Charming gentlemen with the manners of a prior age. Savage killing machines who surge screaming from hidden vaults. Cute little girls frozen forever in slender bodies. Long-buried loved ones who scratch at the door, begging to be let in. Nowhere is safe, not mist-shrouded Transylvania or the Italian Riviera or even a sleepy town in Maine. This is a hidden world, an eternal world, where nothing is forbidden--as long as you're willing to pay the price.
Today is launch day for johnjosephadams's anthology By Blood We Live, which includes fabulous stories by fabulous writers, and also something by me. ("House of the Rising Sun," in which a long-dead musician takes a stroll through San Diego.)