Blog Tour: THE SHADOW COLLECTOR by Bonnie Randall

THE SHADOW COLLECTOR

by Bonnie Randall

 

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GENRE:  Psychic Thriller/Ghost Thriller

 

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BLURB:

 

HAVEN'T YOU WONDERED?

 

Undercover, on skid row . . .

 

Owen Brophy, summoned by a street psychic, is alarmed when she knows his realname—and unnerved by her obstinate question: "Who did you abandon back home?"Home. The Okanagan Valley. Owen hasn't been there since he was a kid. Hasn'tseen his oldest friend—a guy he once loved like a brother, a man he's longbeen estranged from—in years. Yet the psychic forecasts an ominous collision:past will crash against present when his old buddy exhumes a long-concealedsecret—a secret more than one person has died for. A secret someone will killto keep hidden.

 

OR MAYBE YOU KNOW

 

Unannounced, at her door . . .

 

A grisly package arrives for Natalya Nikoslav, its cryptic verse clearly writtenby someone who knows her history something she, abandoned as a toddler, hasnever been able to unearth on her own. Shaken, Natalya scours her psychicshadows to see where this package has come from. She's shocked by what she sees:her tombstone. Its death date waxes and wanes alongside an enigmatic spectre, aman she almost—almost!—recognizes, begging for her help. A retrocognitive,Natalya knows her psychic shadows are limited to the past . . . yet this man isunmistakably calling out from her future. And he's frantic—they'll both die ifshe doesn't come home.

 

But . . . where is home? Who is he?

 

And when she finds him will she know . . .

 

WHERE DID ALL THE CHILDREN GO?

 

 

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Excerpt One:

 

East Hastings & Main, Vancouver, British Columbia

 

Owen Brophy crept down the alley, silently navigating around puddles— some blackened like oil slicks in the darkness, others gilded by the amber glow of Hastings streetlights. All reeking; stagnant rainwater. Piss. “Gretel?” His hushed shout drifted over all the bags and rags slumped in the alley; people, covered by or covering their worldly possessions. “Gretel?”

 

“Shut it!” hissed someone, but then another voice, a rasp that sounded the way rusty barbed wire looked, said, “That you, Boss?” There, beyond her usual haunt, crouched Gretel, an emaciated husk framed by sprays of graffiti, looped shapes and sharp angles in the night. Like The Louvre if it shot up a speedball, Owen mused, and sprinted to her, feet practiced enough to dodge the puddles and floating needles without needing to look. “How come you’re not in your doorway?” he whispered.

 

“’Cause I wanted a vacation?” Gretel’s wrinkles were crevassed in the dim light, tiny sunbursts around the corners of her eyes. In the murk Owen could see the crater of an abscess in her front tooth.

 

She reached up, hid it with her hand. “Gave my doorway to Albert.” One wasted shoulder angled toward a heap of rags in her jamb. “He gots the grippe. Won’t last long.”

 

What wouldn’t last long—the grippe? Or Albert? Owen was versed enough in Gretel-speak to know the grippe was pneumonia (the most oft-visiting Grim Reaper of the heroin crowd), and that most of the predictions she made down here on skid row came true. “You tell the street doc about Albert?” he asked.

 

She jacked a brow over the eye that had finally gone opaque from cataract just over a year ago. “You knows I don’t talk to no street doc.” ‘Street doc’, spat out as if it tasted like her tooth. “You got the stuff?” She splayed a hand.

 

 

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AUTHOR Bio and Links:

 

Bonnie Randall, author of Divinity & The Python and Within The Summit's Shadow, writes stories that explore what love looks like in the face of paranormal peril. She lives in Western Canada where she is hard at work on the next two novels in the Shadow Valley series.

 

Website: https://www.bonnierandallstories.com

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100063601869120

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/shadowvalleystories

 

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Shadow-Collector-Natalya-Owen-ebook/dp/B0C4G7XGXN/ref=sr_1_1Free on KU

 

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