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Cal Leandros Series, Book 8
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I stopped and let them circle me, first because it was intriguing and, second, because, honestly, what could they do? Only knives, but all armed, and that made them even more interesting. Interesting. Fun.

Playtime...

Taking on bloodthirsty supernatural monsters is how Caliban and Niko Leandros make a living. But years ago—before they became a force to be reckoned with—the brothers were almost victims of a very human serial killer.

Almost.

Unfortunately for them, that particular depraved killer was working as apprentice to a creature far more malevolent—the legendary Spring-heeled Jack. He's just hit town. He hasn't forgotten what the Leandros brothers did to his murderous protégé. He hasn't forgotten what they owe him.

And now they are going to pay...and pay...and pay....

I stopped and let them circle me, first because it was intriguing and, second, because, honestly, what could they do? Only knives, but all armed, and that made them even more interesting. Interesting. Fun.

Playtime...

Taking on bloodthirsty supernatural monsters is how Caliban and Niko Leandros make a living. But years ago—before they became a force to be reckoned with—the brothers were almost victims of a very human serial killer.

Almost.

Unfortunately for them, that particular depraved killer was working as apprentice to a creature far more malevolent—the legendary Spring-heeled Jack. He's just hit town. He hasn't forgotten what the Leandros brothers did to his murderous protégé. He hasn't forgotten what they owe him.

And now they are going to pay...and pay...and pay....

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Excerpts-
  • From the book 1

    Niko

    Twelve Years Ago

    "Our neighbor is a serial killer."

    It was that kind of day.

    There had been tutoring no–necked football players lacking enough in brain cells that I was surprised they didn't have calluses on their knuckles from walking on them. It would've gone well with their gorilla grunting. Following that had been the food poisoning caused by a casserole brought in by Mrs. Dumpfries. The teach¬ers' lounge had been liberally labeled a biohazard. The color of which is not orange like they tell you, but the bile green of nonstop vomiting. I stood witness to that. I'd gone through three mops.

    And now we had a serial killer.

    Or so said my little brother.

    I closed the door behind me and locked it, not be¬cause I was immediately on board with the serial killer comment just issued, but we rented in a bad neighbor¬hood. For us, an average neighborhood would be a more truthful way to put it. We'd not lived in better and we'd sometimes lived in worse. This cramped little house with a pronounced lean, no insulation, and cracked windows in east New London, Connecticut, was nothing special in one way or the other. When we didn't stay anyplace longer than five or six months, thanks to our mother's "occupation," it was all the same. I put my duffel bag containing my schoolbooks and janitor uniform by the door and took off my worn, but warm, Salvation Army coat to hang it from a rusted hook by the door.

    With everything in its place I moved to the kitchen table, which wobbled, where my little brother with pencil and paper sat in a chair, which also wobbled. I lightly ruffled his black hair, shaggy in length but with a gloss like silk. Thanks to Cal being a good brother, he let me without complaint.

    "Where's Sophia?" I asked. She had given birth to us and I used the word "mother" sometimes, but the truth of it never quite fit in my mouth.

    "Gone. With her suitcase." The pencil kept moving and he didn't look up.

    With her suitcase . . . that meant she would be gone anywhere from three days to three weeks. If business was slow in the area, she went looking for it elsewhere. She told fortunes, picked pockets, ran scams, whored

    herself out if the price was right. There was only so much whiskey you could shoplift before the local li¬quor store owners became suspicious and you had to actually start paying for it. Yes, life was hard for So¬phia. I swallowed my anger as I'd been taught. I wouldn't let Sophia have that kind of power over me.

    And truthfully, the times she was gone were the best times.

    "Are you doing your homework?" I asked with a little disapproval for him to hear. It was six p.m.— although I couldn't make it home at the same time he did, I made it there before dark. Always.

    The homework— e should've been done with it by now. There was also a pan crusted with burned Spa¬ghettiOs in the sink, some less scorched fake pasta in spots on the cracked linoleum floor, and a purple hand¬print, grape soda probably, on the door of the groaning refrigerator. Cal was a good brother, but there are all sorts of definitions for good when it came to an eleven–year–old.

    "Yes, Nik. I'm doing my homework. Watching the serial killer made me get behind." I didn't have to see his eyes to know they were rolling with the disdain and sarcasm only an eleven–year–old could manage, and I gave him a gentle swat to the back of the head.

    I took the other chair and sat down. "All right. Tell me why our neighbor is a serial killer," I said with a patience I didn't have to fake. I listened to Cal when he had something to say. I...

Reviews-
  • Library Journal

    April 15, 2013

    Cal Leandros, who is half human and half Auphe (a monstrous version of elves), and his human brother Nick make their living by hunting the supernatural creatures who prey on humans. Now a serial killer with ties to Spring-Heeled Jack is on the prowl, and he has a grudge against Cal. The eighth addition to this urban fantasy series (after Doubletake) should please Thurman's many fans.

    Copyright 2013 Library Journal, LLC Used with permission.

  • Booklist

    March 15, 2013
    Something is skinning humans alive and leaving the remains around New York City for bragging rights. Brazenly confident and competent in their abilities, Caliban and Niko Leandros make a living catching supernatural killers. Yet this particular supernatural killer hearkens back to years before, when Cal and Niko were just children forced to fend for themselves from the serial killer next door, and fendand killis exactly what they did. Now as adults, their childhood nightmare has returned and he wants revenge at any cost. Classified as urban fantasy, this is the latest installment in the Cal Leandros series. This combo thriller and mystery will send your readers back into the stacks looking for more from this New York Times best-selling author.(Reprinted with permission of Booklist, copyright 2013, American Library Association.)

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Cal Leandros Series, Book 8
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