What Wiccan games we play. Some wounds never die.
Six months after the devastating end of her last case, police clairvoyant, as Zoë Delante sifts through the remains of her life, she gets an unexpected call. But the naga Seth Northman brings only ill-tidings: he has been apprehended in the murder of her father and needs her help.
Except that her father has been dead for almost thirty years.
Leaving the darkness she knows in Baltimore for the sunny climes of a little southwestern town in Arizona, Zoë falls headfirst into a whole new world of supernatural politics and intrigue. As she unravels the mystery that brought her there, the Wild, Wild West pushes her abilities and patience to the limit.
The clock is ticking, and the bosses keep getting worse. But who among her new acquaintances are her allies? The naga? The charismatic Star Prince? More importantly, who are her enemies?
Zoë’s running out of time, but there are worse things than death.
EVOLVED PUBLISHING PRESENTS a suspenseful, thrilling glance inside one woman's extraordinary connection to the elements around her, in the third of the action-packed, paranormal “Zoë Delante Thrillers” series. [DRM-Free]
Books by C.L. Roberts-Huth:
More Great Thrillers from Evolved Publishing:
Genre: FICTION / Thrillers / Supernatural
This third book in this series released late in 2019, and the fourth book is coming in 2020, as is an updated and enhanced marketing campaign. The first two books have done well, and we expect rising sales as the series continues to grow.
The blue hair is new. The words floated on soft notes of sound within the quiet around us.
I, Zoё Delante, renowned police psychic, twirled a neon curl around my finger, like any mature adult would do. “Well, you know, when the rest of your world goes to shit, you control what you can.”
She grunted, the tone a clear raised eyebrow, since she couldn’t, well, actually raise one. Death had its limitations, and shaking it off wasn’t an option. Besides, I didn’t owe her an explanation for my azure turn of events. She didn’t know me any more than I knew her.
I sighed. Arguing with myself about arguing with a murder victim over something as innocuous as my hair was stupid. I removed my hand from her bicep and rubbed my forehead with eyes closed. Focus, Zoё. Focus already, so we can go home.
I blinked twice and revisited the scene in front of me.
Her round, naked body lay quiet on the artificial turf, the placement almost artistic, Rubenesque, had the ivory pallor of her skin not been painted in rivulets of drying blood. None pooled around her, so she hadn’t been killed here. The medical examiner had confirmed it upon my arrival. No, someone had brought her to this place and laid her out in a bed of intricately arranged waves of fabric, short arms raised above a halo of brunette curls, her manicured fingertips touching, like a dancer caught in mid-leap. Beautiful, minus the nasty line beneath the left breast, a puckered mouth that spoke only to the final act of violence against her.
He’d want to take her soon, back to the morgue, and while six years working with the Baltimore police had earned me trust and access, there was a timeline that had to be met, work that had to be done outside my sphere of expertise.
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Bulgarian
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Dutch
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French
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German
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Already translated.
Translated by Johannes Schmid
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Italian
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Portuguese
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Already translated.
Translated by Flávia Mendes
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Romanian
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Spanish
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