Quincy Morris 02 Evil Ways by Justin Gustainis

By Justin Gustainis

In a narrative that diversity from Baghdad to l. a., EVIL methods see eccentric billionaire, Walter Grobius, try to unharness a devastating magical apocalypse. Quincey Morris, and his associate, white witch Libby Chastain, are drawn into their so much deadliest case yet...

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Two minutes later, Hawkins stepped out of the express elevator into the elegant foyer of the penthouse, and was immediately confronted by two large men in suits, Turks by the look of them. Hawkins stood still, spread his arms a little, and waited for the men to pat him down, which they did with a clinical thoroughness that paid no regard whatever to their subject's personal dignity. Hawkins bore this stoically—he had been there before, many times—but then one of them tried to take the valise from him.

Yet there was no rent in Hawkins's flesh, no blood gushing from what should have been a terrible wound. Pardee smiled, the way a shark seems to, just before it bites your leg off. "Give my regards to your friends," he said. " Then he squeezed—hard. The hotel maid discovered Hawkins's body in the morning. Getting no response to her knocking, she'd let herself in to do the work she was paid for. Seeing Hawkins in the bed, she'd at first assumed he was asleep, and started to withdraw quietly. Then she'd gotten a look at his face.

Nah, it's just that that name rang kind of a bell, when I first saw it. " "The Necronomicon is a myth," Pardee said. His right hand had found its way into his pocket. "Product of the fevered imagination of that pulp writer, Lovecraft. It never existed, nor did its putative author, this Alhazred. " Hawkins shrugged. "If you say so. " "People talk about Atlantis, too, I understand," Pardee said with a tiny smile. "And Excalibur, as well as the Holy Grail. " "There have been fakes of this Necronomicon over the years.

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