Ms. Richardson has created a complex and troubled protagonist who is struggling with who and what she has become, and finding her new place in the scheme of things. For those of you who are looking for a fresh, new voice in the supernatural detective world, I highly recommend that you meet Harper Blaine.–Fran Fuller, Seattle Mystery Bookshop.
This is another first for me. I have never read this author. Greywalker is the first in the Greywalker series. Harper Blaine gets beaten to death by a suspect in a fraud case that she is investigating. She wakes up in the hospital. Harper starts to see strange things. She mentions it to her doctor. He thinks she is experiencing something paranormal. She doesn't believe it. The doctor sends her to Ben and Mara for help. Harper is a private investigator. The new things she is experiencing sends her some new clients. She gets drawn into the world of magic and vampires.
I really enjoyed this book. I am looking forward to reading the next one.
Chapter 7I strolled on, heading for the Rover a few blocks away, feeling warm and full and a little drowsy. It was getting colder, as I’d expected, though. Passing my office building, a swirl of clammy steam licked up from the street. The cold slither of the mist around my ankle made me shiver and raised the hair on my nape.
I looked around, feeling observed and arguing with my paranoia. It was just steam. All the steam covers leaked a little wisp into the cooling air and made tiny ghosts dance a moment on the cobbled street. The steam slunk up a shape in an alley nearby.
I gave a start. Someone was standing, shadowed, in the alley, watching me. I turned and strode toward the gleam of eyes. The shadow moved, flickering through light from a window above. A female shape and a flash of wine-red hair, then she was gone around the next corner without a sound.
I started after her, pursuing the Cabernet gleam of her cropped hair. Alternating heat and cold rushed over me. I darted around the corner into indeterminate light and a deep, low thrumming. Everything was shrouded as if within a dense snow cloud, always moving, almost revealing… something, then closing up again. The light–hazy gray and impossible to look at as sun-glare in the desert–wiped out detail in a fuzz of visual noise. Shapes seemed to surge and stream just at the knife-edge of perception, flickering with black dots in the corners of my eyes.
I stopped short and whipped around. More of the same. I quailed, gripped by vertigo and swiping at my eyes as if I could wipe my dimming vision clear and find the way out.
I turned again, but the alley had become an unending plain of cloud-stuff.
I shouted. “Where are you? Where are you?!” Panic rushed my breath. I staggered backward in circles, panting and calling.
Something murmured, “Be quiet or it will hear you.”
I spun toward the whisper. A face had formed out of the thick atmosphere, glowing with a pale, internal light. A soft-edged human face, but with no defining factors and it had no real color, just a thicker, more luminous density of the wavering not-mist. My heart stuttered in my chest.
I shook and stammered. “Who are you?”
“I am… I. I am… he. I am she….”
I didn’t care about philosophy. I waved a shaking hand in front of the face. “Strike that. Just get me out of here.”
The face murmured and began to dissolve. “Shhhh… be patient.” The formlessness distorted and writhed as if unseen snakes rolled within it, dragging the face back into its depths. I was alone in my pocket of the haze-world. Read more here.