Death Toll by Robert Poulin

 

Prologue

 

 

 

Jezebel watched the old crone with a mixture of disgust

 

and fear. She had to suppress a growl of anger as the beast that

 

lurked within her reacted to her fear. Two bitches of her pack

 

stood at her sides; both of the tawny haired women were also

 

watching the crone, but they didn’t do nearly as well as she did

 

in suppressing their fear. Their tense bodies vibrated with the

 

desire to flee. Jezebel licked her lips and smiled predatorily as

 

she momentarily pushed the crone from her mind and allowed

 

her beast to feed on her companions’ fear. The beasts within the

 

other two women reacted to her hunger, and their own desire

 

for blood, meat, and violence pushed the fear of their hosts

 

aside. The three women began rubbing up against each other

 

and growls of playful threat filled the Philadelphia night as they

 

psyched themselves up for the coming hunt.

 

After a few minutes, Jezebel forced her mind back to the

 

work at hand. She’d successfully distracted her subordinates

 

who continued to rub their heads against her and grope her

 

curvaceous body with their hands. More than sexual play, the

 

contact allowed the suppressed beast within them to feel and

 

comfort each other. The beasts were always wanting to fraternize

 

with each other, and hyenas in particular needed it or they’d get

 

quite grumpy. When you became a were-hyena, you left your

 

inhibitions behind. This suited Jezebel just fine; she’d been a

 

stripper in Vegas when she’d been offered the chance to become

 

a were-hyena. She didn’t regret her choice for one moment. She

 

had power now: the beast within her was cunning and strong.

 

The move to Philadelphia had presented many opportunities to

 

grow in power, and one of those opportunities was a new ally.

 

That’s what had taken her and her pack mates away from her

 

strip club this night; the crone was her new ally’s avatar of choice

 

for the moment. Judging from the power that the witch could

 

wield, her ally was even more powerful than she’d imagined. At

 

this point, others would be wondering if they’d gotten in over

 

their heads, but not Jezebel. For her, there was no such thing as

 

too much power. For her, the more power her ally had, the more

 

there was for her to gain.

 

It took Jezebel a moment to spot the crone again, but she

 

did so with little difficulty. Her night vision enhanced beast

 

sight enabled her to penetrate the night shrouded city’s darkest

 

shadows. The old witch was tucked deep into an alleyway across

 

the street from where Jezebel and her companions waited. She

 

was surrounded by three menacing figures who towered over her

 

and gave off a dangerous crimson aura that identified them as

 

vampires. The crone stood against them unafraid, having lured

 

them to the very spot that she’d desired. The vampires weren’t

 

the hunters this night, they were the prey. The witch that stood

 

with them was short, maybe five foot two, and was draped in an

 

unflattering robe of mud brown. Her hair was long, unkempt,

 

and white, and her eyes were black and shadowed by bushy

 

white eyebrows. The nose on her face was pointy and looked

 

too long. The crone had called herself Bridget Bishop when

 

she’d presented herself to Jezebel a few days ago. Jezebel had the

 

uneasy feeling that the woman believed herself to be the very

 

Bridget Bishop that had hanged in 1692: the first of the Salem

 

witchcraft trial victims. After working with the woman for a few

 

days, Jezebel wasn’t at all sure that the idea was impossible. The

 

crone was incredibly powerful, she talked funny, and she knew

 

almost nothing about the modern world.

 

The witch made a sharp gesture and two of the vampires

 

went suddenly rigid and unmoving. The third vampire glanced

 

at her two male companions nervously, but her attention was

 

redirected towards the crone who’d tilted her head so that her

 

throat was bared. Jezebel’s enhanced sense of smell caught the

 

scent of fresh blood on the air. She shuddered as her beast suddenly

 

roared to life, and it took all her strength of will to hold

 

the hyena within her back. The vampire who was only a few

 

feet away from that delicious smell was unable to hold herself

 

back though. She lunged at the witch with blinding speed and

 

plunged her fangs into the crone’s neck.

 

Jezebel had to grab her two companions before they could

 

rush into the alley and join the feast. She let her beast roll over

 

them so that she could fully dominate the two lesser bitches

 

and force their beasts back down. The two lesser beasts cowered

 

in fear from her own dominant beast. She growled at them

 

until they crouched low and pawed at her leather clad thighs in

 

Meanwhile, the witch had begun to chant and the alley was

 

beginning to fill with a nasty looking green fog. The blood lust

 

quickly evaporated from all of their beasts as their hackles raised

 

and dread suddenly filled them. Shapes were moving in the fog

 

that now almost totally obscured the alley. A tentacle lashed the

 

air at the border of the fog, and a scream of pure terror rent the

 

night. Jezebel shivered as the air was filled with the sound of

 

cracking and breaking bones and wet meat hitting the ground.

 

The horrific symphony went on for what seemed like hours. The

 

crone chanted the entire time. Jezebel’s beast watched with her

 

in fascinated horror, but she sensed that the other two’s beasts

 

had fled to hide in the deepest holes they could find, leaving

 

their hosts huddled together in terror.

 

Finally, the mists began to clear and the movement of huge

 

unseen monstrosities faded. The witch ended her ritual, and a

 

sudden blast of wind cleared the alley of all evidence of green

 

fog. The alley pavement and all the building walls around it

 

were coated in glistening wet gore, yet the crone and the three

 

vampires stood there apparently unscathed and untouched by

 

the gore that covered everything else. The witch cackled in

 

delight and began walking towards Jezebel. The three vampires

 

followed in her wake. They moved like vampires, all graceful and

 

predatory, but their auras were wrong now: their normal scarlet

 

was now flecked with a corrupting yellow-green. The coppery

 

blood scent that often accompanied vampires was also missing

 

from these transformed creatures. Jezebel’s work with the crone

 

over the past few days had alerted her to the fact that the witch

 

had some way of turning vampires to her master’s service, but

 

tonight’s demonstration was the first time that she’d seen how

 

it was done. For the first time in years, Jezebel wondered if

 

she wasn’t in over her head. Could this be done to her and her

 

people, she wondered.

 

As Bridget Bishop drew closer, Jezebel’s bitches began to

 

whimper fearfully, and she turned on them in fury. She grabbed

 

them both by the hair, and her beast launched its claws into them

 

and pulled their beasts from their hiding places. The beast spirit

 

residing within Jezebel wasn’t able to leave her body completely,

 

but as long as some part of it remained in contact with its host it

 

could act against other spiritual creatures as it did now.

 

“Stop your sniveling,” she commanded with a growl that carried

 

her beast’s scent and power. “You are bone-crusher hyenas.

 

Stand up and stop acting like prey!”

 

The two women rose slowly, drawing heavily upon their pack

 

leader’s strength and courage. By the time the witch reached

 

them, the trio was ready to stand together as a team. Jezebel had

 

no illusions though. She would order a retreat before fighting

 

against such odds as the witch and her three vampires. Hyena’s

 

fight best in large packs, and if the crone or her vampires

 

threatened them, she would retreat and gather the others of

 

her pack.

 

“I see you assessing your situation Jezebel,” the hag chortled

 

as she came to a stop a few paces away. The vampires fanned out

 

around her and regarded Jezebel with cold hunger in their eyes.

 

“Nothing has changed. Our alliance was hammered out by the

 

Black Pharaoh himself. The turning is reserved for our enemies.

 

Fulfill your end of the bargain and you have nothing to fear and

 

much to gain.”

 

Jezebel nodded curtly, angry that the witch had read her so

 

“What now?” she asked.

 

“We leave for Providence immediately,” the witch answered

 

and turned towards the Ford Expedition parked at the curb

 

nearby. “Our little strike team has business with the wizards of

 

the Order.”

 

Although Jezebel was aware of the mission, the idea of going

 

up against the wizards caused a shiver to pass through her. The

 

beast within her reacted by raising its hackles, and a soft growl

 

escaped her lips. All creatures of the night knew better than to

 

tangle with the wizards. Avoiding them was usually the best

 

policy if continued survival was important to you.

 

“Don’t fret girl,” the old crone croaked at her. “The Order has

 

grown weak, and the Old Ones fear them not. My master will

 

trod upon the protectors of humanity.”

 

“I ain’t no damn child!” Jezebel growled; her fear of wizards

 

was forgotten as anger flared up in her. She hated the old witch’s

 

patronizing attitude. “My sisters and I will feast upon the meat

 

of wizards and snap their bones between our jaws this night.”

 

The witch’s answering cackle didn’t do anything to improve

 

Jezebel’s mood. Her beast wanted to snap and crunch the crone’s

 

bones more than it wanted anything else in recent memory.

 

Jezebel suppressed a sigh of frustration as she led her pack mates

 

to the Expedition. She wished she could kill something before

 

embarking on this trip; a little violence prior to getting into

 

the vehicle with the exasperating witch would make the next

 

few hours so much more bearable. Even better would have been

 

some sex mixed in with the violence. There was nothing like

 

fucking and getting ones claws good and bloody while doing

 

it. Her head full of lustful, nightmarish fantasies, Jezebel got

 

behind the wheel of the Expedition and revved the engine.

 

 

 

 

 

Mors Morta stared at herself in the wall length mirror of her

 

personal bathing chamber. She stood totally naked except for the

 

jewelry that glittered in the chamber’s candlelight. A fire opal

 

gleamed at her throat, dangling from a gold chain. Sapphires

 

dangled from silver earrings, and diamond encrusted bracelets

 

flashed at her wrists and ankles. Her nipples were pierced with

 

blood iron, but her favorite piece was the ruby piercing her

 

clit. She licked her ruby lips, and the diamond that pierced her

 

tongue glinted brightly until her tongue disappeared back into

 

her mouth. She was of average height, but nothing else about

 

her was average. Her hair was raven black; it was long, hanging

 

halfway down her back, and straight. Like her hair, her eyes were

 

also black. Her face was perfectly shaped with perfectly proportional

 

nose, lips, eyes, and chin, and her skin gleamed with

 

perfect health: there were absolutely no blemishes. Her breasts

 

were firm and well sized, not overly large. Her legs, hips, and buttocks

 

were what young women dreamed of when they imagined

 

themselves to be movie stars or models. Mors Morta loved to

 

gaze at herself in the mirror. There was no creature more perfect

 

than herself except perhaps her mother, the Morrigan. Thinking

 

of her mother displeased Mors Morta. Being the second most

 

powerful fae and the second most beautiful woman in the world

 

was just intolerable.

 

Mors Morta banished the thought of her mother from her

 

mind with a shake of her head. There was an unannounced

 

guest waiting for her, and he’d already been made to wait while

 

she bathed. She pondered for a moment what she should wear

 

and finally settled on just shadows. She enjoyed teasing men; it

 

was great sport. Aside from that, she never knew before hand

 

whether she’d take a man to her bed. It always depended on how

 

well they played the game. A shiver of anticipation ran through

 

her as she wondered how well her guest would play. Thraknir

 

had warned her that the stranger exuded a mysterious power far

 

beyond what he’d ever encountered. That was saying a whole lot

 

since Thraknir had served in both her court and her mother’s,

 

and she’d have him flayed if he’d exaggerated the guest’s power.

 

She’d gone to great lengths to prepare herself for the man; he’d

 

better be worth the effort.

 

As Mors Morta departed her bathing chamber, shadows

 

gathered around her and formed into a diaphanous gown that

 

both hid and revealed her most private parts with each movement.

 

Her head was held high, and a small smile played across

 

her features as she passed through her dominion and finally

 

entered the sitting room that she’d decided to use for this audience.

 

The room was dominated by a huge fireplace which blazed

 

with a crackling fire. The red carpet was plush and sensuous on

 

her naked feet. The chairs that dotted the room were elaborately

 

gilded affairs made of rare woods and satin cushions. The walls

 

were adorned with expensive original oil paintings and there

 

were two oak bookshelves stuffed with leather bound tomes. The

 

electric lights of the modern age were off. Mors Morta preferred

 

the light of real fire.

 

As she entered the room, she felt the roiling power that came

 

off of the stranger in waves. She knew immediately that he must

 

be containing that power in order for her not to have sensed it

 

miles away. It said a lot about his control that he could hide it

 

until she was in his direct presence. He was standing near the

 

fireplace and gazing into the fire as she walked in. He was tall, a

 

little over six feet, and his hair was brown and shoulder length.

 

His skin gleamed with health, with no visible blemishes, and

 

was perfectly bronzed as if he’d lived his life in the equatorial

 

regions of the world. His eyes were deep brown and were pools

 

of bottomless knowledge when he fixed them on her. He had

 

an eagle’s nose and his body looked perfect and muscular. Mors

 

Morta was filled with lust for the man as soon as her eyes met

 

his; she would bed him whether he played the game well or not;

 

it would be interesting to see if he could survive the ordeal. Only

 

one man had ever done that.

 

“I am Mors Morta,” she introduced herself to the stranger.

 

Her voice was like an angel’s and powerful compulsions rode

 

upon it. Her shadowy gown moved with each word, revealing

 

her secret places. “Who are you to demand an audience with the

 

heir of the Shadow Court?”

 

“I am The Man with Many Names,” the stranger answered

 

quietly. He seemed to be unfazed by her beauty or the magic she

 

was using on him. “I come to you as the avatar of Azathoth, the

 

Lord of Chaos.”

 

Mors Morta pursed her lips in displeasure. The shadows about

 

her grew thicker and hid her body completely. She’d heard of the

 

Old Cults; they worshiped old gods that supposedly predated

 

the Nephilim. Azathoth was their chief deity. Anyone who worshipped

 

the Old Ones was an enemy of the fae in her opinion.

 

She wanted to banish this Man with Many Names immediately,

 

but his power prevented her from ignoring him outright. He was

 

a real threat. What was he doing in Philadelphia, she wondered.

 

“What do you want?” she asked coldly.

 

“One of your minions interfered with my subjects a few days

 

ago,” he answered without emotion. “I want to negotiate an alliance

 

with you. I can make it worth your while. I can give you

 

your fondest wish. Ally with me and I’ll rid you of your mother

 

and you can ascend to her place.”

 

Mors Morta stared at The Man with Many Names in stunned

 

silence. How could he possibly know what her deepest fantasy

 

was? Visions of herself as the most powerful and beautiful fae

 

in the world flashed before her in a vision that she often daydreamed

 

“No!” she croaked, shaking her head violently. Now he was

 

using magic on her. He might be able to dispatch her mother

 

and elevate her to the highest ranks of the fae, but then she’d

 

be the thrall of two new masters, and the little that she knew of

 

the Old Ones told her that they would be far less pleasant than

 

her mother.

 

The Man with Many Names sighed dramatically.

 

“Very well then. A truce. You and yours stay out of my affairs

 

and I’ll do the same.”

 

“Why should I agree to this?”

 

“Because if you don’t,” he said taking a step towards her. “I’ll

 

kill you and your whole household right now.”

 

His power rolled over her and drove her to her knees. The

 

power was on the same level as her mother’s, maybe even more.

 

She trembled as she forced herself back to her feet. The negotiation

 

was over. The terms were clear, and she saw no way around

 

the truce that didn’t involve her death. She would do what she

 

had to do to save herself, but she was smart enough to realize

 

that whatever this man was up to in Philadelphia, if he succeeded,

 

she’d probably wish he’d killed her anyways. The best

 

thing for now was to play along.

 

“Alright,” she panted. “I’ll sign a truce and call my people off.

 

Who interfered with your affairs?”

 

“A troll,” The Man with Many Names answered simply.

 

Mors Morta stifled a smile as she regarded her guest. The

 

only troll that she knew that could garner the attentions of a

 

power like this man was Alrik Solheim. Alrik was the king

 

of trolls, and he’d signed a treaty with the Shadow Court in

 

order to provide additional security for his nearly extinct race.

 

If there was anyone in Philadelphia who could throw a wrench

 

into the plans of a chaos cult, it was Alrik. Best of all, he could

 

act independently without her getting the blame since he was

 

technically an ally and not a minion.

 

“I’ll have the papers drawn up in the usual manner,” she said

 

turning away from the stranger and exiting the room. The usual

 

way was through a blood bond ritual. Thraknir would take care

 

of the details. She was pensive as she returned to her chambers.

 

A few hours in front of the mirror should calm her, she thought.

 

“Send for Alrik as soon as our guest has departed,” she ordered

 

her invisible servants. It had been some time since she’d had the

 

troll in her bed. The memories of those three encounters flooded

 

her, and she smiled wickedly as she studied her figure in the

 

mirror. Not only was Alrik the only man to have survive her bed,

 

he’d done it three times. She briefly considered not trying to

 

kill him as he reached climax this night, she needed him to deal

 

with The Man with Many Names after all, but she discarded

 

the idea almost immediately. She needed a good fuck more than

 

she’d needed it in a long time, and there was nothing like the

 

thrill of your partner knowing that you would strike to kill at

 

any time while you fornicated with him. Men were meant to

 

enjoy her perfection only once, and of course they should never

 

have another woman after partaking of her. Of the thousands of

 

men she’d fucked in her three centuries of life, only Alrik had

 

survived. To bed him again and not try to kill him would only be

 

an insult to him. Besides, if he couldn’t survive sex with her, how

 

the hell was he going to survive thwarting the avatar of a god?

 

 

 

 

 

They attacked the Order’s warehouse at 4:11 in the morning.

 

They were a day late due to unforeseen circumstances, but they’d

 

all fed well and rested during their delay. The city was deep in

 

slumber with only a few trucks on the road heading for their

 

early morning pick-ups or drop-offs so few would be around

 

to notice what was going on. The warehouse was a rectangular

 

structure with a flat roof and large double loading garage doors

 

in the front. Jezebel had never been to Providence before, but

 

the GPS gave her unerring directions through the small city’s

 

haphazard streets. She’d parked the Expedition a block away

 

from their target and they’d gone the rest of the way on foot.

 

The old crone had ordered them to stop when the wizards’ storage

 

building had come into view. Crouching, she’d slashed her

 

wrist with an obsidian knife and used the blood to draw arcane

 

symbols on the sidewalk. Jezebel and her pack mates had shied

 

away as the witch began to chant in a soft voice. The hair at

 

Jezebel’s nape had risen as a light had suddenly flared around the

 

warehouse. She thought she saw a huge tentacle beast beating at

 

the magical wall surrounding the warehouse. The vision lasted

 

only a moment and then the blue shimmering light exploded in

 

a shower of sparks.

 

“Go!” Bishop had hissed at them. “We have scant time before

 

the wizards send reinforcements.”

 

The vampires had vanished entirely; their speed was incredible

 

compared to Jezebel and her lackey’s. Jezebel called on the

 

beast within her to give her speed and launched herself towards

 

the warehouse after the vampires. She followed their nightmarish

 

scent where they’d crossed the street and gone down an

 

alley between the wizard’s warehouse and a furniture store. The

 

door half way down the alley had been smashed open and lay

 

on the floor twenty feet into the room. Jezebel smelled fresh

 

blood and heard moans coming from the darkness nearby. She

 

badly wanted to join the hunt, but that wasn’t the purpose for

 

which she’d been brought to this place. The vampires were here

 

to do the killing: she was here to seek. It was a good thing their

 

little delay had left her quite satisfied in the killing department

 

otherwise her beast would have been very hard to control. As it

 

was, it growled in frustration at being denied the opportunity to

 

join in the killing.

 

“Spread out and find the jars,” Jezebel growled to her two

 

companions. “I want them found in less than two minutes. Go!”

 

Jezebel followed her own command by sprinting towards the

 

back of the warehouse. She ignored a man who was stumbling

 

down the stairs to see what was going on. The vampires would

 

deal with him. She focused her attention on the smells of the

 

room. The scents of blood, dust, wood, cement, rusting iron, and

 

decay were a heady concoction that should have made it nearly

 

impossible to track down one specific scent, but she picked

 

up what she was looking for almost immediately. It was the

 

scent of salt mixed with sulfur and copper. She found the jars

 

packed in crates that were stored behind a chain linked fence.

 

Snapping the chain that held the fence gate shut and locked

 

was no challenge to Jezebel. Her pack mates had picked up the

 

same scent she’d followed and they joined her as she yanked

 

the gate open. She grabbed one of the large wooden crates and,

 

with ease, hoisted the more than two hundred pound box and

 

carried it towards the center of the warehouse. The witch had

 

entered the facility and was standing in the center of the room.

 

She was chanting again. Jezebel stopped and waited for nearly

 

a minute as Bishop uttered her incantation. The air in front

 

of the crone began to shimmer, and then a hole opened up

 

and hung suspended in the air giving Jezebel a view of a lit

 

room beyond. Jezebel almost dropped the crate she carried as

 

she stared at the sight in wonder. The hole opened wider until

 

it was more than large enough for two grown people to walk

 

through together.

 

“Bring that here,” Bishop snapped at her, and Jezebel obediently

 

brought the crate to her. When the witch motioned for

 

her to put the crate down, Jezebel did so and removed the lid by

 

prying her razor claws between the seams and pulling the lid off

 

with a screech of protesting nails. Jezebel and the witch peered

 

into the exposed crate; there were large jars filled with a blue

 

powder, and each was marked by a label with an alpha-numeric

 

code on them.

 

“What’s so important about these?” Jezebel asked with disgust.

 

The whole trip suddenly seemed like a waste of time to her.

 

“The greatest alchemist of all time is within one of these

 

crates,” the witch said with a mad gleam in her eyes. “When

 

I resurrect him, the secret lore of Yog Sothoth will once more

 

be known to man, and the portals of the outer dark will open

 

for our great god Azathoth. Now quit stalling and get all those

 

crates to the other side.”

 

Jezebel shivered, picked up the crate and, stepped through the

 

portal. She didn’t feel anything as she crossed the threshold. The

 

room beyond was colder and damper giving her the impression

 

that she was below ground, but nothing else happened. Her two

 

companions deposited their crates in the room, and the three of

 

them returned to the warehouse to pick up more. By this time,

 

two of the three vampires had joined them, the third having

 

been sent out to watch for possible trouble. Bishop watched

 

them impatiently as they made quick work of moving the crates.

 

She sent Jezebel back once more to make a quick sweep of the

 

warehouse upstairs and downstairs to make sure that no jars

 

were left undiscovered. Jezebel did in fact find a single jar locked

 

away in an upstairs safe. She couldn’t open the thing, so she

 

ripped the entire thing out of the wall and carried it down to the

 

waiting witch, who stared at her quizzically.

 

“Couldn’t pass up the chance for some loot, eh?” the crone

 

asked nonchalantly. “You’re sure there are no other jars?”

 

“There’s one in here,” Jezebel said hoisting the safe for emphasis.

 

“I can smell it, though it’s very faint. It’s lucky you sent

 

me up there and it attracted my attention. See what avarice can

 

get you.”

 

There was a sudden crashing sound as one of the garage doors

 

was blown apart. The third vampire regained its feet before

 

Jezebel even had a chance to register that it had been hurled

 

through the door. Standing on the sidewalk just outside the garage

 

stood two angry looking men with blazing blue auras. One

 

was tall, wearing blue jeans, a white tee-shirt, and a black leather

 

jacket. He was pretty young looking and had a cocky look about

 

him. The other man was short with graying hair and piercing

 

blue eyes. He wore a black trench coat and sported a wooden

 

staff. The younger man raised his hand to strike at the vampire

 

again but failed to see the black streak of energy that shot from

 

Bishop’s outstretched hand. Meanwhile, the vampire turned its

 

attention to the other wizard and leaped at the older man who

 

shot a bolt of fire from his staff. The wizard’s flame bolt struck

 

the vampire, and it shrieked as its skin dissolved into a puddle.

 

Almost simultaneously, Bishop’s black bolt struck the younger

 

wizard, and he joined the vampire, screaming in agony as he fell

 

to the ground and flopped about like a fish out of water.

 

“Noah!” cried the older wizard as he crouched down to check

 

on his companion. He didn’t turn his eyes from the vampire

 

though, so he witnessed the big sack of blood filled jelly that

 

wriggled free from the vampire’s burned up body. The thing

 

seemed to float upwards, and it had dozens of tentacles protruding

 

from it. A look of terror crossed the older wizard’s face as

 

he once more raised his staff to send fire at his assailant. Before

 

the fire could spring from the staff ’s tip however, a tentacle shot

 

out from the floating blood sack and wrapped around his throat.

 

“Through the gate, you fool,” the witch croaked at Jezebel

 

and pushed her towards the portal. Jezebel did as she was told

 

though she badly wanted to stay to see the rest of the fight.

 

Bishop stayed on the other side for another two minutes then

 

the blood sack appeared and passed through the gate followed

 

by the witch and the two remaining vampires. The portal closed.

 

“What the fuck is that thing?” Jezebel asked nodding towards

 

the floating jelly bag.

 

“It’s a servant of our master,” Bishop answered shortly. “There’s

 

a lot of work to be done. Get back to your club and start getting

 

me some were-beasts to sacrifice.”

 

Jezebel stared at the witch in consternation. She hadn’t even

 

gotten her breath back yet and Bishop was already moving on

 

to the next task. At least the next part of the plan involved her

 

working with her own people with no witch or vampire involvement.

 

She looked around to get her bearings.

 

“Where the hell are we?”

 

“Byberry, the vampires can show you out.”


Death Toll
Ghost Wars Saga
Book 2
Robert Poulin
Genre:  Urban Fantasy
Publisher:  Ghost Watch Publishing
Date of Publication: June 2014
ISBN:  978-0-9894469-3-8 
ISBN:  978-0-9894469–4-5 
Number of pages:  324
Word Count:   96,000
Cover Artist:  Hannah Carr
Book Description:
What started out as a routine call led to so much more…
My name is Veronika Kane, and I’m the Captain of the Ghost Watch in the reborn city of Shadow Philadelphia. After we disposed of the city’s previous master and his minions, things were looking up, but in war things are never that easy. A routine call with Detective Frank Cooper blew the cover off of an elaborate scheme to plunge the city of brotherly love into chaos. When Necromancers, Were creatures, and the horrors of Chaos come together it can’t mean anything good.
With new and old enemies joining forces against us, I’m going to need all the help I can get. Lucky for me, my old friend Frank Cooper will be there to lend a hand, along with Brianna, a strong willed were-ferret, and the stormy eyed wizard Nathaniel Carter. I just hope it will be enough to save everyone.
This time, our enemies aren’t just attacking us in Limbo; this time, they are taking the battle to the streets of the living world and its unknowing citizens. If the Old Ones rise, I don’t think there will be anything anyone can do to stop them.

My name is Veronika Kane, and this war is far from over.


Available at Amazon Kindle    Amazon Print  
 
About the Author: 
Robert Poulin was born and raised in the New England state of Connecticut. After spending his late teenage years in Boca Raton Florida, Robert moved to upstate New York where he lived with his uncle Wilbrod Poulin and attended the State University of New York at Plattsburgh. After earning a Bachelor’s in Political Science and a Master’s in Teaching, Robert went back to Florida where he taught Social Studies for a few years.
After returning to Northern New York, Robert took a job with the North Country Center for Independence: a disability rights and advocacy organizations. Robert has worked for NCCI for thirteen years and is now the Executive Director. Wail of the Banshees is Robert’s first novel; he has been a huge fan of fantasy and science fiction since second grade when he discovered The Hobbit.
Urban fantasy in particular has become Robert’s favored genre in the past decade. Robert has been legally blind since infancy, but thanks to a mom that encouraged independence, hard work, and a healthy dose of dreaming, the disability has mostly just been an inconvenience.

a Rafflecopter giveaway