Cover & Excerpt
Riga Hayworth Book Seven
A Monstrous Assassin. A Metaphysical Detective.
Housebound with five-month-old twins, Riga Hayworth just wants to get back in the metaphysical detecting game.
But when she’s called to help an elderly woman, haunted and alone, a deadly threat follows Riga home.
Can Riga prevent a tragedy and protect her family?
The Hermetic Detective is the seventh and final book in the Riga Hayworth series of paranormal mystery novels.
Genre: Paranormal MysteryPurchase link(s): Amazon Kobo B&N
Content/Theme(s): Detective, Assassin, Magic, Suspense, Urban Fantasy
Release Date: October 31, 2015
Publisher: Misterio Press
Excerpt & More
The clang of the alarm faded to white noise.
Riga stood in an empty corridor. Long rows of lockers and red-painted classroom doors extended into the distance. A corridor branched ahead to the right. Above the twin metal doors a sign flickered red: PEN.
She walked closer. The light flashed, strong then weak, and she saw that the O had gone completely dark.
The halls looked like those of her old high school. She was supposed to be somewhere, but she couldn’t remember the room number. And there was someone…
Her chest squeezed. The babies. Oh, God. She’d left them. Where were they? She pushed through the door, ran down one corridor, another, slamming through heavy doors. What kind of mother abandoned her children?
“Sheesh,” a man said from behind her. “When you’re asleep, you don’t know you’re dreaming. When you’re awake, you don’t know you’re alive. You’ve gotta remember the details, doll face.”
Skidding to a halt, she spun around, gaped. “Vinnie?”
The ghost slouched against a locker. Dark-haired and dapper in his white sailor’s uniform, he grinned. “In the spirit.”
“This is a dream.” She slumped, relieved. And the dream was a recurring one she should have recognized. Why did she always end up back in school, late for class, unable to find where she was supposed to be?
“That’s what I said. You got wax in your ears?”
Sleep. She’d finally gotten to sleep, and she was damn well going to enjoy it, even if that stupid alarm was clamoring in the distance. “Please tell me you’re not real, that you’re just a figment of my subconscious.” The ghost had a tendency to appear when trouble was brewing, and she had enough on her hands with a pair of five-month-olds.
Vinnie’s eyebrows shot up. “Who said your subconscious ain’t real?”
“If you’re going to get cryptic, I’m leaving.” She focused on her hands, slender and unlined, and imagined a dream beach. She looked up. Nope, still in school.
“That’s life, doll, a snake biting its own tail.”
Riga groaned. “You used to be more direct. Don’t tell me your role as my guardian angel has turned you into a mystic.”
“Not your guardian, the big guy’s. You two’ve got cute rug rats, by the way.”
“They’re sleeping like babies.” He smirked. “Now listen up, we don’t have much time. There’s big trouble coming—”
“What sort of trouble?”
“I just told you, the big kind.”
“If your Donovan’s guardian angel, why don’t you invade his dreams?”
“Because A: he’s not sleeping right now, and B: he won’t let me, and C: I ain’t no angel.” He leered.
“Really?” Riga digested that. How was her husband able to block the ghost? Donovan had never displayed any overtly magical powers. But there was something… A power fizzing just beneath his skin. “But why—?”
Whipping off his sailor’s hat, he smacked his thigh. “Dames! They won’t stop flapping their jaws.” He shook his fist at the ceiling. “When’s this penance gonna to be done? Don’t a guy deserve to rest in peace?”
She folded her arms and discovered her dream self was wearing her new favorite outfit, a linen blazer over wide-legged, black linen pants. “Let’s get this over with. Tell me. How bad?”
He rubbed his face. “Do you know how many people died at Pearl, Riga?”
“Pearl Harbor?” Her arms loosened, dropped to her sides. Vinnie didn’t joke about Pearl. Over 2,500 people had died there, some his friends. And she couldn’t remember the last time he’d called her by her name. Had he ever? “What are you telling me?”
“That it’s terrifying what a coordinated attack can do.”
“And who’s coordinating?”
“That’s the question.”
“You’re telling me you don’t know the answer?” Riga asked, disbelieving.
“No.” He paced between lockers. “But there’s rules.”
“Then what’s the good of this warning?”
His shoulders hunched. “I know, I know. Look, just don’t take nothing for granted. Don’t believe nothing and no one, got it?”
That went without saying. Her husband, Donovan, was the only person she trusted completely. “But—”
“Too late. Now wake up.”
She twitched in the soft lounge chair and blinked at the two cribs, the shelves of children’s books and stuffed animals, the slowly spinning mobile of stars and planets. One crib stood vacant, the twins preferring to share. Riga was desperate enough for sleep to let them have their way. She could see them now through the bars of their crib, their little faces peaceful. Her heart went gooey.
Dream fading, she raked a hand through her auburn hair, checked her watch. Ten A.M. She looked down. Her favorite outfit had been replaced. Soft, black knit pants, a button-up shirt in the same fabric, a slim belt around her waist. Comfort clothes. She tossed one end of a forest-green scarf over her shoulder. She might be a new mom, but she hadn’t thrown in the towel on fashion yet.
A tail thumped on the carpet. Her Rhodesian Ridgeback, Oz, looked up at her, hopeful.
Whipping the burp towel off her shoulder, she leaned over and scratched behind the massive dog’s ears.
Its tail thumped louder.
The twins were safe, and she’d been dreaming about… What?
She glanced to the door. The light above it blinked red.
Muffling a curse, she stumbled from the lounge chair and grabbed her handgun off the end table. Her fear mixed with something she preferred not to identify.
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Be on the lookout for Kirsten Weiss' future release(s): The Perfectly Proper Paranormal Museum coming March 2016 and A Midsummer Night’s Mechanical coming Spring 2016
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