âThe most vulnerable prey is the one shunned by its pack.â
Fulfilling bounties on the supernatural requires a balance. Safety versus profit. Kendall Blake and the Wayward Investigations team walk this line with one goal in mind: to create a haven for runaway LGBTQ+ youth living on the streets of New Orleans, easy food for the darkness seldom discussed outside of fairy tales. But real estate is anything but cheap and selling the feu follet they catch in the swamps isnât bringing in the cash they need.
Enter Frankie Singh. Her friend has gone missing in what appears to be a very sophisticated abduction. The fact it began with a murder in Portland has already skewed the balance beyond Wayward Investigationsâ threshold. But they needed the money. Unraveling the mystery of what happened to her friend forces them deeper into the shadows and tests their own magical abilities. Even tough-as-nails Kendall wonders if they made a mistake once she is staring down her gun into the glowing eyes of an incubus.
The Wayward series is perfect for urban fantasy fans who enjoy humor, mystery, and stories with lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender characters at the forefront.
âThe most vulnerable prey is the one shunned by its pack.â
Fulfilling bounties on the supernatural requires a balance. Safety versus profit. Kendall Blake and the Wayward Investigations team walk this line with one goal in mind: to create a haven for runaway LGBTQ+ youth living on the streets of New Orleans, easy food for the darkness seldom discussed outside of fairy tales. But real estate is anything but cheap and selling the feu follet they catch in the swamps isnât bringing in the cash they need.
Enter Frankie Singh. Her friend has gone missing in what appears to be a very sophisticated abduction. The fact it began with a murder in Portland has already skewed the balance beyond Wayward Investigationsâ threshold. But they needed the money. Unraveling the mystery of what happened to her friend forces them deeper into the shadows and tests their own magical abilities. Even tough-as-nails Kendall wonders if they made a mistake once she is staring down her gun into the glowing eyes of an incubus.
The Wayward series is perfect for urban fantasy fans who enjoy humor, mystery, and stories with lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender characters at the forefront.
Armored in her blue leather jacket and matching Doc Martens, Kendall stared down her Glock 19 as she crept through the sales office, walking exclusively on the rugs to soften her steps. Couples smiled in the frames around her as they shared their nuptials in front of Fontenot Castle. Seating areas about the room had been prepped for upsells, from dessert-party photos in the castleâs abundant gardens to gilded chairs and linen samples. Not so much as a pot of rose-scented potpourri seemed out of place. Nothing hinted toward this having been the scene of a gruesome murder only a week ago. She exhaled through her mouth, noting her breath didnât fog. Perhaps the killer wasnât a ghost.
The police had labeled the sales assistantâs torture-turned-murder as a burglary gone wrong. The fact that it was the second bizarre death in six months? Coincidence. According to them, unemployment was to blame. People were too lazy to find work after the pandemic. Their suggestion: hire more experienced security.
Instead, the castleâs owner, Mrs. Keith, had opted for a real solution: Wayward Investigations. She had called Kendall upon receiving a recommendation from her sister, a lost hiker they had saved from a leshyâs trap a few months ago. It was about time their reputation started to work for them.
The door creaked behind her. She spun and tightened her hold on her gunâs textured grip.
A hand a few shades lighter brown than hers reached around the doorjamb. Jian peered inside, dressed in a cardinal Stanford University t-shirt and jeans tight enough to show off his athletic build. He grinned and lowered his machete as she directed her aim to the floor. âAnything?â
Kendall shook her head and brushed her braids over her left shoulder. âWeâre supposed to meet downstairs.â
Taking the phone out of his front pocket, Jian replied, âI already finished the first floor.â
âYou already checked the kitchens? You finished with the kitchens that quickly?â
âI had to make it fast if we want to make a profit off this job, didnât I? Gah! All that cake! I couldnât smell anything but buttercream frosting! Anyway, I resisted. Iâll text Leif.â He read aloud as he typed. âYouâre the winner winner chicken dinner.â
âWe donât know that yet.â
âEh, itâll keep his guard up.â He put away his phone and lifted a silver-framed photo of two women in flowing white gowns at a lakeside altar. âHey. Check it out. They take your kind, too.â
âLook again.â She gestured to the walls. âDo you see a single black person in any of these photos?â Next to a city like New Orleans, you practically had to go out of your way to avoid black customers. âLetâs keep looking.â
As he inspected the fireplace, she checked behind the bookcases for secret tunnels. They found nothing. On their way out, Jian abruptly stopped and scooped up a handful of Jordan almonds. He dropped a few in his mouth and pointed his machete at a picture hung over an overstuffed loveseat. âOoh! Asian! So, Iâm in. Just need a bride.â
Kendall stole a piece of candy from him. âPsh. And fifty grand, which weâre not going to earn by standing around here letting Leif get murdered.â
As she sucked on the sugary shell, she exited into the dark passage ahead. Fontenot Castle had been constructed in the 1960s, yet built in the style of old European castles, down to the dramatic stairwells and cold stone railings overlooking the foyer and lobby. Nothing stirred below.
âNo Leif,â Jian whispered.
Kendall returned his concerned frown. âLetâs find him.â
Feeling guilty for not drawing the short straw herself, Kendall descended first and went straight to the large tapestry depicting the Battle of Bannockburn, 1314, as identified in black thread under the cavalry. Sweeping it aside, Jian opened the oak door to the business office below. Darkness devoured the stairs a few steps in, stirring Kendallâs nerves. She clicked on her flashlight and took point.
The castleâs decadent illusion took a reprieve below ground. Her flashlightâs gleam reflected back on them from the black filing cabinets at the base of the stairs as they descended between whitewashed concrete walls. Once standing on the modern Berber carpet that lined the basement office, Kendall found the light switch. She flicked it on. The expansive office smelled of stale coffee. Columns interrupted the space spanning the underside of the castle. Desks and work areas were restricted to the walls. Leif stood at six feet, four inches. Thus, his blond head would have been easily spotted over the storage and filing cabinets sectioning off the workspaces. Judging by Jianâs tightened expression, he realized it too. They moved deeper in.
Rounding a stack of banker boxes, Kendall stopped breathing.
Between the copier and a squat storage cabinet lay a tall figure dressed all in black. From the back of Leifâs head to his steel-toed boots, Kendall scanned him for any sign of injury. She didnât see any, but Leif wore black because it hid bloodstains well.
Crouched next to Leifâs legs, a goblinoid figure looked up. The creatureâs golden irises studied her from beneath the brim of its crusty reddish-brown cap. An honest-to-God young and beardless redcap. Or maybe a female. Either way, Leif had been right. Kendallâs breathing resumed when she realized the redcapâs rusted iron sickle didnât gleam with fresh blood. The flaying had not yet begun.
Kendall aimed her gun at the center of the creatureâs bumpy, sallow forehead. But she had to get it away from Leif before she could open fire. Taking a step closer, she detected a mildewy odor in the air.
The redcapâs chinless face sneered, spreading its thin lips to reveal a prominent pointed tooth in the middle of its mouth, identifying it further.
âA powrie,â Kendall whispered to Jian. âWhat did Leif say about those? Are they intelligent?â
White light enveloped the powrieâs empty hand. With a flick of its wrist, the powrie leashed its spell around Kendallâs gun. The dazzling light stung her hand with a dozen pinpricks at once. She cried out but didnât drop her weapon. Removing her finger from the trigger, she jerked away from the spell. Dull blue streaks marred her vision. She tried to blink them away and continued to fight the stinging incantation.
The spell flared, numbing Kendall up to her elbow. This time when the powrie yanked, her gun wrenched free. It sailed across the room to clack across the filing cabinets and fall to the floor beyond Leif and the powrie.
Jian brandished his machete. âA magic-user, eh? I guess that means itâs my turn.â He positioned himself in front of Kendall.
Another blinding streak shot out of the redcapâs hand. Inches from Jianâs chest, the light blurred and curled away in dancing blue flames. The flickers folded back in on Jian, unable to escape the pull of his power, and disappeared into him. Descended from the Taotie, gluttonous monsters from ancient China, Jian grinned as his blood devoured the streaming magic. âSurprise.â
The powrie unleashed a guttural snarl and barked in a language Kendall didnât understand. It dashed forward and raised its sickle.
Kendall leaped back onto a desk to avoid the wild, low swings at their legs.
Jianâs machete caught the curved blade.
The powrie twisted its weapon free and rolled back to stand over Leif, staking its claim. Kendall inched forward, intent to climb across the furniture to her gun if need be. Jian started after the powrie. The sickleâs point dipped to Leifâs throat, freezing them both.
With the powrieâs yellow eyes focused on Jian, Kendall braved a grip on the cold iron dagger sheathed at her belt. She had only brought it in case her guess at the castleâs woesâa ghostâhad been correct. While a powrie was no lingering soul, she figured stabbing it with iron would produce the desired results.
âGive it up!â Jian yelled, moving away from Kendall to draw the powrieâs attention. âYouâre not taking him from us, you little shart!â
Grumbling, the powrie squinted. Light surrounded its hand again and encased the sickle. It slung the sickle at Jian, who yelped and dodged by falling back. Tethered by the spell, the sickle swung in large arcs, forcing Jian to roll back toward the stairs.
Kendall dropped to the floor and ran toward the filing cabinets blocking the next section of the office and the view of her gun. The sickle swiped at her. She ducked. Its tip clinked into a support column behind her. It stuck. Growling like a dog tearing into a toy, the powrie gestured wildly. It used its other hand to jerk on the arm controlling the spell, trying to coax its weapon free of the concrete.
Shielding her eyes, Kendall grabbed for the sickleâs handle just as it jerked free. Her grasp landed higher than intended, catching the end of the jagged blade with her palm. She gasped at the slice to her skin yet held firm as the cutting pain wet her hand, for fear of what might happen were she to let go. âJian!â
He jumped into the spellâs stream, effectively clipping the bright light and stilling the sickle. Whorls of blue scattered around him before getting sucked in and absorbed into his body.
The powrie cried out in anger and spewed curses in its native tongue.
Get the gun, Jian mouthed.
Another blinding stream hit Jian, forcing him back before it curled away and was devoured.
âKeep your eyes on Leif!â Kendall said. If they didnât, the powrie might disappear with him, and theyâd never see him again. She didnât know if redcaps had that power exactly, but dark fae were tricky like that. With the sickle in her left hand, she received a bloodshot glare from the powrie. Its gaze dropped to Leif. Kendall sprinted for the filing cabinets and leaped on top of them, sliding across to the next area. She snatched up her gun with her bloody hand and looked up to see the powrie rushing at her.
It shrieked.
âNot the teeth!â Jian yelled.
She aimed for the creatureâs wrinkled brow.
Before she could pull the trigger, Leifâs short sword slid through the redcapâs neck. His cleaving blow sprayed blood and launched the powrieâs head. It landed on the corner desk, tumbling to a stop on its ear. Its lips twitched for a few seconds before its eyes glossed over.
Jian came closer to them and kicked the powrieâs foot. âExcessive, dude.â
Kendall agreed, taking in the mess theyâd have to clean up. Blood leaked from the small body, already creating a puddle on the carpet.
âBeklage,â Leif apologized. He ran a hand over his hair, trimmed close on the sides and longer on top. âIt is what I thought to do in the moment.â
âAnd weâre grateful,â replied Kendall. âWe are.â She holstered her gun, walked over to the coffee station, and dropped the sickle. After tearing free a paper towel, she squeezed it in her right hand to stem the blood flow from her wound. âAre you OK?â
Taking a few tissues from a box on the desk, Leif dabbed away blood droplets from his cheek. âJa.â Then he started wiping his blade.
âGood. Iâll let Diego and Mrs. Keith know weâre done. You ought to start cleaning this mess up. She may want to see the body for herself.â
Jian groaned. âWhy do they do that to themselves? Sheâs just going to get pissed over the mess.â
âSeeing is believing,â replied Leif. âThat is the phrase?â
âYes,â answered Kendall. âIâve already explained to her weâll take care of any damages we cause.â She looked around and sighed. âIâm guessing that includes fixing the new divot in the column. But tidy what you can for now, please.â
Making a face, Jian relented. âYou stay with your handiwork, Viking. Iâll get the supplies from the van. Unless you think another little goblin might get the jump on you.â
Leif pointedly put in his earbuds.
Outside in the humid evening air, a few seagulls repeated their calls from the roof. Kendall sucked in the fresh scent of the flowers in the planters decorating the castleâs entry. She descended the sweeping steps to the picturesque drive, which was lit mostly by antique lampposts and fairy lights meticulously wrapped around the oaks that flanked the lane.
Fontenot Castleâs owner waited with their fourth member in the gazebo beyond the fountain in the grassy area encircled by the drive. A self-described pocket gay, Diego chatted away, oblivious to Kendallâs approach. His charm and humble oversharing typically put their clients at ease, or at the very least shocked them into distraction.
Regardless, Mrs. Keithâs bony hand clenched Diegoâs as he petted it and prattled on about some assuredly irrelevant nonsense. Her nerves appeared as frazzled as her auburn curls. Spotting Kendall, Mrs. Keith jumped to her feet. âOh, thank God!â Her large eyes went to Kendallâs poorly bandaged hand, spurring her fidgeting fingers into a wringing motion. âYouâre hurt. It didnâtâtell me it didnât kill again!â
âWeâre fine,â Kendall said with an empathetic smile. âAnd finished. It was a powrie. A redcap. Sort of a Scottish goblin. Seems it wanted the castle for itself. You shouldnât have any further troubles related to it. If you want to see the body, weâd be happy to escort you.â
Shuddering, Mrs. Keith shook her bountiful curls. âI donât want to see it. Just make it go away. Please. Iâll pay whatever.â
Kendall nodded. âOf course.â Using her left hand, she unzipped her jacket pocket and removed three soft burgundy bags that smelled of aloe and pepper. âPut one of these next to any door leading outside, and youâll never have to worry about another redcap setting up residence again. They should work on any dark fae, actually.â When Mrs. Keith held out her shaky palm to receive them, Kendall pulled the offering away. âYou know what, Iâll do this. Why donât you go home and have a nice glass of wine? Weâll clean, lock up, and be back in the morning to walk you through the rest.â
A gracious grin crossed the womanâs lips. Her shoulders relaxed. âThank you.â
âNo problem. You open at nine? Weâll be here at eight thirty.â
With another gracious smile from Mrs. Keith, Diego walked her to her car. At her request, he inspected it before she got in, never mind that he only stood as high as her shoulder and was just as thin. Kendall and Diego waved as Mrs. Keith drove away between the repeating mighty oaks.
âYou should have charged extra for the morning visit,â he said.
âIâm not fleecing the poor woman.â Kendall tilted her head to confess, âThough I am hoping for a sizable tip.â
He laughed. âAnd thatâs what makes you the face.â
âStop calling me that. Last warning.â Her teasing smirk turned down. The adrenaline was wearing off, allowing her to feel the intensity of the cut in her hand. To make matters worse, the paper towel had begun to stick to the wound. âLetâs get this over with so MarcĂ©lite can scold me while she fixes me up.â
By the time they reached the basement office, Leif and Jian had laid a sheet over the body. Dollar-store towels lay soaked through with red where the powrieâs head should have been.
âDonât worry,â Kendall said. âSheâs not coming.â
Jian came over with a couple of sealed clear plastic bags. He set one on the desk next to them, then the other. âHat and sickle. Might be worth something one of these days. And . . .â He set down a blue-and-white first-aid kit.
âThanks, Jian.â
With Diegoâs cringing and whinging assistance, Kendall secured two butterfly bandages over the cut in her palm and cleared away the stuck-on paper with an antiseptic wipe. She covered it all with a massive bandage that didnât quite seal around her thumb.
Looking at the powrieâs bloodstained cap and jagged metal sickle, Kendall felt a pang of guilt. They were evidence. Puzzle pieces to a murder. More than one. Possibly many, many more. Yet those cases would all go unsolved. They always did on the public level. Humans never wanted to accept that they werenât at the top of the food chain, despite the strange occurrences most experienced in their lives, despite the ghosts and bogeymen everyone recognized and coincidentally knew how to contend with thanks to folk stories they still passed down through entertainment. She hoped the powrieâs victims found enough solace in its death to feel at peace now.
As Diego unfolded a body bag six times larger than necessary, Jian pointed to the head still on the corner desk. âLeif put the important bits over there.â
Kendall fished out her phone and woke it. âAssuming we still have a buyer.â Refreshing the browser, she waited for the Scalp website to load. She filtered the results to Louisiana and scrolled through the newly posted bounties and commissions until she found the two-week-old all-caps listing offering one grand per redcap tooth. Double for a powrieâs prominent one. âLooks like weâre good. Diego, open its mouth so I can close this deal.â
Grimacing, Diego pulled on his yellow rubber gloves. He rolled the round severed head aside and worked its drooling mouth open with a low whine.
After taking two close-up shots that captured each tooth, she snapped one more focused on the defining feature. âSent.â She rose and waited in silent anticipation with the others watching her. Her phone buzz-buzzed in her hand. She grinned. âSold.â
âNice!â Jian said.
Still put off by the powrieâs head, Diego looked away as he grabbed it and stowed it in the body bag. A thick string of pink fluid clung from the head to the desk calendar. âEw. Ew. Ew. I hate this so much. Why am I always the courier?â
Kendall added, âYou also get to be the babysitter while weâre putting ourselves at risk.â
âHey,â Jian said, âdonât diminish his contributions. He makes primo bait. Top-notch.â
Diego flipped him off. âIâll entice every vamp out of the French Quarter for you if I never have to handle the dead bits again.â He folded over a paper towel and broke the thick fluid strand that snapped and now clung to the body bag. âEw! No! You know what, Iâm done! Decapitated corpses are officially someone elseâs job!â
âDiego,â Leif said in his usual calm manner, âI will burn the body here. In the woods. That will help you some, ja?â
âJa,â Diego replied gratefully. âThank you for being a gentleman. Since you missed that masterclass, Jian, you should borrow his notes.â
Texting, Kendall divided her attention. âIâll let MarcĂ©lite know weâre on our way. And try to remember that while Iâm getting stitched up, these two will be scrubbing blood out of beige Berber carpet. No oneâs got it easy here.â She frowned at the blood splatter trailing from one wall of filing cabinets to the next. âWho would have thought a body that small could hold so much blood?â
âStepping into the lionâs den already?â Jian asked her. Kendall questioned him with a look. âMarcĂ©liteâs going to be pissed that you got hurt.â
âWell, if she is, she is. It was worth it. We made sixteen grand in one night, plus what Mrs. Keith has already paid. Thatâs almost three monthsâ worth of trudging through the swamps for feu follet. So, I figure sheâs going to be fine with it. Besides, she agreed to the Wayward Investigations approach.â
They exchanged glances around her, none of them willing to remind her aloud that she had acted without permission when creating their business cards. Marcélite had not exactly been pleased with the initiative to drum up new business, worried for the danger it would bring.
Finally, Leif said, âI promise not to tell her about my incapacitation if you do not.â
Diego chortled. âGood idea. Oh. Youâre serious?â
Kendallâs phone vibrated. She pouted at MarcĂ©liteâs text and put her phone in her back pocket. âYeah, OK. Sheâs pissed.â
The redcapâs body convulsed beneath the sheet, startling them all. Its wrists and ankles shook uncontrollably. Then its black nails reached out and raked across the carpet. They clawed at the air. Kendall unholstered her gun and stepped into its mildewy aura. The corpse fell still again. âLetâs burn this thing.â
New Orleans is perhaps the most 'other-worldly' city on the planet. Its streets breathe magic, music and mystery like its inhabitants breathe air. From tales of ghosts on the Bayou, to vampires lounging in luxury - there is no end to the legends that surround the city. Which is why it's the perfect setting for an Urban Fantasy, wreathed in missing people, magic, monsters and ass-kicking vigilantes. Cue Crack the Spine; a paranormal mystery-cum-LGBTQIA+ romance. With strong characters and action scenes and a gripping plot, I would challenge anyone not to fall in love with it.
The story starts with Tara; a student living alone who disappears without a trace. Her best friend, Frankie, is the only person who can advocate for her, and entices the members of Wayward Investigators to meet her with some nebulous threats. However, Frankie, is under the impression that Tara's disappearance is purely 'ordinary' (for want of a better word), until the team come across a vile creature as they search for any sign of Tara. Unwittingly, she's pulled into the murky paranormal underbelly of New Orleans; discovering shadows that move by themselves and that monsters are very, very real.
What was so entertaining about Crack the Spine was the colourful, vivid language that Lewellyn-Hughs uses. Even though I've never been to New Orleans, I could almost smell the rich spices and hear the thrum of music while reading. The characters were three-dimensional, with defining personalities and vocabulary. Diego and Jian were especially bright, with their easy dialogue. But each and every character had strong, believable backstories and arcs. Each of them having faced persecution for who they are and each of them escaping their pasts with the kindly Marcélite. Except, maybe Leif, who for the most part, remains a closed off giant - but still radiating his own pain and determination through his quiet contemplation.
If I was to criticise this book in any way, it would be that sometimes the prose feels a little jumbled. Almost as though the words have tumbled from Lewellyn-Hughs' fingers quicker than the reader can keep up with. A forgotten comma here, a misplaced hyphen there leaves some sentences feeling hectic; much like the streets of New Orleans. It adds charm to the novel, for sure, but if they were more controlled, then Crack the Spine would be out of this world.
S. A.