PRAISE FOR THE NOVELS
OF ROB THURMAN
THE CAL LEANDROS NOVELS
Blackout
“Thurman delivers in spades.…As always, a great entry in a series that only gets better with each new installment.”
—SFRevu
“If you want a good paranormal detective story with quirky dark humor mixed in, give this series a try.”
—News and Sentinel (Parkersburg, WV)
“Funny, adventurous, and appealingly irreverent—the semidead cats got me every time—Blackout is one for the to-be-read pile.”
—Romance Reviews Today
Roadkill
“Readers will relish this roller-coaster ride filled with danger.…The unexpected is the norm in this urban fantasy.”
—Alternative Worlds
“Thurman has broken new ground, expanding the mythology of her world in new and ingenious ways.…The finale of the story is perhaps the most emotionally moving bit of writing I’ve read this year.”
—SFRevu
Deathwish
“Fans of street-level urban fantasy will enjoy this new novel.…Thurman continues to deliver strong tales of dark urban fantasy.”
—SFRevu
“The action is fast-paced and exciting, and the plot twists are delicious.”
—Errant Dreams Reviews
Madhouse
“One of Madhouse’s strengths is Cal’s narrative voice, which is never anything less than sardonic. Another strength is the dialogue, which is just as sharp and, depending on your sense of humor, hysterical.”
—Dear Author…
Moonshine
“[Cal and Niko] are back and better than ever.…A fast-paced story full of action.”
—SFRevu
“The supernatural elements meld seamlessly into the gritty urban setting.…Cal continues to be a wonderful narrator, and his perspective on the world is one of the highlights of this book.…The plotting is tight and fast-paced, and the world building is top-notch.”
—Romantic Times
Nightlife
“A roaring roller coaster of a read…[it’ll] take your breath away. Supernatural highs and lows, and a Hell of a lean over at the corners. Sharp and sardonic, mischievous and mysterious.”
—Simon R. Green
“A subtly warped world compellingly built by Thurman.…This book has an absolutely marvelous voice in Cal’s first-person narrative.…The reader’s attention is captured and held from page one.”
—The Green Man Review
THE TRICKSTER NOVELS
The Grimrose Path
“Thurman’s comic timing is dead-on [and] well-targeted in Trixa’s cynical, gritty voice. Her crisply honed writing skills take us on a hilarious ride, but humor is never allowed to get in the way of the story, instead enhancing scenes throughout the book. The Grimrose Path is a fast-paced urban adventure that will have you cheering Trixa’s wild take on balancing life, the universe, and everything, and clinging on with your fingernails till you reach the final page.…I loved this book. Love, love, loved it.”
—Fresh Fiction
Trick of the Light
“Rob Thurman’s new series has all the great elements I’ve come to expect from this writer: an engaging protagonist, fast-paced adventure, a touch of sensuality, and a surprise twist that’ll make you blink.”
—New York Times bestselling author Charlaine Harris
“A beautiful, wild ride, [and] a story with tremendous heart. A must-read.”
—New York Times bestselling author Marjorie M. Liu
“A terrific premise. It’s got Vegas, angels, demons, and a hunt for a mysterious artifact that by comparison makes Indiana Jones look like he was grubbing in the dirt for Precious Moments kitsch. If I had only three words to describe this book? They’d be: Best. Twist. Ever.”
—New York Times bestselling author Lynn Viehl
THE KORSAK BROTHERS NOVELS
Basilisk
“Another great read…[Pick] up a copy of this and her other fascinating books.”
—Night Owl Reviews
“From the moment the brothers hit the road, the story takes off like a rocket. Like any good thriller, there are car chases, gun fights, hand-to-hand combat, abductions, and incendiary devices. Basilisk has a strong voice and maintains a constant tension, except for the rare occasions when the flawed heroes stop to catch a breath.…Basilisk is full of excitement, pathos, humor, and dread.…I hope fervently for the pleasure of following the Korsak brothers on another wild adventure.”
—Bookshelf Bombshells
Chimera
“Thurman delivers a fast-paced thriller with plenty of twists and turns.…The characters are terrific—Stefan’s wiseass attitude will especially resonate with the many Cal Leandros fans out there—and the pace never lets up, once the two leads are together.…Thurman shows a flair for handling SF/near-future action.”
—SFRevu
“A touching story on the nature of family, trust, and love lies hidden in this action thriller.…Thurman weaves personal discovery seamlessly into the fast-paced action, making it easy to cheer for these overgrown, dangerous boys.”
—Publishers Weekly
“A very enjoyable and engaging book that kept me turning the pages.”
—BSCreviews
“Chimera is a kick-ass story about characters that will steal your heart and a plot that will keep it pounding.”
—The Book Lush
“A gut-wrenching tale of loss and something so huge that the simple four-letter word ‘hope’ cannot begin to encompass it.…Chimera grabs the reader’s attention and heart immediately and does not let go through the many adventures, twists, and betrayals on the long ride to redemption.…Rob Thurman has created a haunting and eloquent testimony to the power of love and brotherhood, as well as a mystery that enthralls and keeps the reader on the edge of the seat all the time. The characters are so solid and vital, they almost walk off the pages and into your home. This is a masterpiece of a good story and great storytelling.”
—Bitten by Books
“The end of Chimera is a brilliant Machiavellian twist that surprised, saddened and elated me.”
—Smexy Books Romance Reviews
ALSO BY ROB THURMAN
The Cal Leandros Novels
Nightlife
Moonshine
Madhouse
Deathwish
Roadkill
Blackout
Doubletake
The Trickster Novels
Trick of the Light
The Grimrose Path
The Korsak Brothers Novels
Chimera
Basilisk
Anthologies
Courts of the Fey
EDITED BY MARTIN GREENBERG
Wolfsbane and Mistletoe
EDITED BY CHARLAINE HARRIS AND TONI L. P. KELNER
Doubletake
Rob Thurman
ROC
Published by New American Library, a division of
Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street,
New York, New York 10014, USA
Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto,
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Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices:
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First published by Roc, an imprint of New American Library,
a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
First Printing, March 2012
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
EISBN: 9781101576885
Copyright © Robyn Thurman, 2012
All rights reserved
REGISTERED TRADEMARK—MARCA REGISTRADA
Printed in the United States of America
Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
PUBLISHER’S NOTE
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.
If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”
The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.
This dedication can go only to all my fans (you are an army), fellow authors, publishing staff, my family, and Web mistress Jayda—all who kept my career intact and alive while I was in the hospital and unable to do it myself. You saved me. Never will I forget it.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
To Mike G. and Chuck W., who rescued my computer from being tossed out my car window in frustration; Jeff Thurman, my guy in the FBI for the customary weapons, explosives, and general mass destruction advice; Linda and Richard, whose generosity of spirit knows no bounds; my agent and my editor, Lucienne and Anne, without whom these books wouldn’t exist; and, finally, to my personal hero and artist, Chris McGrath. This time you gave me a cover so amazing that it knocked me on my ass at first glance. I had to edit the book ferociously simply because I didn’t think it lived up to the cover.…An artist that talented is rare. All hail Chris—the one true Art God.
“Are we not like two volumes of one book?”
—Marceline Desbordes-Valmore, Poésies
de Madame Desbordes-Valmore (1830)
“We cannot destroy kindred…”
—Marquise de Sévigné, Lettres de Mme
de Sévigné: précédées d’une notice sur
sa vie et du traité sur le style épistolaire
de Madame de Sévigné (1846)
“Unless we load our guns first.”
—Cal Leandros, present day
“What greater thing is there for two…joined for life…?”
—George Eliot, Adam Bede (1859)
“Exquisite death.”
—Grimm, present day
Table of Contents
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About the Author
1
Black Sheep
Family…it is a fucking bitch.
Just like he was a bitch. I had seen him—wallowing amongst the game, but never tasting of the herd. More perverse, he lived with prey, had been raised by prey, had been taught the ways of the world by prey, when I’d had to teach myself. Clawing myself along, I had chewed my way through knowledge as grimly as I’d once chewed discarded putrid meat and bone. Everything I’d earned, I’d earned with blood, mine or someone else’s. I had done what no one else could do.
The castoff failure, but look at me now. Damn right, look at me. Look hard and look good—right before I gut you.
Then there was him, the golden boy, yet look at what he had done.
Naughty and bad, bad and naughty. But much worse: disobedient. Not what they’d expected of their one true success at all.
I laughed at the irony of it.
I laughed, but I hated him, hated him, hated him, hated him, hated him.
Not for what he’d done, but that he’d been the one instead of me to do it.
That was all right, though. That was fine and fucking dandy, as someone I used to know once said. Fine and fucking dandy, because I hated everyone anyway. The only difference was, I was related to this one…and that made the hate sweeter. Hate was all I’d known. All I had ever been given and all I had ever had. I was created from it, molded by it, lived by it. Hate was like air, necessary to life. I wore my hate as a second skin and let it warm me when nothing else did.
I saw him through binoculars from where I lay atop a roof far enough away that he wouldn’t know I was there. It was night, but I saw him clearly. Light was for the fearful herd; the night was for me. Not that it was ever truly dark in this immense mound of misbegotten roadkill waiting to happen.
Yes, I saw him. He had black hair, pale skin, light-colored eyes. Nothing like I was at all. That I didn’t hate. That I liked—I was better, purer, closer to the truth.
It was all about the truth.
The new truth.
My truth.
And he was part of that, whether he wanted to be or not.
Family was a hateful bitch; it was. I had the hot poker scars of that burned into my flesh to prove it, but, scars or not, sometimes family was all you had worth playing with. Maybe he would see that. Maybe he would want to play too. I played rough. I played to win.
Did he?
I’d bet he did if given the chance, not that this boring scuffle I was watching was anything to go by. It wasn’t a fraction of the challenge I’d give him.
The Unmaker of the World, they had called him.
Unimpressed, I waggled black-gloved fingers in a mocking wave. We’d see. Sooner or later, we’d see exactly what family and blood meant to him. He might look like one of the cattle, but he would never be one.
Besides, if he could unmake the world, how much more fun would it be for me to remake it instead?
2
Family…it is a bitch.
The thought came out of nowhere.
Or maybe not, considering my current situation. There was no denying that it was true. Everyone thought it sooner or later, didn’t they? If there’s only you, you’re good—lonely maybe, but good. You can’t fight with yourself. If there’re two of you, it can still be good. Your options are limited. You make do and appreciate what you have, unless it’s the stereotypical evil-twin scenario. Then you aim for the goatee and blow his ass back to the alternate dimension he popped out of.
A kishi—better known as my paycheck in the form of a supernatural hyena—hit my back with staggering force. I flipped it over my shoulder and put a bullet between its eyes.
Yeah, normally two was a doable number for family. It was when you hit three and higher that things started to go bad.
That was when the bitching and moaning started, the pitting of one against another, the slights that no one forgot. No one could tell me that Noah didn’t pitch a few of his relatives kicking and screaming off the Ark long before the floodwaters receded. It was no familial Love Boat, and I believed that to my core.
Which brought up the question: Did that wrathful Old Testament God kill the sharks? I don’t think he did. You can’t drown a shark. I think they were snacking on biblical in-laws right and left. Noah, Noah, Noah…
I swung around and kicked the next kishi in the stomach as I slammed another clip home before putting three in its gaping, lethally fanged mouth as it jumped again. It sounded easy, but considering the one I also had attached to my other leg…it was a pain in the ass.
Family-wise, I had no pain in the asses. I was lucky. I had one brother and he was a damn good one. Once we were on our own, I’d escaped the curse of screaming Thanksgiving dinners.…I had a turkey pizza; Niko had a vegan one. No bitter arguments around a Christmas tree…Niko gave me a new gun; I gave him a new sword. Absent was the awkward discovery of first cousins shacking up at the summer vacation get-togethers at the lake. I didn’t have to wait for summer. I saw my brother every day when he winged my sopping towel off the bathroom floor at my head or I asked—after the fact—if I could use his priceless seventeenth-century copy of some boring book no one but him and the author had read to prop up a wobbling coffee table.
Summer vacations…if you thought about it, what kind of people actually gathered together at a lake with cabins and all that crap anyway? Hadn’t they ever watched Friday the 13th? Jason? Hockey masks? Machetes? A good time for me, yeah—oh hell, yeah—but not as much for the members of your average Prius-driving middle class.