Good morning! We're so excited to be a part of the blog tour for Kat Ross' newest release, The Demoniac! This book is really fantastic, and we've got an excerpt for you to read so you can get just as hooked! There's also a giveaway, so be sure to enter to win your very own copy by completing the Rafflecopter form at the end of this post.
And, as always, don't forget to visit all of the other incredible stops on this tour! You can find the complete tour schedule by clicking the banner above.
About the Book
The Daemoniac by Kat Ross(A Dominion Mystery, #1)Publication date: October 12th 2016
Genres: Historical, Mystery, Young Adult
It’s August of 1888, just three weeks before Jack the Ripper will begin his grisly spree in the London slum of Whitechapel, and another serial murderer is stalking the gas-lit streets of New York. With taunting messages in backwards Latin left at the crime scenes and even more inexplicable clues like the fingerprints that appear to have been burned into one victim’s throat, his handiwork bears all the hallmarks of a demonic possession.
But consulting detective Harrison Fearing Pell is convinced her quarry is a man of flesh and blood. Encouraged by her uncle, Arthur Conan Doyle, Harry hopes to make her reputation by solving the bizarre case before the man the press has dubbed Mr. Hyde strikes again.
From the squalor of the Five Points to the high-class gambling dens of the Tenderloin and the glittering mansions of Fifth Avenue, Harry and her best friend, John Weston, follow the trail of a remorseless killer, uncovering a few embarrassing secrets of New York’s richest High Society families along the way. Are the murders a case of black magic—or simple blackmail? And will the trail lead them closer to home than they ever imagined?
About the Author
Kat Ross worked as a journalist at the United Nations for ten years before happily falling back into what she likes best: making stuff up. She lives in Westchester with her kid and a few sleepy cats. Kat is also the author of the dystopian thriller Some Fine Day (Skyscape, 2014), about a world where the sea levels have risen sixty meters. She loves magic, monsters and doomsday scenarios. Preferably with mutants.
Read an Excerpt!
The
scream hung in the air, then stopped abruptly. As though the person's air
supply had been suddenly cut off.
I
looked up and down the street, but there was no one else in sight. The carriage
had vanished, turning the corner perhaps. Never was I so glad to have followed
Myrtle's advice. I rummaged around in my bodice and retrieved the pistol. The
grip was slippery with perspiration, but its metallic weight was reassuring in
my hand as I took a deep breath and entered Central Park at the Seventy-Ninth Street
transverse.
I
ran down the winding road, trying not to trip over my skirts. I had been to the
park many times with John and his brothers, but always during the daytime. We
would bring a picnic lunch and they would play rugby on a large lawn called the
Green, while I read a book or just lay on my back watching the clouds. I knew
the Green was a bit to the south near a ladies' restaurant called the Casino. I
was less familiar with this area.
Newly
installed electric lamps illuminated a fork in the road. I caught a glimpse of
the lake through the trees to my left, not the water itself but the red and
blue lights of the hired pleasure boats. We skated there last winter, John,
Connor and I, before the blizzard. When the ice was frozen solid, all the
omnibuses and horse cars would fly white flags and word would spread that
"the ball is up in the park!"—meaning the red ball had been hoisted
on the Arsenal and it was safe to skate.
Connor
wasn't living with us yet, but John had taken an immediate fancy to him. I think
he enjoyed showing Connor new things, things he couldn't even have dreamt of
before he tried to rob Myrtle and ended up getting a job instead. I smiled at
the memory. A frosty January morning, just after New Year's. The sky was a
lustrous, bottomless blue. We'd gone to one of the nearby cottages afterwards
and sipped hot chocolate in front of a roaring fire. John told a ghost story,
something about the restless souls of smallpox patients haunting the
Gothic-style hospital on Ward's Island after its closure two years ago…
All
was silent. I began to wonder if what I thought was a scream had actually been
wild laughter.
I
paused at the entrance to a heavily wooded area that could only be the Ramble.
In the sunlight, it was reputed to be one of the most beautiful parts of the
park, a rustic paradise of gurgling brooks and wildflowers. Tonight, it just
looked dark and impenetrable.
"Hello?"
I called, feeling idiotic. "Does anyone need help?"
Not
even a cricket replied.
I
was turning to leave when I heard a noise. It had a wet, squelching quality that made my skin crawl. With very little
effort, my mind conjured up the image of a deer carcass being dressed with a
sharp knife.
I
switched the pistol to my left hand and wiped the sweat off my right palm. Then
I returned the pistol to my right and cocked it.
"You
really are a fool, Harry," I
muttered.
I
began to walk cautiously deeper into the Ramble. Trees laden with vines pressed
close on both sides. The lights of the main thoroughfare faded behind me. I
tried to be stealthy, but my dress rustled like a pile of autumn leaves with
every step. Then the breeze died, leaving an airless void. Stinging beads of
sweat popped out on my forehead and rolled into my eyes.
It
was so dark that I tripped over the body.
All
I knew was that my left foot caught on something in the middle of the path. I
pinwheeled my arms and tried to recover, but when I looked down and saw the
white flash of skin gleaming in the moonlight, I let out a shriek and went arse
over teakettle, as Connor would say, into the undergrowth. The pistol flew from
my hand.
I
lay there, gasping for breath that wouldn't come. My chest felt like a locked
door with no key. My eyes still worked though. And what I saw lifted all the
hair on my body straight up.
A
rough stone wall crossed the path ten paces away. It was broken by a narrow
archway, through which the night poured black as pitch. But something even
darker stood just within the shadow of the arch. Watching me.
I
groped for the pistol but my hands came away empty. Empty and wet.
I
was lying in a pool of blood.
The
whole scene was so surreal, my mind simply rejected it. This couldn't be
happening. Not an hour ago I was dancing with John in a brightly lit ballroom
filled with people. Maybe not the nicest people, but still, regular people.
How
easy it is in New York City to tumble down the rabbit hole. It just takes a few
wrong steps. One or two poor decisions. The abyss is always waiting for the
unwary. A hidden signal, and the trapdoor suddenly opens beneath your feet,
dropping you into a lightless pit, a charnel house like the one in the Benders'
cellar.
A
beam of moonlight caught the glint of metal in the archway. Just a glimmer, but
it was at about the height where you'd expect to see a knife if a person held
it dangling point-down at their side.
I
watched, breath still trapped in my throat like a wild animal clawing to get
out, as the blade moved gently back and forth. A grotesque waggling gesture. Like some demented children's rhyme.
Round and round the mulberry
bush
The monkey chased the weasel
The monkey thought it was all in
fun…
My
fingers scrabbled frantically through the dirt.
The
blackness within the archway looked bottomless, infinite, like a hole torn in
the fabric of the universe. The words Mrs. Rivers uttered at the séance, in
that horrible chorus of overlapping voices, came back to me:
Abyssus
abyssum invocat
Deep calls to deep
The
figure shifted, moving slowly into the moonlight. I saw a pale hand, and a
knife as long as my forearm, mottled heavily with some dark substance. The
glint of a brass button at the cuff.
I
clenched my teeth and drew a ragged stream of air into my lungs. It wasn't
enough.
You're
going to die here, Harry, I thought dimly. And the killings will just go on and
on and on…
GIVEAWAY!
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