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The case seems simple enough: keep a lawyer from stealing a husband’s corpse from a grieving widow. Unfortunately, though, for freelance exorcist Felix Castor, nothing ever turns out to be simple. When someone tries to drop him down a lift shaft, that’s his first clue that maybe he should stay out of this one. But Felix has never backed down from evil spirits, and he’s not about to start now.
Meanwhile, in King’s Cross, a man is viciously murdered with a hammer that can’t be found—and the victim has a cigarette burn on his forehead. The clues all point to an American serial killer who’s been dead for the past forty years. The trail leads Castor to Alabama, where he leaves a severely pissed-off succubus—his sometimes partner, Juliet Salazar. Once she finds out who the killer is, she threatens to rip out Castor’s throat if he tries to stop her—but he needs Juliet’s help to stop something much bigger and deadlier.
As if that’s not enough, Castor is also fighting a legal battle for custody of his friend Rafi, who’s possessed by a demon that Castor can’t exorcise without killing his friend. A doctor has caught wind of Rafi and wants to study his condition—but Castor won’t allow it.
In Dead Men’s Boots, author Mike Carey weaves together a host of complicated plots into a snarled tangle of suspense and hold-your-breath action. Then he untangles everything, bringing the story to a volatile end. It’ll be a while before you catch your breath after reading this one.
It takes a special kind of character to do what Felix Castor does. Someone is always out to kill him, while others just flat-out don’t want to lend him any help. Not only that, but he does it all without getting a whole lot of personal gain when it’s all over. He simply does it to help the one innocent person who stands to lose a lot more than they deserve. How can you not love a character like that?
Filled with the supernatural—from a paranoid zombie to a loup-garou made up entirely of cats—Dead Men’s Boots is as unique as it is remarkable. Carey just keeps getting better and better, and he’s doing it without feeding readers the same old same old in the paranormal genre.
So come along—pick up a copy of Dead Men’s Boots, and you’ll see why I’m shouting its praises.
