“The boundaries which divide Life from Death are at best shadowy and vague. Who shall say where the one ends, and where the other begins?” ~ Edgar Allen Poe
Created in darkness and born of death. Three brothers. One deadly secret.
Book 1 – Bastian Hale
Book 2 – Nolan Hale
Book 3 – Rory Hale
The blackest of all the black arts is undoubtedly necromancy, the ancient method of communication with the dead. The art of raising the dead and controlling their spirits takes its name from Greek words meaning “dead” and “divination”.
Bastian Hale shuffled down the rough brick sidewalk, blindly searching for an escape. The devil neared. More acidic then the bile stinging the back of his throat was the sickeningly sweet aroma of death. Pain twisted through his stomach and doubled him over. In the whipping, raw winter wind he struggled for breath.
Dirt and trash from the narrow roadside danced in the air. He forced himself to keep moving, one foot forward, and then the other. To a passerby he must look drunk or strung out. He must appear barely alive. They didn’t know the half of it.
He stepped on an empty beer bottle and stumbled. Glass rolled, clinking over the sidewalk and into the gutter. One-hundred and seventy pounds of muscle crashed into the boarded display window of an abandoned store.
There was no point in trying to get up. No one escaped the devil.
Chills ran down his arms and coaxed tendrils of necromancy magic from deep within. The air glittered, the veil between the living and the dead vanishing. Ghosts drifted up from the pavement and seeped from the brick buildings all round him. He clenched his teeth and fought to pull back the icy power spreading through his veins.
The mental shields he kept in place at all times shattered. His world teetered. Phantom noises tunneled through the wind, battering his eardrums. Death hung in the air, its scent a painful comfort.