Rachael's Reviews: A World Apart by L.J.K Oliva
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Author L.J.K. Olivia had me at Black Magic Lounge
"Inside, the lounge was nearly empty. Violet cushioned banquets lined the walls opposite a long, dark wood bar. Behind it, shelves of exotic looking bottles extended to the ceiling. Vivid blue backlights turned them various shades of purple."
This book was well-plotted and well-written and I was particularly impressed with the author’s rich and stellar description which enabled me to "see" Lena’s paranormal world.
Being a writer, I know the challenge of putting words together—the right words in the right way—so a story can come alive in the readers’ imagination and it is a lot harder than most people think.
The story opens in a small concrete chamber in the mind of a sadistic monster reminiscing the smells of liquid garbage, roasted meat and the screams of his victims. A picture so vivid, the author might have painted it onto my eyelids. From there we meet Private investigator Jesper MacMillian and Lena Alan and we enter a world where monsters aren’t just real, they’re hiding in plain sight. Suddenly, everything Jesper knows is suspect, starting with his current case. For Lena, a medium since childhood, it’s just another day at the office.
A World Apart is a solid paranormal detective mystery and a nicely creepy ghost story with moments I found somehow reminiscent of the old 1940’s detective stories. Enhancing that plot is the author’s ability to take popular tropes like hoodoo, necromancy and gypsy legend and lore and twist them just enough to make them seem new and more intriguing. I highly recommend this book!
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A
World Apart
Shades
Below
Book
One
L.J.K
Oliva
Genre: Urban fantasy
Book Description:
"There
are things that go bump in the night, Mr. MacMillian. It's my job to bump back."
Private investigator Jesper
MacMillian was sure he'd seen it all.
After all, in a city like San Francisco, strange is what's for
breakfast. Following a long recovery after a horrific accident, his life
is finally the way he wants it- or at least, close enough. The only monsters on his radar are the ones
that keep him awake at night.
All that changes the day he meets
Lena Alan.
Before MacMillian has a chance to
brace for impact, Lena drags him into a world where monsters aren't just real,
they're hiding in plain sight. Suddenly,
everything he knows is suspect, starting with his current case. For Lena, a medium since childhood, it's just
another day at the office.
For MacMillian, it's the
beginning of the end of everything he thinks he knows.
Excerpt
1
"I should
hex the IRS."
Lena set down
the receipt she was scrutinizing, and stared at the woman across the table from
her. "You're not serious."
The woman blew a
wisp of dark brown hair out of her face, tugged off her plastic-frame reading
glasses, and stretched. The movement
made her deep violet lowlights shimmer.
"Why not? It might distract
them for a while, and we could take a break from sifting through all this
bullshit."
Lena
snorted. "Hey, I said you didn't
have to help me. My business, my-"
"Responsibility. Whatever." The woman rolled her
eyes. "We both know you're shit
with numbers. Hand me that
calculator."
Lena bit back a
grin, and obediently passed it over.
"Have I ever told you you're like some kind of occult
superhero? Georgia Clare: bookkeeper by
day, badass biker witch by night.
Seriously, you should put that on your business cards."
Georgia scowled,
but her sharp green eyes twinkled.
"Well, as your bookkeeper, I'm hereby suggesting you set up a
network for this place. Are you kidding
me with all this paper? If I didn't know
your family, I'd swear you were Amish."
Lena
shrugged. "I'll get to it."
The bell above
the door jingled, and a small posse of women trekked inside. Lena flashed them a smile. "Welcome! Take a seat anywhere. I'll have someone right with you." She set down the receipt she was holding and
stood. "I need to go find
Connie. Thanks again, Georgia."
Georgia was
already tapping away at the calculator.
She waved without looking up.
Lena left their
table in the corner, wove around the other tables and scooted behind the
counter. The women were ogling the
scones and tiny cakes in the pastry case.
Lena nodded to them, pride warm in her chest. She pushed open the swinging doors and stuck
her head into the kitchen. "Hey,
Tiburcio! You seen Connie back
here?"
Her head chef
popped up from behind one of the stainless steel counters. "No, señora, not yet. Do you know when Jimmy is coming in? He was supposed to take a look at the stand
mixer."
Lena's good mood
immediately deflated. "I'm afraid
we won't be seeing Jimmy around anymore."
Tiburcio's
eyebrows went up, and she prayed he wouldn't press her for answers. Mercifully, he merely gave a single, short
nod. "Qué pena. Nice guy."
She swallowed
hard. "Yeah. Yeah, he was."
With Connie
nowhere in sight, Lena backed out of the kitchen again, and turned to the group
at the counter. This time, her smile
felt tight. "Sorry about the wait,
guys. Just pastries today?"
She forced
herself through the motions, and heaved a sigh of relief when they finally
headed out the door, already picking bits of scone from their crisp white paper
bags. Lena allowed her gaze to wander to
the park across the street. Maybe she'd
head over there for lunch. For some
reason, the shop felt smaller than usual.
Some fresh air would be nice.
Maybe it would
help dislodge the painful knot from her throat.
She was still
staring into the park when a dark green, classic-looking car rolled up to the
curb. The throaty engine rattled the
shop's windows, then shut off. A tall,
dark-haired man climbed out. He paused,
turned, and looked directly at her. The
bottom plummeted out of her stomach.
Lena shook herself. Of course he
wasn't looking at her.
He was looking
at the shop.
Sure enough, he
squinted at the sign, slammed the car door and started across the street. He walked with a barely noticeable swagger,
his well-built body encased in a dark gray suit. She looked closer. No, not quite a suit: instead of a blazer, he
wore some sort of belted military jacket.
She braced
herself. The bell above the door chafed
her already strained nerves. The man
filled the narrow doorway. Lena
swallowed hard.
She knew a wolf
when she saw one, and this man was definitely a wolf. He stayed in the doorway for a moment, then
started towards the counter. His gait
swayed, and she realized what she'd thought was a swagger was actually an
injury. An old injury, judging by the
practiced grace with which he wielded his curved black cane.
Lena relaxed
slightly. A wolf was bad news, but a
wounded wolf? That, maybe, she could
deal with.
He reached the
counter, and leaned against the glass.
Lena frowned. "Can I help
you?"
His eyes took a
quick tour of her body, then he straightened.
"Maybe. I'm looking for the
owner of this place."
"You found
her. I'm Powonia Alan." Lena
crossed her arms. "If you're
looking for a job, I'm afraid we're not hiring at the moment."
The man
blinked. "I'm not here for a
job. I'm looking for a friend of
mine. His parents told me he'd been
working here."
Something
started to ache in the pit of her stomach.
"Is that so?"
The man arched
an eyebrow. "Jimmy Vaspurkan. You know him?"
She didn't know
what made her open her mouth. Maybe it
was the man's eyes, too heavy on her face.
Maybe it was the way his voice reached deep into her gut and made her
insides quake. Maybe she just needed to
talk to someone.
Whatever the
reason, she was answering before she could stop herself. "You're a little late. He's dead."
Excerpt
2
The elevator
came to a stop. The doors started to
open. MacMillian backed away and shook
his head. "Do me a favor. Leave now.
Don't come here again."
He stepped into
the hallway, then froze. Clustered
outside the door to the office was a horde of people, the widest slice of
humanity he'd ever seen crammed into one place. There were cowboys, businessmen,
soldiers. Native Americans, what looked
to be early Chinese, and more than a few women resembling the one from the side
street.
The woman
stepped out of the elevator behind him.
She hissed. "Jesus. Is it always like this here?"
MacMillian
stared down at her. "What are you-
you can see them?"
She rolled her
eyes. "Well, obviously. I'm a medium, remember?" She started
down the hallway, paused, and glanced over her shoulder. "Are you coming?"
MacMillian hung
back. She shrugged. "Suit yourself."
She walked up to
the edge of the crowd and cleared her throat.
"Okay, someone want to tell me what you're all doing here?"
Multiple heads
swung towards her. An elderly man in a
suit that would have been the height of fashion in the late eighteen-hundreds
stepped forward. MacMillian strained his
ears, but he couldn't hear what the man said.
The woman listened closely, made a curious sound in the back of her
throat and turned back to him. "He
says there's a medium here. Are you sure
you're not sensitive?"
He was feeling
rather sensitive, but he shook his head.
"I don't even know what that means."
The woman
humphed. "That's what I
thought." She turned back to the
man. "So you're all here to be
moved on?"
The man nodded.
Her shoulders
relaxed. She reached out and took the
man's hand in hers. His eyes widened,
then a peaceful look came over his face.
His lips turned up. White light
appeared in the center of his chest, expanded outward until his entire body
glowed. With what looked like a sigh of
relief, he evaporated.
MacMillian's jaw
dropped.
The woman moved
slowly through the crowd. Hand after
hand reached out for her. She took each
one, held on until its owner flashed white and disappeared. By the time she reached the office door, the
hallway was empty. She leaned back hard
against the wall and closed her eyes.
MacMillian
didn't remember moving, but somehow he was standing in front of her. He closed his free hand around her arm and
towed her inside, not stopping until they reached his office.
He slammed the
door. "What the... what
was..." He dragged a sleeve across his brow. It was drenched in sweat, but his skin felt
freezing.
The woman
watched him, her eyes sympathetic.
"Rough day, Magnum?"
He glared.
She sighed and
rubbed her forehead. "That, my dear
detective, was the other San Francisco.
You've probably seen it before, just out of the corner of your eye. You've probably dismissed it all your
life. Maybe you always told yourself
you'd just had too much to drink."
She paused, her gaze heavy on his face.
MacMillian squirmed. "But
I'm guessing you always knew better."
His head was
throbbing. He shook it once, twice, but
it didn't clear. "I don't get it,
Miss..."
"Alan,"
she supplied.
He nodded. "Ms. Alan. Why are you here?"
Her eyes
darkened. "Because there are things
that go bump in the night, Mr. MacMillian.
It's my job to bump back."
About
the Author:
L.J.K Oliva is the devil-may-care
alter-ego of noir romance novelist Laura Oliva.
She likes her whiskey strong, her chocolate dark, and her steak
bloody. L.J.K. likes monsters... and
knows the darkest ones don't live in closets.
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