Monday, February 19, 2018

Hexcommunicated by Rafael Chandler - Book Tour + Giveaway




Hexcommunicated
Rafael Chandler

Genre: Urban Fantasy

Publisher: Neoplastic Press

Date of Publication: July 7, 2012

ISBN: 978-1478196662
ASIN: B008IVFRCE

Number of pages: 302
Word Count: 94,400

Cover Artist: Lou Harper
Cover Model: Rose Ballentine

Tagline: When the sun comes up, the girl of his dreams will murder him.

Book Description:

The name is Tepes. Nicolae Tepes. I'm a federal agent with Hex Division.

When the sun comes up, the girl of my dreams is going to kill me.

My partner's a werewolf, but we get along okay. We were investigating this murder when we stumbled across a conspiracy unlike anything we've ever dealt with before. Ghostmortems, Scarevoyants, all kinds of freaks.

It started bad and got worse quick: a psychic on our team had a vision of the future. At sunrise, I'll die at the hands of the woman I love, and then a psychotic death cult will deploy a supernatural weapon of mass destruction.

We've got eight hours to prevent this prophecy from coming true, but the psychics of Hex Division are never wrong...

Excerpt:

          I holstered my gun. "Right. Let's toss the place."
            Zheng flipped the mattress over.
            I pulled dresser drawers. I froze. Stainless steel shuriken rattled against each
other. I hauled open a few more drawers; in each one, more throwing stars.
Maybe a hundred total.
            "Whiskey tango foxtrot," Zheng said. She leaned the mattress against the wall. A
half-dozen circular saw blades gleamed on the boxspring.
            "Ambush," I said. I drew my gun. I snapped my fangs.
            Zheng went feral: full werewolf. Teeth bared, she hunched over and glared around the
room, waiting for something to twitch so that she could eviscerate it. I held still.
            After a minute, I relaxed.
            "Okay," I said. "Nobody here. Let's keep searching."
            With a high-pitched scraping sound, the bed's metal frame buckled once, then lurched
across the room. With a heavy thud, it slammed end-first into the door, scattering saw blades all over the carpet.
            I got ready to shoot, but there was no one to aim at. The bed had moved of its
own accord. I whirled around. No targets. Zheng growled, a menacing rumble from
deep in her chest. She cocked her head like a terrier. I heard it too: a clinking sound.
            The shuriken in the drawers floated up into the air. Suspended by some invisible
force, they twirled in neat rows, their sharpened edges flinging light around the room.
            "Jesus on the cross," Zheng said.
            I bolted for the bathroom. "Move," I said. "Get the door." I couldn't seem to form complete sentences. My instincts were screaming in crimson meter-high all-caps. My legs felt like concrete.
            The circular saw blades wobbled up off the carpet and formed a line, rotating cautiously. They hovered. Zheng turned to follow me into the bathroom.
            As if fired from a gun, the shuriken sliced through the air towards us. Behind them, the saw blades spun forward.
            A hungry blade caught me in the side, chewing through my ribs and shredding one
of my lungs. I coughed out a scream and fell short of the bathroom door. Pain
sizzled in my nerve endings as a cluster of shuriken bit into my upper back,
embedding themselves in the muscle tissue. Another saw blade shrieked towards
me. I rolled over. It thunked into the carpet, then trembled as it tried to
wrench itself out of the floor.
            Zheng lunged for the bed frame. "Get it off the door," she snarled.
Shuriken swarmed her like a school of piranha, slicing into her wrists and
thighs, then darting away. She hauled at the frame, but it wouldn't budge, held
in place by the same force that had turned this hotel room into a slaughterhouse.
            A saw blade whistled towards Zheng's neck. She jerked her head to the side. It
bounced off the metal frame, then zipped towards me. I scrambled off the
blood-soaked carpet and hurled myself into the bathroom. Kicking the door shut,
I slid back across the tiles. Saw blades thunked into the door.
            "Break the window," I yelled through the door. "Jump for it." Zheng
could survive a six-story fall, no problem.
            "Can't get through," she yelled back. "Any windows in there?"
            "No."
            I grabbed the sink, elbowed myself up, and glimpsed a blood-soaked ghoul in the
mirror, a throwing star sticking out of his shoulder. With a grunt, I reached
back and started to yank it out, then thought better of it. At least it was
stuck in the bone. If I pulled it loose, it might go for my eyes.
            The toilet lid rattled.
            "Oh, for fuck's sake," I said, backing away. The lid bounced up. A dozen
serrated kitchen knives scraped their tips past the ceramic lid, shiny shark
teeth poking forward as I reached for the doorknob.
            Diving back into the room, I pulled the door shut behind me. The knives punched
halfway through the door. I backed up.
            Zheng stood in the middle of the room, clothes slashed to ribbons, muscles bulging as
she swung the dresser around. Shuriken and saw blades, stuck in the dresser,
shook violently as they tried to wrench themselves loose.
            Flakes of plaster tumbled down from a ragged hole in the drywall; it looked like Zheng
had tried to claw her way through to the next room.
            I aimed my gun at the window, then saw the saw blades, dozens of them, pressed
against the glass, a foot apart from each other, spinning silently. Any attempt
to pass through them would hack me into strips.
            "I got heartbeats," Zheng growled. It was hard to understand her with those
monstrous fangs in her mouth.
            Behind her, a swarm of shuriken wheeled and dove. "Behind you."
            She dropped the dresser and swatted at the throwing stars irritably, some of them
smacking into her arm, clacking into the bone. Blood spurted. She yelped. A
metal lamp whipped itself off a nightstand and clocked me in the temple. I fell
to my knees, black spots dancing across my field of vision. Zheng hauled me to
my feet.
            "Two pulses, both slow. All this yelling, they should be worried. But they're not.
Whoever they are, they're asleep."
            I blinked, trying hard to put this all together. A saw blade flew at me. I picked
up the wooden coffee table and used it as a shield; the blade buzzed through
the table and tore off part of my right bicep. I grabbed the spurting wound,
clamped down on it. How much blood had I lost? Three or four pints? Out of
what, ten? How long before I passed out and got decapitated?
            A half-dozen saw blades peeled off the window and darted towards us. Zheng picked
up the dresser and chucked it at them.
            "Apologies in advance," Zheng growled. "No time to claw through the wall. I need
a battering ram."
            "Wait," I croaked.
            Ignoring my protests, she hoisted me up.
            "You got all those metal parts," she said, a shuriken clipping one of her ears
off. "Figure I'm strong enough, you should go through drywall pretty good."

            "Oh, shit," I said.

About the Author:

Rafael Chandler writes novels (Mask Beneath Her Face, The Astounding Antagonists), video games (SOCOM 4, Rainbow Six: Lockdown), and tabletop role-playing games (Teratic Tome, Lusus Naturae). He's a metalhead, kaijuphile, and gorehound.












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