A little after sundown, I drove past the auto repair garage where our safe house was located. I’d never been to the garage before, but I’d heard a few stories about it, none of which described the area as pleasant. Any time you go somewhere new, you want to do an initial recon. Where are the escape routes, where can you hide? Get a feel for the place and the neighborhood, get that all-important first impression so you can distinguish something normal from something strange. Admittedly, it was a gut-level thing, but my instructors had taught me that good observation would save you blood.
After circling a few blocks, I picked an open parking spot out of sight of the shop and far enough away that no one could connect me with the garage. It was a fair distance to walk, but I could get a better sense of the neighborhood on foot, and scout out locations to use for hiding or escaping in case things went bad right away. I eased out of the car, closing the door quietly, and scanned the area around me. When I saw it was clear, I grabbed my backpack and duffel—really, everything I owned—and headed back to the garage. Unless someone was really paying close attention, I would be forgotten with a glance. A cop might realize that everything I wore was dark and would blend easily into the shadows, but in this neighborhood, cops would be few and far between. There would be the occasional cruiser drive by, a so-called presence patrol, and if they saw a corpse or a house on fire they’d stop—other than that, they wouldn’t risk leaving the car or waste time fixing the perpetually broken.
I was in recon mode on the way to the garage, taking my time but trying not to be obvious about it. I looked hard at parked cars and up into the windows of nearby houses, but I didn’t see anything suspicious, like a stakeout or observation post. The neighborhood appeared to be working poor—two-story row houses with few people around now that the sun had gone down. I didn’t even see the usual trash and teenagers hanging out by the corner store, killing time and waiting for their big break to materialize. As I walked along, I could hear the occasional TV or conversation, but other than that, this part of town was quiet. That was both good and bad, but I took it as an omen. Something wasn’t right.
Title: Junior Inquisitor
Author: Lincoln Farish
Genre: Dark Urban Fiction / Horror
Brother Sebastian is halfway up a mountain in Vermont, hell-bent on interrogating an old woman in ashack, when he gets the order to abandon his quest for personal vengeance. He has to find a missing Inquisitor, or, more likely, his remains. He’s reluctant, to say the least. Not only will he have to stop chasing the best potential lead he’s had in years, this job—his first solo mission—will mean setting foot in the grubby black hole of Providence, Rhode Island. And, somehow, it only gets worse…
If he’d known he would end up ass deep in witches, werewolves, and ogres, and that this mission would jeopardize not only his sanity but also his immortal soul, he never would’ve answered the damn phone.
Author Bio Called an adventurer and quite possibly insane, Lincoln has traveled to many continents and countries on his own and at his country’s behest to determine from whence the darkness comes. Despite persistent rumors, Lincoln maintains that he had nothing to do with the tiger, was not involved in illicit wiener dog races, and has never used his knowledge of genetics to create a better life form.
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