being seen in the front and more interested in being in a position to drown out the guitarist on the other side of the altar from us with our singing. We weren’t good, but we were mildly in tune, unlike the guitar, or the cantor.

I was with Mariel, my wife, and Jeremy, my son. Mariel had long, wavy chestnut brown hair, round, deep-brown eyes, a pleasant heart-shaped face, and a healthy olive complexion. As Ben Franklin would say, we fit well together. Jeremy was eleven, energetic, and … very much an 11-year-old boy.

When the first shot went off, I dropped to one knee and reached for my handgun. My wife Mariel bent over to protect our unborn daughter. Our son Jeremy crouched so low he was nearly under the seats. “Plan 22 C,” I said.

Both of them nodded. Ever since the serial killer had broken into our home, we had come up with a collection of contingency plans.

Plan C was always “run while I lay down cover fire.”

Before they could even get off the floor, I jumped onto the back of the chair in front of me. It tilted forward and I jumped onto the next chair before it fell forward, and I leaped to the small rail for climbing up on the altar -- it had been installed for those who couldn't do steps without holding onto something - and then took a giant leap to the center.

I went for the top of the altar for multiple reason: first, visibility, and second, I wanted to be the biggest, clearest target. Thank God none of the paraphernalia for later in Mass was there yet.

The shooter was at the back of the church, rifle held high. Since the first shot, everyone in the church stood and ran. Few had ducked to cover, -along with those who had merely tripped those trying to run.

And half the church had run directly into the center aisle, in front of the shooters.

I dropped to one knee, gun up and ready. I grabbed the microphone from the altar and bellowed, “Freeze! Police!”

The rifle man turned, and swung his muzzle up to aim for me.

I aimed high and fired. The first bullet scraped along the barrel of the rifle, catching the ejector, and drilling into his shoulder. It turned him around before a round went off. He nearly decapitated a statue of the Virgin Mary. The second bullet struck up just right of center mass (his right, not mine). My third bullet missed by a hair, scoring him across the forehead.

The shooter’s rifle came down. He staggered back and grabbed his arm. He slumped up against the side of a pew, grabbed his rifle with his good hand, and raised the barrel to aim again.

I fired again, catching him in the breast, right beneath the clavicle. He leaned straight back this time, and went down.

The only way to get to him would have been through the horde of church goers. I frowned, thought it over a moment, and prayed a little.

I pushed forward in a leap … that was aided by a little divine intervention. The levitation trick that I prayed for was just enough to leap from the altar to the front pew. I leaped from the back of the pew to the one behind it. I leaped from one pew to another, looking like a parkour runner. I wasn’t thinking at the time, giving only a brief thought to how I would explain this if anyone had noticed -God’s little parlor trick.

I leaped off once the crowd had petered out, landing in the aisle.

This also put me in direct line of sight of the shooter.

The muzzle came up a few inches and pulled the trigger.

It clicked.

The shooter looked as confused as I felt. I lunged forward and kicked the rifle away from him. The rifle had been damaged. My first bullet jammed the ejector, and the last spent casing did not eject.

The shooter was a walking cliché: socialist, hammer and sickle badge, Che Guevara shirt.

The shooter smiled at me and laughed. “Almost got you, you capitalist pig. You won’t be lucky next time.”

There was a burst of bullets from outside. My head shot up. The automatic gunfire was unlike the shooter I just dropped. I darted out of the back of the vestibule (away from the altar), then through the front door of the church.

Outside the church was empty of people. Since I didn’t trust to locate the gunfire by sound alone (directionality of sound can be a pain in the butt), I turned right. Because there had been an active shooter in the church, and no one had appeared from the nearby police car parked near the entrance behind the altar side of the church.

I turned around the corner. Four men with M4 rifles were hosing down the three men crouched behind the patrol car. I charged the gunmen. They didn’t turn. I was within thirty feet of them when I opened fire. I emptied the magazine into two of the shooters.

The empty magazine ejected from the pistol as I came within arm’s reach of the remaining two shooters. I hammered my pistol behind the ear of the shooter on the left. His head bounced off the rear windshield he was hiding behind. A second later, I crashed into the shooter on the right. I crushed the shooter between my shoulder and the side of an SUV. I drove my elbow into the shooter’s ear, and then pistol-whipped him. I went back and forth with my pistol, smacking it against the skull of each gunman in turn until they fell down.

I kicked aside the gunmen’s weapons, reloaded my pistol, then took two steps back, covering them. I called out, “Clear! NYPD! Plain clothes!”

Why didn’t they even consider sending in more than one guy to the church? Because I’m one guy going to Mass versus being ambushed by two armed cops. Duh.

Continue reading here.