You never know when you’ll find yourselffalling through one of the cracks in the world.…Two of today’s brightest stars of dark fantasy combine their award-winning, critically acclaimed talents in this spellbinding new tale of magic, terror, and adventure that begins when a young woman slips through the space between our everyday world and the one hiding just beneath it.Always assume there’s someone after you. That was the paranoid wisdom her mother had hardwired into Jasmine Towne ever since she was a little girl. Now, suddenly on her own, Jazz is going to need every skill she has ever been taught to survive enemies both seen and unseen. For her mother had given Jazz one last invaluable piece of advice, written in her own blood.Jazz Hide ForeverAll her life Jazz has known them only as the “Uncles,” and her mother seemed to fear them as much as depend on them. Now these enigmatic, black-clad strangers are after Jazz for reasons she can’t fathom, and her only escape is to slip into the forgotten tunnels of London’s vast underground. Here she will meet a tribe of survivors calling themselves the United Kingdom and begin an adventure that links her to the ghosts of a city long past, a father she never knew, and a destiny she fears only slightly less than the relentless killers who’d commit any crime under heaven or earth to prevent her from fulfilling it.

Book One in the Shadow Saga is a brilliant epic that takes you into the secret world of vampires--and a secret society sworn to destroy them. Sweeping, sensuous, and shocking, it is a powerful vision of immortality that will hold you in its spell...forever.

"Move over, X-Men and the League of Extraordinary Gentlemen, here comes the Menagerie!" - The Barnes & Noble ReviewAvailable for the first time in a single volume, this special bundle includes all four books in the Menagerie series from New York Times bestselling authors Christopher Golden and Thomas E. Sniegoski.MEET THE MENAGERIEThey\'re as hodge-podge a mix of other-worldly beings as anyone can imagine. But a sorcerer, a scientist, a sixteen-year-old demon, and the others all have one thing in common: a hunger for justice -- no matter what the cost. They are beings of myth and legend. They possess powers beyond imagining. They are our only hope.This bundle includes these four full-length novels:THE NIMBLE MAN:Behind the facade of a stately Boston brownstone, humanity\'s last defenses are being marshaled. Called to action by the enigmatic, brilliant man known only as Mr. Doyle, they hail from all planes of existence and are born from an array of supernatural and otherworldly backgrounds and bloodlines. But as the group struggles to come to terms with their shadowy pasts, personal demons, and conflicting loyalties, their greatest challenge awaits them.Together, they will confront the minions of utter darkness, who have already begun their quest to resurrect the most malevolent of the fallen angels -- and whose wrath against mankind knows no bounds . . .THE TEARS OF THE FURIESWhen word comes to Doyle of a series of inexplicable deaths in and around Athens -- men and women turned from living flesh into cold stone -- he dispatches the Menagerie to investigate.But he soon follows when he realizes that he has sent them into a far greater danger than he imagined. For the queen of the Gorgons herself has risen. To defeat her, the group will have to descend into Hell itself . . . and some may not return. STONES UNTURNEDA powerful, demonic force has escaped from the infernal realm -- putting the human world in dire peril. It seeks an ally in Danny Ferrick, the youngest member of the Menagerie -- a changeling who is already tormented by his dark, primal urges, the legacy of his demon father.Tempted into sampling the horrific but thrilling existence of a full-fledged demon, Danny is on the edge of renouncing all that makes him human. Now time is running out for the other members of Doyle\'s team as they struggle to save their friend from falling into darkness -- and taking all of humanity with him . . .CRASHING PARADISEThe Legion of Doom is hell-bent on breaking into Eden, and they\'ve got the perfect captive to help them: Eve, mother of all humanity -- and all vampires. Only Doyle and the Menagerie can stop them from turning a blessed garden into a paradise lost."Fast, fabulous, and thrilling. . . . The Menagerie novels deliver like a mythical punch to the forehead."--Tim Lebbon, author of Dawn, Dusk, and Beserk"A non-stop, crazy-ass parade of two-fisted monster action! I want more!" - Mike Mignola

"A wonderful, wild ride. " --Michael Koryta,New York Times Bestselling author of How It Happened and If She WakesWhen what appears to be the original Pandora's Box is discovered in an ancient city, neighboring countries fight for ownership and unleash a terrible plague. ____The Pandora Room is New York Timesbestselling author Christopher Golden 's chilling exploration of what happens when the original Pandora's Box is discovered in an ancient subterranean city, stirring international conflict and exposing the archaeological team to curses, whispers, and the terror of a legendary plague.In one ancient variation on the myth of Pandora's Box, there were two jars, one for Pandora and one for her sister, Anesidora. One contained all the blessings of the gods, the other all the world's curses. Now, in a subterranean city in Northern Iraq, archaeologist Sophie Durand has discovered a secret chamber covered in writing that confirms that version of the tale--a chamber which contains a single jar. "Weird shit" expert Ben Walker joins Sophie's team just as the mystery deepens and grows ugly. Those who believe the myth want to know which jar has been found in the Pandora Room, the one containing blessings, or the one full of curses. Governments rush to lay claim, but jihadi forces aren't waiting for the dust to settle. Whatever the jar contains, they want it, no matter who they have to kill…or what will emerge when they open it. For Sophie, Walker, and the others, the Pandora Room may soon become their tomb.__Review" The Pandora Room is a marvelous collision of adrenaline-fueled plotting and graceful writing. Christopher Golden knows how to tell a story, and he knows how to work the reader's emotions. This hybrid of high adventure, supernatural thrills, and all-too-plausible chills is a wonderful, wild ride. " ―Michael Koryta, New York Times Bestselling author of How It Happened and If She Wakes"Award-winner Christopher Golden's latest razor-edged thriller The Pandora Room is sure to garner a slew of new trophies. The opening grabbed me by the throat and continued to strangle ever tighter as tensions climbed page by page to the explosive conclusion. Here is a master storyteller at his finest.Brilliantly told, arcanely crafted, with an ending that chills the marrow of your bones." ―James Rollins, New York Timesbestselling author of The Demon Crown" Christopher Golden knows how to thrill.The Pandora Room is such a spooky adventure. Political intrigue and mythic threats mingle to make a story that plays with your sense of reality. On top of that, it 's also just a lot of fun!" ― Victor LaValle, author of The Changeling"A haunting look at what happens when a legendary myth crashes into our stark reality, Christopher Golden's THE PANDORA ROOM has it all ― a chilling premise, taut pacing and a compelling protagonist in the complex and heroic Sophie Durand. A globe-trotting supernatural thriller that also feels deeply personal at the same time, Golden 's sharp and powerful prose will keep readers glued to this book. You're in for a wild ride." ―Alex Segura, acclaimed author of Blackoutand Dangerous Ends" I was completely swept away by this book. Christopher Golden takes us deep underground in an edge of your seat thriller steeped in mythology, international turmoil, and terror. Want to catch a glimpse of what true evil looks like? Brace yourself and enterThe Pandora Room." ―Jennifer McMahon,New York Times bestselling author of The Winter People and Promise Not to Tell"Solid prose and well-developed characters...Preston and Child fans will clamor for more of Walker." ― Publishers WeeklyAbout the AuthorCHRISTOPHER GOLDEN is the New York Times bestselling author of Ararat, Snowblind, Dead Ringers, Tin Men, and Of Saints and Shadows, among many other novels. With Mike Mignola, he is the co-creator of two cult favorite comic book series, Baltimore and Joe Golem: Occult Detective. Golden is also the editor of such anthologies as Seize the Night, The New Dead, and Dark Cities, and the co-host of the popular podcast Three Guys with Beards. He lives in Massachusetts.

On March 21st, 2013, I received a phone call from Holly Newstein telling me that her husband, Rick Hautala, had suffered a massive heart attack. That piece of information shocked me into a surreal sort of panic, so much so that at first I could not make the leap to the next thing she said...that he had died. It seemed impossible. Rick had been such a good friend, such a consistent and stable force in my life, that the idea of him being so suddenly removed from this world...I just couldn't make sense of it. I have no doubt that readers will treasure this two-volume set. It is my hope that as you read, you will ruminate a little bit about the man for whom we all have come together within these pages. And I hope you'll urge others to pick up their own copies of MISTER OCTOBER as well.

About the AuthorChristoper Golden was voted the third most popular science fiction author of the year 2000 by the readers of SFX magazine. He is the author of several dark fantasy novels and comic books in addition to numerous Buffy the Vampire Slayer adult novels and reference books which have made him a major UK bestseller. Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.Chapter 1The swinging door that separated the dining room from the kitchen of Bridget's Irisk Rose Pub was a portal between two worlds. In the restaurant proper, fans whirled lazily above brass and wood, and the Celtic-rooted melodies of the Chieftains were pumped into the room along with the air-conditioning. Only the steady chatter of the clientele and the bustle of the waitstaff disturbed the tranquility of the scene. When Molly Hatcher, empty tray in hand, pushed through the door into the kitchen, it was like diving into chaos. The cooks in the back shouted pleasant obscenities at one another, dishes were clattered, and orders were shouted out. Somehow, the chaos managed to find a kind of focus whenever Tim Dunphy was on duty. Tim was twenty-three, a powerfully built guy from South Boston who had little patience for fooling around. Molly had a feeling it was more the respect for Tim's ability to kick the hell out of any one of them rather than his prowess as a chef that made the other cooks obey him. Either way, he ran a tight ship. Loud, yes, and wild, but somehow the orders in his kitchen were filled and rarely wrong. Molly stood with her back to the wall to let another waitress slide by her. A computer screen to the left showed that order number 0417 was up, and it was one of hers. She slipped her tray onto the counter and scanned the various dishes that were arrayed on the warming racks before her. Swiftly, she gathered the four dishes that comprised her order and turned to go. "What, you don't even say 'hi' anymore?" Tray balanced precariously on one hand and hip, Molly turned to grin at Tim on the other side of the counter. "Hi, Tim," she replied, a tiny smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "I didn't want to interrupt. You guys are so busy." "Never too busy for you, Miss Hatcher," he flirted. Molly rolled her eyes, but she knew he would not take it harshly. Though she did not really know how to handle his advances, that didn't mean she didn't like them. Not at all. Tim was a mess -- greasy face, bandanna tied over his head to keep his hair from falling into the food; never mind the odd bump on the bridge of his nose, where it had been broken at least once. A fighter, no doubt. Growing up in Southie, he'd probably not had a chance to be anything else. And with her wild red hair and green eyes, Molly knew she was Tim's type. He'd made no secret of that fact. Truth be told, despite his rough edges, she thought he was sort of sweet. But it was too soon. Way too soon. After what she'd been through...after Artie... "So, y'know," Tim began, "I was thinkin' maybe we could -- " "Leave the girl alone, Timothy Dunphy." Molly turned, startled -- though not enough to unbalance her tray -- and saw Tim's sister Kiera shaking a finger at him. Kiera was also a waitress at the pub, and she and Molly had struck up a friendship. "Mind your own damn business, Kiera," Tim snapped, eyes narrowing. "I make it my business. Why don't you just do your job?" Her brother bristled. "You oughta learn to keep your mouth shut." "I kicked your ass when you were twelve, boy, and I'd be happy to do it again." Tim shot her the finger, then grinned broadly at Molly and disappeared back into the kitchen. A second later one of the other cooks slipped several plates of food onto the warming racks. "Don't let him bother you," Kiera said, a smirk on her face. "He's not," Molly insisted. "But I'm happy to provide you guys with something else to fight about." "And we appreciate it," Kiera confirmed, eyes lighting up with mischief. "We truly do." Molly shook her head in amusement, then carried her tray out of the shouting and clattering that was the kitchen and into the much more serene environment of the restaurant. The other difference, of course, was temperature. The kitchen was insufferably hot, with so many stoves and ovens going at once. The restaurant and bar area whistled along at a cool seventy-three degrees, according to the thermostat. As she slipped around a recently hired waiter named Paul and waved at Wendy, the hostess up by the front door, Molly found her thoughts again drifting back to Artie. For most of high school, the two of them had been inseparable. Then, in April, her sweet, funny guy had been murdered. Surreal as it had seemed then, it was even more so now. For Artie had not been killed by a drive-by gangbanger or convenience-store robber. He had been butchered by a race of monsters that had been around before the first man walked the earth. Monsters. After all she had seen, she still had a hard time wrapping her mind around that word. But there was no other way to describe them. They weren't werewolves, though there were similarities. Unlike the werewolves of mythology, the Prowlers had no human core whose basic moral structure might restrict their actions, though some of them lived peacefully, even benevolently, among humanity. The rest were just savages, beasts who stalked the human race like lions on the veldt or hunted in packs along the fringes of civilization. Except sometimes they didn't stay on the fringes. A bold pack of Prowlers hunting in the city had killed Artie and Kate Nordling, one of Molly's best friends, as well as a bunch of other people. The authorities had finally caught up with them, and Molly and her friend Jack Dwyer had taken down their leader while the police dealt with the others. But there were more out there. No one knew how many, but it was clear that they existed, scattershot, all over the world, in ones and twos and packs of various sizes. Molly shuddered at the thought of what might happen someday if they were all brought together. Their knowledge of the Prowlers had put both her and Jack on edge, made them suspicious of everything and everyone. Jack. He was the other reason she did not know how to react to Tim Dunphy's flirting. All through the horrors back in April, Jack had been at Molly's side. He had been Artie's best friend since the two of them were very young, and he was the one who had first discovered the truth about the Prowlers. For her safety, Jack and his older sister Courtney, who owned the pub with him, had invited Molly to live with them and work there. For safety, she had agreed. Once she was there, even after the crisis was over, Molly was not about to go home to her drunken, abusive mother and their filthy apartment in Dorchester. She only had six weeks left to go now before she started classes at Yale in the fall. Not a lot of time, and she wanted to spend it with Jack and Courtney. She had to wonder if she didn't really just want to spend that time with Jack. Even wondering filled her with horrible guilt. Just a few months earlier her boyfriend had been murdered, and now she felt...something, at least, for his best friend. But she could not help it. Jack was her best friend, now. No one had ever known her so well. Not even Artie. Which didn't help alleviate her guilt at all. "Miss?" Molly blinked, stopped too quickly and only just managed to keep from letting the dinner tray topple from its perch atop her fingers. She frowned as she glanced at the woman in the booth who had called out to her. Then realization dawned, and Molly offered an apologetic, self-deprecating grin. The order she was carrying belonged to the three women at that table. "I'm sorry," she said earnestly as she slipped the plates one by one onto the table. "Just a little preoccupied, I guess." "No harm done," a diminutive blond piped up from across the booth. "As long as we all get what we ordered. I'm starved." The other women chuckled, and Molly joined in. As she slid the last of the dishes onto the table, she happened to glance over at the bar area. A small cluster of locals sat at one end, eyes glued to whatever sporting event was on the TV bolted to the wall behind the bar. A few empty stools down from them, however, there sat a man, alone. Staring at her. With a quick intake of breath that whistled through her teeth, Molly turned her attention back to her customers. She forced a smile, all the while feeling the stranger's eyes boring into her from behind. "Can I get you ladies anything else?" she asked. One of them asked for an iced tea, but the others practically ignored Molly as they dug into their dinners. When she turned around, her gaze ticked involuntarily back to the bar again. The man wore blue jeans and black boots, and a stylishly tight powder-blue T-shirt stretched over a broad, muscular chest. One of his biceps bore a tattoo she could not make out at this distance. His hair was too long and his chin bore several days stubble. He would have been strikingly handsome if he didn't look so mean, if his eyes didn't burn as he stared at her with a hunger that was almost...predatory. Oh my God, Molly thought, heart skipping a beat. A horrible thought occurred to her. Panicked, she glanced anxiously around the pub until she spotted Jack talking to the hostess up front. She dangled the large, round tray at her side as she made a beeline across the restaurant for him. When Courtney was not around, Jack was in charge. But even if his older sister had been there, Molly would have gone to Jack instead. When he saw her striding toward him, Jack's conversation faltered. "Molly, what is it?" he asked. Her gaze flicked toward Wendy, who instantly got the message and returned to the tall desk the hostess used to take reservations and assign seating. Molly purposely positioned herself in the line of sight between Jack and the man -- the predator -- at the bar. "Don't look right away," she warned him. "There's a man sitting by himself up at the bar who looks a little like a TV star or something. He's staring at me." A small smile twitched at the corners of Jack's mouth. "Can you blame him?" She grimaced. "Not in a good way, Jack. I get a vibe off him. I can't help wondering if he's...hunting." Her friend's face blanched and his eyes narrowed. He was five foot ten and, though muscular, not physically intimidating. But Jack was stronger than he looked, and when his body tensed, she could feel the coiled power of a much larger man. Jack was not someone to underestimate. Not at all. As Molly watched, Jack glanced past her shoulder. She saw no reaction in his features before he gazed at her again. "Wish Bill was back from his break," Jack said, voice low and grave. "He'd be able to tell." Molly hesitated a moment, then gave a tiny shrug. "What do we do?" Jack nodded slowly. Then, without a word, he set off across the restaurant on a direct course for the bar. The world around him shuddered and seemed to disappear as Jack strode the wood floor of Bridget's Irisk Rose Pub. The voices were gone and the other patrons ceased to exist, until all that remained were the guy at the bar and the music that lingered in the air. Adrenaline rushed through him, and Jack nearly quivered with it. His alarms were going off, and he did his best to tone them down. Molly was right. The guy looked out of place in here, like a model or an actor. Too perfect. And cruel, too. That was what disturbed Jack most of all. A powerful-looking guy, out of place, all by himself, and staring at Molly as though he were the hunter and she the prey. Prowler, Jack thought, and the idea only solidified as he moved closer to the man, defiantly challenging him with his steady gaze. The man did not look away. Jack took the two steps up to the bar area and stood directly in front of the man, staring down at him. "You're pissing her off," Jack told him. The man's eyebrows shot up, a glint of amusement in his eyes. It was an arrogant look, and Jack wanted very much to slap it off his face. "I'm sorry? I don't know what you're talkin' about." Arms crossed, Jack glared at him. "The redheaded waitress, the one you keep staring at. You're pissing her off." The guy laughed. "I'm watchin' her. She's pretty tasty-lookin'. No law against watchin'. And I'm wonderin' if maybe it ain't her I'm pissin' off. Otherwise maybe she'd be over here tellin' me herself. Doesn't look like the kind of girl who'd let a guy do her dirty work. Unless maybe she's scared a' me." Tasty-looking. The phrase stuck in Jack's mind. It might just be the guy being obnoxious, or it might mean something else entirely. "Maybe she is," Jack admitted. "So maybe you should go." The guy shook his head in disbelief and stood up. He was a good four inches taller than Jack, a lot broader, and -- Jack had to hand it to him -- he was better dressed. He knew how the man must see him: punk nineteen-year-old in a cotton shirt with the name of the pub sewn on the breast, telling him what to do? "I'm not done with my beer," the guy drawled in his slight southern accent. With a frown, Jack tilted his head and regarded the man. "You've never heard of Tanzer, have you?" From the flicker of confusion in the guy's eyes, he knew the answer. This man was not a Prowler. Just an arrogant, sexist moron with a chip on his shoulder. Jack sighed. Prowlers were one thing. Jerks like this he had to handle just about every day, which got monotonous. "You're gonna leave now," Jack told him. "Who the hell are you?" the guy scoffed. "The owner," Jack said coolly, gazing up at the man. He sniffed with a boredom that was only partially feigned. "Look, I know you think you're a badass. But you're gonna have to trust me when I say I've dealt with meaner. If you want trouble here, you shouldn't come alone." For a few seconds the guy laughed at that. But even as he did, he watched Jack's eyes. Whatever he saw there, something in them convinced him that Jack was speaking true. He reached behind the bar and grabbed his mug, sucked back several gulps of beer, then slammed it down hard and stalked off, not looking back. When the guy was gone, Danny -- who was subbing for the bartender Bill Cantwell -- leaned over the bar. "Damn, Jack, I thought for sure we were gonna have to take the big bastard down." Jack smiled softly. Danny was all of five eight and maybe one hundred and forty pounds, but he was a scrapper. Like a lot of the pub's staff, he was a Southie boy. "He didn't pay," Danny added. "Forget it," Jack told him. Molly met him at the steps that separated the bar from the restaurant, a look of consternation on her face. "No?" she asked, glancing toward the front door. "No," Jack reassured her, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder and squeezing gently. Molly cursed under her breath. "After two and a half months I'm still totally paranoid." Jack reached out and tilted her chin up so that their eyes met. "Stay paranoid," he warned. "We have reason to be." Though it was well past eight o'clock, it had only just begun to get dark as Tucker Marshall strode angrily into the street from Bridget's Irisk Rose Pub. He was glad he didn't know anyone in Boston yet. The kid in the pub had embarrassed him. He knew he could have snapped the boy in half if he'd wanted to, but Tucker had come to town to audition for the touring company of the new Lloyd Webber musical and had a callback in the morning. The last thing he needed was to spend a few days in jail, or worse yet, damage his face. The buffalo wings he'd had at the bar sat heavily in his belly, sloshing around with a couple of mugs of beer. What unsettled him, though, was the anger that still roiled in him. Tucker wasn't the kind of guy to walk away from a fight. That sweet little redhead at the restaurant had been something, that was for sure. He'd made eye contact, thinking maybe he would start up a conversation. Not a crime, as far as he knew. Women liked guys who were intense, at least in his experience. Grumbling, Tucker strode across the street, barely looking where he was going. A car ground to an abrupt halt to avoid hitting him and the driver laid on the horn. Tucker shot him the finger without even looking up. He turned toward Quincy Market, figuring he could work off some of his anger just walking around, maybe get an ice cream or something. There were a lot of beautiful women, both tourists and locals, down around that part of Boston that second week of July. If he could strike up a conversation, get a chance to run his line, talk about being an actor...well, Tucker usually had good luck reeling in the ladies. The sky was dimming quickly now, the sun disappearing behind the cityscape to the west. Tucker gazed a moment in appreciation as the last rays of light shot scythes of gold between the buildings. As he was starting to turn his attention back to the sidewalk in front of him, he slammed right into a bald man who was speaking with a friend. The man bumped into his friend and both of them almost fell before regaining their footing. "Sorry," Tucker mumbled. He started to go around them. The guy he'd run into grabbed him by the hair, spun him around and shoved him up against the side of a building hard enough that his head bounced off the bricks with a painful thump. Tucker grunted as all the fury that had been building up in him in the previous few minutes combined with a new wave of rage. He forgot all about his audition. Fists balled, he cocked his right arm back and threw the first punch. "You sorry son-of-a -- " The powerful hand that gripped his throat choked off his words. The bald guy batted Tucker's fist away with his free hand and leaned in close. His breath was rank with the odor of rotting meat, and his teeth were too sharp. That wasn't the only thing Tucker noticed about the bald man in that instant. His teeth, yeah. But his eyes were wrong, too. Not like a person's, but rimmed with red like a wild animal's. And his face...his face seemed to change, to pulse. He sneered, and for an eyeblink it was almost as though he had the face of an animal, a snout like that of a dog. Or a wolf. Hair shot through the man's scalp and his face, but only a quarter inch, just a bristle. Impossible."Do you want to die?" the guy, who wasn't bald anymore, snarled. Tucker shook his head vigorously. "Apologize." He was not about to argue that he had already done so. "I'm...I wasn't paying attention. I'm sorry." Tucker stared at his shoes a second; his body felt electrified with fear and astonishment. People did not grow hair in front of you. And the teeth...and the eyes. "Hey." The voice was soft and dangerous. Tucker glanced up nervously to see the bald man smiling at him. Normal teeth. Smooth scalp. "Watch your goddamn step," the guy warned him. "You just never know who you're going to run into." Then he spun Tucker away from the wall and shoved him on his way. Tucker stumbled a few steps and then hurried on without so much as a single glance back. As quickly as he could, Tucker made his way toward the North End, where a friend was letting him crash on a futon in the living room. He had forgotten all about cruising Quincy Market, trying to meet women. He had also decided that he did not like Boston. Not at all. "What the hell are you doing?" Braun frowned, glared at Dubrowski, and ran a hand over his hairless scalp. "Guy ran into me, Doobie. Pissed me off. What do you expect, I should let him knock me on my ass and not say sumthin'?" Anxious, Dubrowski glanced along the street toward Quincy Market, watching to make sure the pretty boy had gone on his way. Then he shot a glance in the other direction, toward Bridget's. Nobody had come outside or seemed to have noticed anything. Finally, he turned his withering gaze upon Braun. "Go after him. Kill him. Either make it appear to be a simple murder, or, if you must eat, do not leave a body, even if you have to gnaw the bones and toss them in the harbor. After what happened with Tanzer, we cannot afford to have anyone suspect there are those of us who have not fled this city." "Fine," Braun said, sniffing petulantly. "Gotta tell ya, though, Doobie, I got no idea why we're still screwing around here. We oughta take off, find someplace safe to hunt." "And so we shall," Dubrowski promised. His gaze moved back toward Bridget's across the street. "Just as soon as we have tasted blood, in vengeance for the slaughter of Tanzer and the others of the pack." With lightning speed, Dubrowski's right hand lashed out, and he scratched deep furrows in Braun's left cheek. Braun hissed with pain and snarled loudly, but resisted making the change that such a break of concentration sometimes brought. "What have I told you about calling me 'Doobie'?" Copyright © 2001 by Christopher Golden

The acclaimed authors of The Map of Moments and The Secret Journeys of Jack London join creative forces once more in this epic, standalone novel—an exciting dark fantasy of gods and mortals, fools and heroes, saviors and destroyers with a brilliant beam of hope at its core.In the great kingdom of Quandis, everyone is a slave. Some are slaves to the gods. Most are slaves to everyone else.Blessed by the gods with lives of comfort and splendor, the royal elite routinely perform their duties, yet some chafe at their role. A young woman of stunning ambition, Princess Phela refuses to allow a few obstacles—including her mother the queen and her brother, the heir apparent—stand in the way of claiming ultimate power and glory for herself.Far below the royals are the Bajuman. Poor and oppressed, members of this wretched caste have but two paths out of servitude: the priesthood . . . or death.Because magic has been kept at bay in Quandis,...

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In bestselling author Christopher Golden's supernatural thriller Red Hands, sometimes a story is a warning. Sometimes the warning comes too lateWhen a mysterious and devastating bioweapon causes its victims to develop Red Hands, the touch of death, weird science expert Ben Walker is called to investigate.A car plows through the crowd at a July 4th parade. The driver climbs out, sick and stumbling, reaching out…and everyone he touches drops dead within seconds. Maeve Sinclair watches in horror as people she loves begin to die and she knows she must take action. But in the aftermath of this terror, it’s Maeve who possesses that killing touch. Fleeing into the mountains, struggling with her own grief and confusion, Maeve faces the dawning realization that she will never be able to touch another human being again."Weird s**t expert” Ben Walker is surprised to get a call from Alena Boudreau, director of the newly restructured Global Science Research Coalition. There’s an upheaval in the organization and she needs to send someone she can trust to Jericho Falls. Whoever finds Maeve Sinclair first will unravel the mystery of her death touch, and many are willing to kill her for that secret. Walker’s assignment is to get her off the mountain alive. But as Maeve searches for a hiding place, hunted and growing sicker by the moment, she begins to hear an insidious voice in her head, and the yearning, the need… the hunger to touch another human being continues to grow. When Walker and Maeve meet at last, they will unravel a stunning legacy of death and betrayal, and a malignant secret as old as history. ** Review "The neck-whipping action and shifting points of view give the reader a wide-angle perspective...invoking maximum terror on every page...For fans of horror-thriller series like those by Jonathan Maberry and Mira Grant." ―Booklist (Starred Review)"Red Hands is an absolutely riveting novel. I couldn't put it down. A thriller filled to the brim with equal parts terror and heart. Only Christopher Golden could weave together compelling characters and a gripping plot like this.” ―Mallory O'Meara, bestselling author of The Lady from the Black Lagoon"Ben Walker is back in Christopher Golden's Red Hands, a plague novel with a twist you won't see coming. This novel is part thriller, part horror, part science fiction -- in other words, as immediate and timely as this morning's paper. Except in Golden's world, the good guys give as good as they get. And the ride is a hell of a lot more fun." ―Nathan Ballingrud, author of Wounds“This barnstorming thriller-with-a-twist starts with a whammy and doesn't let up until the last page. Clear your schedule - you won't be able to put this down once you start it. Reads like a Stephen King novel on speed.” ―Sarah Lotz, author of The White Road and Day Four"From page one, Red Hands grabs you by the throat and doesn’t let go. The pacing is perfect. The action is chaotic, vivid, and incredibly satisfying. Full of intrigue, governmental scheming, and biological terror, this is one dark thriller I’ll be talking about―and recommending―for years to come." ―Rio Youers, author of Lola on Fire and The Forgotten Girl"Ben Walker embarks on his most terrifying mission yet, when merely touching the ones closest to you will cause them to die. Filled with pain and fury, heartache and love, Red Hands is a scorchingly potent thriller." ―Tim Lebbon, New York Times bestselling author of Eden “Red Hands is a brilliant, devious, and deeply disturbing thriller that blurs the line between the fantastic and our very real world. Highly recommended.” ―Jonathan Maberry, New York Times bestselling author of V-Wars and Rage “Christopher Golden has done it again! Red Hands is a full-throttle thriller that will leave you breathless. The opening chapter gave me nightmares, and by the time I reached the final page, I was too frightened to turn the lights out.” ―Richard Chizmar, New York Times bestselling author of Gwendy’s Magic Feather and The Girl on the Porch About the Author CHRISTOPHER GOLDEN is the award-winning, bestselling author of such novels as The Myth Hunters, The Boys Are Back in Town, Strangewood, and Of Saints and Shadows. He co-wrote the lavishly illustrated novel Baltimore, or, The Steadfast Tin Soldier and the Vampire with Mike Mignola, and the comic book series featuring the same character. His novel Ararat won the 2017 Bram Stoker Award for best horror novel.

"A powerful and haunting tale" (Clive Barker) from the Bram Stoker Award-winning author of Strangewood.Janine Hartschorn left David Bairstow for a man who abandoned her once he discovered she was pregnant with his child. A miscarriage almost ended her life. Now she and David are reaching for a second chance.But something is determined to keep them apart. Something with the power to conjure up ghosts from David's past and make them real. Something Janine knows from her near-death experience.

This original novel is based on the hit TV series "Buffy the Vampire Slayer". In this book, Buffy, Oz, and Angel are Europe-bound, traveling limbo's "ghost roads" in search of Jacques Regnier. Jacques is the sole heir of the dying Gatekeeper whose Boston mansion is the supernatural barrier restraining thousands of the world's monsters. The evil Sons of Entropy will do anything to destroy the gate­even if it means trading the power-laden Spear of Longinus to the wicked vampires holding Jacques. Buffy's friends, Willow, Xander, Cordelia and Giles are also in trouble. However, Buffy will need everyone's assistance once she locates Jacques and uncovers the shocking plans of the Sons of Entropy­plans that, if successful, will destroy the world and create a horrible new realm ruled by monsters.

SUMMARY: Hellboy, a bloodred, cloven-hoofed demon raised by the United States government, is a top field agent for the Bureau for Paranormal Research and Defense. He questions the unknown -- then beats it into submission. In the upper reaches of the Himalayas, Hellboy's ex-girlfriend, archaeologist Anastasia Bransfield, believes she has found the location of the legendary "Dragon King Pool" -- thought to be the ancient dwelling of an evil dragon who inflicted horrific devastation on the land and its people. Every year the villagers would sacrifice a child to placate the beast, until one day an unlikely hero fought the dragon and won, bringing peace and prosperity to the land. But Anastasia's triumph at her discovery is short-lived. Soon unearthly creatures are seen lurking around the dig site, someone is sabotaging the excavation with dire results, and the young daughter of one of the dig leaders goes missing. It looks like a job for Hellboy -- but his toughest challenge might be putting his past with Anastasia behind him....

Join Buffy Summers, the Vampire Slayer and her group of friends as they set out on another exciting mission in pursuit of a way to save the world from evil monsters. It is Amateur Night at the Bronze. Buffy, Xander, Willow and Cordelia are letting their hair down as the music plays louder and the crowd goes wild. Buffy is lost in the crowd, aware that she has no future but that of a slayer. Dark is the night and out on the streets roam deadly, bloodsucking beasts in search of innocent, fleshy prey. As evil forces suddenly besiege Sunnydale, Buffy discovers that the ailing gatekeeper of the supernatural mansion holding the world's most horrifying monsters needs desperate help. She must hurry to his rescue without Giles and single-handedly fight the monsters, before it is too late!