By Norman Partridge

A hurricane is coming to Cliffside, California, and with it comes a killer.

His identify is Clay Saunders, and he walks in worlds. Born with a caul, Saunders sees ghosts. yet to him, the realm of the useless is particularly very like the realm of the dwelling. It's a realm of everlasting ache -- inescapable and incessant -- that cuts as deeply because the razor fringe of the employed killer's K-bar knife.

Saunders has spilled blood on Florida sand, and the snow-covered Canadian prairie, and the black lava of Hawaii. His most modern goal is Diabolos Whistler, chief of a satanic cult. Exiled in Mexico, Whistler is on my own while Saunders stabs him simply above the 1st vertebrae... on my own, aside from the mummies stacked like a lot cordwood in his library.

But the residing who anticipate the killer's arrival in Cliffside are extra scary than the decayed corpses of the lifeless. There's Whistler's daughter Circe, a tattooed siren who leads Saunders to a mattress of iron and satin...and Circe's bodyguard, a seven foot pupil of Egyptology whose sarcophagus rests in a redwood pyramid... and Janice Ravenwood, a brand new age medium with a startling hidden gift.

And there's a bit woman, a ghost held prisoner via vengeful revenants. in simple terms Clay Saunders can keep her. to do this, he needs to bridge the worlds of the dwelling and the useless in an unforgettable climax of darkness and blood.

"Vivid writing, lightning velocity and real originality make this novel a real page-turner… an unrelenting and disturbingly amoral one."
—Publishers Weekly

"Part hard-boiled mystery, half grisly horror, half gentle personality examine, Wildest goals is a type of notable and engrossing novels that matches no class yet its personal. I actually needed to learn it in a single sitting."
—Charles de Lint, myth & technology Fiction

"… Partridge deftly works sufficient twists and becomes Wildest desires for a unique two times its length... belief me, it’s a journey and a half."
—Brian Hodge, Hellnotes

"What Norman Partridge has wrought in Wildest goals is the awful actual Thing."
—Edward Bryant, Locus

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The furnishings used to be uncomplicated, black, and spare. there have been statues and small idols in every single place, tricky portrayals of Egyptian gods and Whistler’s personal deities. thankfully, many of the statuary bore small name-plates—a necessity for an unbeliever like myself. there has been Bes, the Egyptian god of a contented domestic, a wierd bearded creature who jogged my memory of the gnome I’d tossed during the window, although Bes wasn’t really as well-endowed. Bastet, the cat goddess, crouched at his aspect. Korthes’h—the hideous creature tattooed on Circe Whistler’s back—loomed on a low desk, soaring over Sakhmet and Anubis, Manth’ss and Krake. the various items have been museum caliber, difficult statues inlaid with lapis lazuli, turquoise, and carnelian. having said that, the room mirrored a nearly childlike feel crowning glory and demonstrate, as though Ripley had to make stronger his religion by way of surrounding himself with icons. i may virtually think the freakish colossal appearing out Whistler’s glossy mythology of latest gods that slew the outdated like a child with a collection of very pricey motion figures. yet I wasn’t right here to play psychiatrist. I climbed a staircase to the second one ground. in basic terms rooms there, they usually held extra of an identical. A bed room and an expansive grasp bathtub. I guessed Spider spent so much of his time in those rooms. either had televisions and telephones…and numerous packing containers of Ramses condoms, contraception healthy for a pharaoh. along with that, the bed room contained a kingsize-plus mattress with lots of room for the seven-foot bodyguard, a feminine visitor, and its present occupant—a lifelike having a look mummy that on nearer exam became out to be a doll. watching it, I couldn’t support remembering the all-too-real mummies stacked in Diabolos Whistler’s examine. probably the issues have been de rigueur whilst it got here to cultist decorating…. past that, I didn’t are looking to live at the implications of a mummy—be it actual or ersatz—in a kingsize-plus mattress. I didn’t are looking to take into consideration the sarcophagus-shaped bathtub within the toilet, both. Or the Canopic jars with lids formed just like the heads of Whistler’s gods that stood at the bathroom tank within the pissoir. No means used to be I going to raise the lids of these jars and peek on the contents. I left them at the back of, in addition to a set of pleasant-smelling incense burners and scented cones that stood on a shelf above them, and that i a sharper, much less beautiful odor that led me to a trapdoor set within the ceiling above the kingsize-plus mattress. a guy of Ripley’s top wouldn’t have had any difficulty attaining that door. I needed to climb on most sensible of the mattress to slip it open. It clicked into position and disgorged a black ladder that I slightly dodged. not anything used to be going to sluggish me down now that i used to be at the right odor. I climbed the ladder and entered a cramped chamber that crammed the uppermost part of the pyramid. Votive candles flickered right here. Crucifixes gleamed. A wood Christ spilled splintered blood, whereas a statue of Mary wept glass tears. The Christian symbols didn’t shock me. in the end, I’d obvious the crucifix eclipsing the ankh branded on Spider Ripley’s chest.

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