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With Silent Screams (Hellequin Chronicles, Book 3) by Steve McHugh

By Steve McHugh

His identify is Nathan Garrett, yet he’s sometimes called Hellequin. And murdering one in all his acquaintances and attempting to blow him up is an effective technique to get this centuries-old sorcerer’s complete attention…

An outdated friend’s lifeless physique, a cryptic observe, and an explosion that just about charges him his personal existence propel Nate headfirst right into a secret concerning a brand new hazard from an previous foe. Now he needs to piece jointly the connections among a grisly sequence of tattooed homicide sufferers, an imprisoned madman, a mysterious alchemist, and a deranged plot to usurp the throne of the hidden realm of Shadow Falls, rival to the facility of Avalon.

Can Nate avoid the arriving slaughter, or will he turn into the newest to fall during this clandestine war?

With the tale careening among modern day ny and Ontario and 1977 Maine, With Silent Screams keeps the gritty and action-packed mixture of city fable and historical mythology that mark Steve McHugh’s well known Hellequin Chronicles.

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Additional info for With Silent Screams (Hellequin Chronicles, Book 3)

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Golden oblongs of sunshine lay heavy on a black and white tiled floor. The floor and kitchen were old, but the appliances were new. One of those deluxe refrigerators with an ice maker and water dispenser took up a hunk of the back wall. All the appliances were done in a pale yellow: Harvest Gold, Autumn Bronze. Sitting at the kitchen table was a woman in her early sixties. Her thin brown face was seamed with a lot of smile lines. Pure white hair was done in a bun at the nape of her neck. She sat very straight in her chair, thin-boned hands folded on the tabletop.

Sometimes it’s goat blood, but more often chicken. I had compromised on the outfit, caught between showing respect and not melting in the heat. It would have been easy if I hadn’t planned 32 LAURELL K. HAMILTON to carry a gun with me. Call me paranoid, but I don’t leave home without it. The acid washed jeans, jogging socks, and Nikes were easy. An Uncle Mike’s inter-pants holster complete with a Firestar 9mm completed the outfit. The Firestar was my backup piece to the Browning Hi-Power. The Browning was far too bulky to put down an inter-pants holster, but the Firestar fit nicely.

A lot of hate in old Tony. It never occurred to him to pat me down for weapons. Tsk-tsk. A second man came to the screen door. He was in his late forties, maybe. He was wearing a white undershirt with a plaid shirt unbuttoned over it. The sleeves were folded back as far as they’d go. Sweat stood out on his forehead. I was betting there was a gun at the small of his back. His black hair had a pure white streak just over the forehead. ” His voice was thick and held an accent. ” The older man nodded.

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