Good or ...
The war between good and evil has raged for millennia,
and as a powerful new enemy ascends, the Marked Souls
are pushed to the ragged edge…
Sidney Westerbrook has always studied darkness and damnation
from a sensible distance. Now, to earn his place as a league
Bookkeeper, he must discover why Chicago is such a
battleground of soul-linked warriors. But the research
becomes personal when he finds himself over his head and
under attack — and at the mercy of a waif with demon-lit
eyes and a deep yearning in her heart.
Alyce Carver has been alone longer than she can remember,
battered by the living nightmares that haunt her city.
Cornered by yet another gang of demons, she unwittingly
joins forces with a handsome scholar who can salvage her
past, and she in turn may be the key to his investigations.
But she won’t let him go until he shows her everything she’s
What begins as an experiment in possession becomes a trial
by desire so powerful it threatens both their lives, even as
it binds their souls.
To human senses, the Chicago night was dark and
quiet—at least as dark and quiet as a big city could
be. But Sidney Westerbrook knew, somewhere beyond the stark
neon and the shouts with the flattened vowels that grated on
his merely human eyes and ears, the streets seethed with
And after coming nearly four thousand miles, he wasn't
getting the chance to experience any of it.
Sid stuffed his hands to the bottom of his trouser
pockets, as if he might find a last kilojoule of warmth down
there. His father had warned him London's fog had nothing on
Then again, his father had warned him of quite a lot,
only some of which had seemed relevant. Sid hunched his
shoulders, and his gusty sigh bounced off the upturned
collar of his tweed jacket, fogging his spectacles.
Who would've guessed the Chicago talyan would be such
contrary blighters? All his Bookkeeper studies had prepared
him for the same old, same old: immortal, menacing warriors
with preternatural fighting skills and tortured
demon-possessed souls, et cetera. But these upstart
Yanks—from one of the secondary leagues, no
less—had blown apart the theories of generations of
Bookkeepers before him. Yet despite their obvious need for
objective guidance, they wouldn't give him, their emergency
Bookkeeper, even the time of day.
No way in hell were they giving him their nights.
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