Here is a sneak peek into:
Read L.B. Goddard's Review:
The Astral Avenger by Kerry Morgan
Review by LB Goddard
Ever since childhood, I have been fascinated with the idea of ghosts. Miserable, wandering spirits... bound
to this earth by unfinished business. But what if their “unfinished business” was revenge? Justice? An eye
for an eye? Who could avenge their deaths and release their souls into the afterlife?
The Astral Avenger.
Angela Mystique—a deadly, red-haired vixen—was born with an unusual gift. She can fall into a deep,
meditative slumber and exit her physical body. She can roam the streets, unseen by the mortal eye. The
deadliest attacker—one who cannot be fought.
The dead take notice of Angela's gift, and her daily life is choc full of gore-spattered spirits: ghosts with
nowhere to go. Unless their death is avenged.
“The Astral Avenger” will cause you to smile... as the blood is spilled... as the body count rises. Kerry
Morgan weaves an interesting tale, one ripe with friendship (who says best friends need a pulse?) and
magic. Pick up a copy today:
Now a peek into the first chapter!
THE ASTRAL AVENGER
Hello, my name is Angela Mystique, and I’ll be your killer for the evening’s festivities. No really, for those of you who don’t already know, those who must trust the words of an admitted killer; you’ll be listening to the musings of a half human, half soulless creature. (I’d have to be right?) I hunt evil and kill it. I have an unnatural talent for astral travel. Unnatural because when I let my consciousness drift out of my carbon body, I am drawn to evil like flies to fruit. Like lodestone to iron. If you listen closely, I’ll tell you how it’s done.
I also have another talent. I don’t have to look for work. Work comes to me. Often, as of late, it has been after their death, and the need for revenge and justice has built to a degree that the being, human usually, can’t pass over. So they come to me. They have ever since I was little.
Growing up a red headed, green eyed, little trumpet of life, I wasn‘t a killer. This was the time I developed the ability to listen to these poor victims, who’d been molested, sodomized, and after those and other horrors, murdered. I felt for them immediately, quite literally. They would come to me at night, at school, even in church, pleading for my help, as I stood there wracked with the pain of their last few moments. They would make their case, and I would act as a living polygraph test for if they weren’t telling me the truth, I wouldn’t feel any pain.
Self perseveration prevented me from saying anything to anyone, save one person, but that would be later on. It didn’t stop the questions, though, when I was listening to a victim and suffering. To say I was a precocious child would be under stating. That kind of suffering, on a daily basis, will do that to a child. Back then I needed the distraction to learn from. Eventually, I developed ways to listen to the victims, without experiencing their murder quite so physically. It became a gift I could turn on and off thankfully, and I was growing.
Now, so many years later, I keep my meditations daily, some in motion, and some still as stone. I keep myself in shape by jogging as well as practicing karate. (Second degree black belt, thank you very much.) I also practice further silence, for at twenty eight, I can no more prevent who and what I am, than deny it.
The half human part comes the way any other human comes. The half inhuman part comes after the needs of so many, outweighed the needs of the few. Or the one in this case. Spending that much time as an ethereal being, grows on you. It becomes a part of you and helps you adapt. Extraordinary speed, in the astral realm, extra, natural weapons, (my blade could work as it should, even though I was in astral form) and relative natural invisibility. Invisibility because you just can’t see an astral being. Most can’t, I should say.
On rare occasion my activities have been witnessed. But only the oddity and maliciousness of a slitting keeps the witness from speaking of what they’ve seen. What if I decided to pay them a visit? They don’t know the why, only that something they can’t see, is killing a human being before their eyes. How would they explain that to the authorities? I don’t make a habit of leaving evidence behind. No one can identify someone they can‘t see. All in all, I’m really quite careful.
As an adult, I sleep during the day, a resting sleep I should note, during which time I do not astrally travel and kill. I have longer red hair now. I‘ve always loved my deep green eyes, though, now, they hold a haunted look that make up just can‘t hide. I live with a room mate, a dear friend really, of fifteen years, in downtown LA. She knows me well and knows to live her life to it‘s fullest. She had been a client, sort of, because she is still alive to talk about it. Most all my clients are no longer living, it‘s kind of a requirement for my services.
Julie will always keep my secrets. She’d been a child, barely ten years old, raped at knife point. When she came to me for help, all those years ago, I’d thought she’d been killed as well. But she was one of the lucky ones, if living after that kind of event could be considered lucky. She was only raped, but it had been a series of rapes by a gang. Her spirit couldn’t take it, so in her trauma, she, herself, drifted out of her own body, to escape the pain, and found me.
Her terror was great, and I held her, as close as I possibly could, in ethereal form. We waited together. When the deed was finished, I’d taken care of her attackers. Her family didn’t know how, only that I had, and they paid me well for it. A sizable trust for I was still just a child myself at twelve years old. All her parents ever asked is that I continue my work. So this is what I do. I help those that can’t help themselves any longer. Those whom society has failed and left behind, long forgotten.
I won’t fail. I’ll be their Astral Avenger.
copywrite:Kerry Morgan, no part of this may be reproduced in any manner for any reason unless express written permission is granted by the author. Thank you.
