"This is certainly one of the most different vampire novels I've come across, blending elements of mysticism, religion, horror and science fiction to create a unique blend. There's even a bit of romance and adventure in there too. Each genre has a place in the whole, nothing feels as if it was tacked on without reason. Great characters and a fast moving plot that keeps you guessing right to the end. The author described the resurrection of Harker, this new vampire hunter very well, so that from the outset you were sympathetic towards him, even though you knew he was far from human. Great read."--Annette Gisby, author of Drowning Rapunzel and Shadows of the Rose for Twisted Tales.
"Slums of Paradise is a complex tale of the war between the two main factions--the armies of Pope Antioch III and the vampires. There are many key characters, each with their own agenda and the interractions between them are many and multilayered ... this is a well thought out, interesting twist on the classic vampire story and should suit those that have gotten a little too tired of Anne Rice clones or the more juvenile Buffy bite-a-likes."--Leslie Mazey, The Eternal Night
Night lay on the twin cities of the western coast. It swept away the human habitants and released the vampires from their tombs.
In the north the wealthy hid behind the sturdy walls and military force money could buy. East of the hills farmer families of uncles, aunts, and siblings still did not bow to the conqueror. To the south of the great river were the poor. Here houses huddled together with their backs facing the streets, walls touching. Chimneys lay dashed to the ground, back doors were the only witnesses to murders which filled the drains with fetid, swollen corpses.
Here, on the edge of the river in the slums they called the narrows, the corpse heard footsteps.
"Is he dead? Was he bitten?"
A workman turned the corpse's head. In its neck were two ragged gashes of half-congealed blood. Together the four of them wrapped the corpse in a gray plastic shroud. Kept safe by soldier guards, they carried it away.
They went by secret route to The Citadel where the corpse was tested, scanned, and photographed. Decided over and argued about by faceless voices until it was finally dumped and left like refuse.
Inside itself the corpse began to scream.
The bitten who have yet to rise spend three days needing to reach out and touch those they hear and sometimes see, to move, and to breathe. For three days they drown. Is it any wonder they go mad?
"I won't go mad. I won't. I've been trained."
Two men entered the room. One of them opened the corpse's eyelid.
A hawknosed man; medium build with thin lips and sharp eyes. The corpse recognised Pope Antioch III. The corpse wondered that the leader of the largest religious organisation in the world should harbor it, making himself a rebel against the Civil Authorities.
But rumour always had it Antioch was never short of ambition.
"You're moving too quickly, holiness. You will face opposition."
"Agreed, Giuseppe, agreed. But his demonic affliction follows its own schedule, not our mortal whims. We shall have to face what comes."
"As you wish, holiness."
The lid remained open, for that at least the corpse was grateful. He could scan the room, know something of it if it needed to escape.
A metal egg of dusted metal. Light came from no obvious source and cast few shadows. The corpse reckoned its head pointed toward the door, at the broader end of the egg. To its left was a chair which, like the slab on which it lay, seemed to be formed from the floor itself. The floor and the slab were silver mirror perfect.
Antioch sat in the chair, grasping his bishop's crook for security as his barrel-chested friend paced about the room. The corpse racked its brains before remembering Giuseppe Muzarious, Cardinal of the Ecumenical Senate of the Church, Bishop of Malta, Naples and Sicily.
The cardinal pinched the corpse's arm, ran a finger across the ribs.
"He's very strong. Well fed, too. Who do you suppose he is?"
"Does it matter, Giuseppe?"
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