Blackbirds

By Chuck Wendig

The first book in the Miriam Black series: “A sassy, hard-boiled thriller with a paranormal slant” (The Guardian) about a young woman who can see the darkest corners of the future.

Miriam Black knows how you’re going to die. This makes her daily life a living hell, especially when you can’t do anything about it, or stop trying to. She’s foreseen hundreds of car crashes, heart attacks, strokes, and suicides. She merely needs to touch you—skin to skin contact—and she knows how and when your final moments will occur. Miriam has given up trying to save people; that only makes their deaths happen. But when she hitches a ride with Louis Darling and shakes his hand, she sees in thirty days that Louis will be murdered while he calls her name— Louis will die because he met her, and Miriam will be the next victim. No matter what she does she can’t save Louis. But if she wants to stay alive, she’ll have to try.

“Think Six Feet Under co-written by Stephen King and Chuck Palahniuk” (SFX), and you have Blackbirds: a visceral, exciting novel about life on the edge.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Simon & Schuster
• Release date: May 5, 2015
• ISBN: 9781481448666

Chuck Wendig

Chuck Wendig is the author of the Miriam Black thrillers (which begin with Blackbirds) and numerous other works across books, comics, games, and more. A finalist for the John W. Campbell Award for Best New Writer and the cowriter of the Emmy-nominated digital narrative Collapsus, he is also known for his popular blog, terribleminds.com. He lives in Pennsylvania with his family.

Book preview

PART ONE

---

ONE

THE DEATH OF DEL AMICO

Car lights strobe through busted motel blinds.

When the headlights come in, Miriam regards herself in the dirty mirror.

I look like something blown in off a dusty highway, she thinks. Dirty, torn jeans. Tight white tee. Bleach-blonde hair, the roots coming up, those dark, earthen roots.

She puts her hands on her hips and cocks them this way, then that. With the back of her hand, she wipes away a smear of lipstick from where Del kissed her.

The lights need to be on, she says to nobody, foretelling the future.

She clicks the lamp by the bed. Piss-yellow light illumines the ratty room.

A roach sits paralyzed in the middle of the floor.

Shoo, she says. Fuck off. You’re free to go.

The roach does as it’s told. It boogies under the pull-down bed, relieved.

Back to the mirror, then.

They always said you were an old soul, she mutters. Tonight, she’s really feeling it.

In the bathroom, the shower hisses. It’s almost time now. She sits down on the side of the bed and rubs her eyes, yawns.

She hears the squeaking of the shower knobs. The pipes in the walls groan and stutter like a train is passing. Miriam balls up her monkey toes and flexes them tight. The toe-knuckles pop.

In the bathroom, Del is humming. Some Podunk fuckwit country tune. She hates country. That music is the dull, throbbing pulse-beat of the Heartland. Wait. This is North Carolina, right? Is North Carolina the Heartland? Whatever. The Heartland. The Confederacy. The Wide-Open Nowhere. Did it matter?

The bathroom door opens, and Del Amico steps out, wreathed in ghosts of steam.

He might have been attractive once. Still is, maybe, in this light. He’s middle-aged, lean as a drinking straw. Ropy arms, hard calves. Cheap, generic boxer-briefs pulled tight on bony hips. He’s got a good jaw, a nice chin, she thinks, and the stubble doesn’t hurt. He smiles big and broad at her and licks his teeth—bright pearly whites, the tongue snaking over them with a squeak.

She smells mint.

Mouthwash, he says, smacking his lips and breathing hot, fresh breath in her direction. He rubs a scummy towel up over his head. Found some under the sink.

Super, she says. Hey, I have a new idea for a crayon color: cockroach brown.

Del peers out from the hood formed from his towel.

What? Crayon? The hell you going on about?

"Crayola makes all kinds of crazy colors. You know. Burnt umber. Burnt sienna. Blanched almond. Baby-shit yellow. And so on, and so forth. I’m just saying, cockroaches have their own color. It’s distinct. Crayola should get on that. The kids’ll love it."

Del laughs, but he’s obviously a little confused. He continues toweling off, and then stops. He squints at her, like he’s trying to see the dolphin in one of those Magic Eye paintings.

He looks her up and down.

I thought you said you were gonna be out here . . . getting comfortable, he says.

She shrugs. Ooh. No. Truth be told, I’m never really that comfortable. Sorry.

But . . . His voice trails off. He wants to say it. His mouth forms the words before he speaks them, but finally: You’re not naked.

Very observant, she says, giving him a thumbs-up and a wink. I got bad news, Del. I am not actually a truck stop prostitute, and therefore we shall not be fucking on this good eve. Or morning. I guess it’s morning? Either way, no fucking. No ticky, no laundry.

That jaw of his tightens. But you offered. You owe me.

"Considering you haven’t actually paid me yet, and further considering that prostitution is not exactly legal in this state—though, far be it for me to legislate morality; frankly, I think what people do is their business—I don’t think I owe you dick, Del."

Goddamn, he says. You love to hear yourself talk, don’t you?

I do. She does.

You’re a liar. A liar with a foul little mouth.

"My mother always said I had a mouth like a sailor. Not in an arr, matey way, but in a fuck this and shit that way. And yes, I am a big fat liar. My dirty, torn-up jeans on fire."

It’s like he doesn’t know what to do. She sees it; she’s really steaming his bun. His nostrils are flaring like he’s a bull about to charge.

A lady should be respectful is all he manages through gritted teeth. He pitches the towel in the corner.

Miriam snorts. That’s me. My fair fuckin’ lady.

Del takes a deep breath, moves over to the dresser, then slides a grungy, ain’t-worth-nothing Timex over his bony wrist. It isn’t long before he sees what she’s laid out for him next to the watch.

What the—?

He holds up photos, picks them up as a bunch, flips through them. A woman and two young girls at a Sears portfolio special. The same kids on the playground. The woman at someone’s wedding.

I found those in your car, Miriam explains. "Your family, right? I thought it kind of interesting, what with you bringing a prostitute— er, supposed prostitute—back to a motel room. Doesn’t seem like the kind of thing a good husband or daddy would do, but what do I know? Then again, maybe that’s why you hide them all the way in the glove compartment. It’s like a mirror—if you can’t see them, they can’t see you."

He pivots, heel to toe, the wallet photos in a quaking grip.

Who are you to judge? he seethes.

She waves him off. "Oh, hush, I’m not judging. I’m just waiting. Since we’re waiting, I should probably also tell you that I’ve been following you for a couple weeks now. His gaze narrows again, and he’s looking at her like maybe he recognizes her, or is trying to. She keeps talking. I know you like hookers. Pros and hos. All kinds, too! You’re the kind of fellow who’ll eat every candy out of the chocolate box. Variety is the spice of life; good for you. I also happen to know that, outside of some relatively boring sexual proclivities, you like to hit women. Four prostitutes. Two with black eyes, one with a cut chin, the fourth with a busted lower lip—"

Del moves fast.

Bam. A tight coiled fist hits her right in the eye and knocks her back on the bed. Capillaries burst. Fireworks on a black background. Gasping, she scrambles backward, thinking he’s going to advance and try to beat her or choke her, but by the time she’s in a crouch and ready to kick, bite, or collapse his throat with a forearm, she sees he hasn’t moved one inch.

He’s just standing there. Shaking. Angry, sad, confused; she can’t tell.

She waits it out. He doesn’t move toward her. He isn’t even looking at her now— Del’s staring off at a nowhere point a thousand miles from here.

Gingerly, Miriam reaches over to the nightstand and turns the alarm clock so she can read it. It’s an old-ass clock, the kind with the numbers that turn like Vanna White’s flipping them. Each with a click.

It’s 12:40, she says. That means you have three minutes.

Three minutes? He narrows his gaze, trying to suss out her game.

"That’s right, Del, three minutes. Now’s the time to ask yourself: Any thoughts you want to share? Grandma’s cornbread recipe? Location of a buried pirate treasure? Any poetic last words? You know, Either the wallpaper goes, or I do? She waves him off. I know, an Oscar Wilde reference. I reached too far for that one. My bad."

He doesn’t move, but he tightens up. Every muscle pulled taut to bone.

You think you’re going to kill me? he asks. "That what you think?"

She clucks her tongue. "No, sir, I do not think that. I’m not the killer type. I’m more passive-aggressive than aggressive. I’m a wait-and-see kind of girl. More vulture than falcon."

They stare at each other. She feels scared and sick and a little excited.

Click.

The 0 flips to 1.

You want to hit me again, she says.

I just might.

"You think, I’ll hit her again, and then I’ll fuck her like she deserves—that’s, of course, provided you can get Little Dale Junior to race. I saw the dick pills in your glove compartment. Next to the OxyContin."

You shut the hell up.

She holds up a finger. Let me ask you one question, though. You hit your wife and daughters?

He hesitates. She’s not sure what that means. Does it mean he feels guilty about it? Or that he’d never consider touching a hair on their pretty little heads and would die if they found out?

At this point, she says, "it’s not like it matters. I’m mostly just curious. You bang hookers and punch them in their faces, so we’ve already established that you’re not gonna win Father of the Year. I’m just trying to feel out the depth of your character—"

He lets out a frustrated whoop and swings at her— a clumsy, wide throw, telegraphed loud and clear like his body was using a bullhorn. Miriam leans back. The fist catches the air in front of her nose, whiff.

She stabs a heel out and catches him in the balls.

He staggers backward, buttbone thunking against the wall, moaning, grabbing.

You only get one freebie with me, she hisses. Swing and a miss, asshole.

Click.

The time is now 12:42.

One minute, she says, easing off the bed.

He still doesn’t get it. They never do.

Shut up, he whimpers. You fuckin’ whore.

This is how it’s going to go. Any second now, we’re going to hear a car honking out in the parking lot—

A car honks outside. Once, then twice, then a third time when the driver lays on the horn just to get the message across.

Del looks from Miriam to the window, then back again. She’s seen the look before. It’s the look of a caged animal. He doesn’t know where to go, where to run, but the truth is, he can’t run anywhere. He’s trapped. What he can’t understand is how or why.

What comes next, you ask? She snaps her fingers. "Some­where, outside, someone starts yelling. Maybe it’s the car-honking guy. Maybe it’s the dude the car-honking guy was honking at. Who cares? Because . . ."

She lets her words trail off, only to be replaced by someone yelling out in the parking lot. The words were indecipherable, just a muted, Neanderthal rant.

Del’s eyes go wide.

Miriam forms her thumb and forefinger into a gun, and points it at the alarm clock. She lets the hammer—her thumb—fall.

Boom, she says, and—

Click.

The time is now 12:43.

You have epilepsy, Del?

The question registers, and she knows now that he does. It explains what’s about to happen. A moment of calm strikes him, a kind of serene confusion, and then—

His body tightens.

And here it is, Miriam says. The kicker, the game ball, the season-ender.

The seizure hits him like a crashing wave.

Del Amico’s body goes rigid, and he drops backward, his head narrowly missing the corner of the motel dresser. He makes a strangled sound. He sits upright on his knees, but then his back arches and his shoulder blades press hard against the matted Berber.

Miriam rubs her eye.

I know what you’re thinking, she says as Del’s eyes start to bulge like champagne corks ready to pop. "Jeez, why doesn’t this broad stick a wallet under my tongue? Couldn’t she do me a solid? Or maybe you’re thinking, Hey, I’ve had seizures before, and none of them killed me. A guy can’t actually swallow his own tongue, right? That’s just a myth? Or maybe, just maybe, you think I’m some kind of batshit highway witch with magical powers."

He gurgles. His cheeks go red. Then purple.

Miriam shrugs, wincing, watching it unfold with grim fascination. Not that this is the first time she’s seen it.

Not so, my friendly neighborhood whore-puncher. This is your destiny, to choke on your own mouth meats, to expire here in this God-fucked motel in the middle of Hell’s half acre. I’d do something if I could, but I can’t. Were I to put the wallet under your tongue, I’d probably only push the tongue in deeper. See, my mother used to say, ‘Miriam, it is what it is.’ And this, Del Amico, is that.

Froth bubbles out over Del’s ashen lips. The blood vessels in his eyes burst.

Just like she remembers it.

His rigid body goes limp. All the fight goes out of him. His wiry frame slackens, his head tilts at a bad angle, his cheek hits the floor.

Then, insult to injury, the cockroach runs out from under the bed. It uses Del’s twisted upper lip as a step ladder, and squeezes its fat little body up into his nostril before disappearing.

Miriam takes a deep breath and shudders.

She tries to speak, tries to say she’s sorry, but—

She can’t stop it. She runs to the bathroom and pukes in the toilet.

Miriam kneels like that for a while, her head leaning up against the base of the sink. The porcelain feels cool, calming. She smells mint. The clean scent of cheap mouthwash.

It often hits her like this. Like some part of her is dying along with them, some part that she has to gag on and purge and flush away.

And, as always, she knows what will really make her feel better.

She crawls out of the bathroom, over Del’s cooling body, and fetches her messenger bag from the far side of the bed. Fishing around, she finds what she’s looking for and pulls out a crumpled pack of Marlboro Lights. She taps one out, plugs it between her lips, and lights it.

Miriam exhales smoke, a jet from each nostril. Like steam from a dragon’s nose.

The nausea recedes, a septic tide washing the poison back to sea.

Much better, she says to whoever is listening. Del’s ghost, maybe. Or the cockroach.

Then she goes back into the bag to find Item Number Two: a black notebook with a red pen tucked in the spiral. The notebook is almost at its end. Just ten more pages left. Ten blank pages, a great gulf of awful potential: an unwritten future that’s already been written.

Oh, wait, she says. I’m getting sloppy over here. Can’t forget this—

Miriam goes and grabs Del’s pants and digs in for his wallet. Inside, she finds just shy of fifty bucks and a MasterCard. Enough to get her on the road, put a meal in her belly, move her on to the next town.

Thanks for the donation, Del.

Miriam props up some pillows against the bed’s headboard and leans back. She flips open the notebook, and she writes:

Dear Diary:

I did it again.

TWO

OF SCAVENGERS AND PREDATORS

I-40. Quarter past one in the morning.

It’s just finished raining. The highway glistens.

The air smells of wet asphalt, which is an odor Miriam associates with fat nightcrawlers stretched across moist macadam.

Car tires shoosh and hiss by. Everything is a smear of headlights in one direction and brake lights in the other.

Miriam’s been out here now for twenty minutes, and she wonders why this isn’t easier. Here she is, tight white T-shirt— a tight, white, wet T-shirt with no bra in sight— and her thumb out for a ride. Prime, Grade-A Road Trash, she thinks. And yet, nobody stops.

A Lexus speeds past.

You’re a dick, she says.

A white SUV rumbles by.

"You’re a superdick."

A rust-fucked pickup approaches, and she thinks, this is it. Whoever’s driving this junk-bucket is sure to think he can score with this thin slip of road pussy. The truck slows; the driver wants a looky-loo. But then it speeds up again. The truck’s horn honks. An empty Chick-Fil-A cup pirouettes through open air and narrowly misses her head. Hillbilly guffaws Doppler past.

Miriam turns her hitchhiker’s thumb into a middle finger, and she yells out, Eat a dick and die, fuckpie!

She expects them to keep going.

But: red flash. Brake lights. The truck stops hard, then reverses onto the shoulder.

Shit, Miriam says. Just what she needs. She half expects the identical twin of the dearly departed Del Amico to step out of the truck, scratching his gut through his wife-beater. What she gets instead is a pair of frat boys.

They’re grinning.

One’s got that fireman’s build and a pair of clear, mean eyes beneath a mop of blond. The other’s shorter— squat, really. Fat, freckled cheeks. Tarheels cap overlooking a pair of puckered butthole eyes. Clean suburban white-boy clothes.

Miriam nods. Nice truck. The Tetanus Express.

It’s my dad’s, Blondie says, coming right up on her as cars continue to pass. Squats—that’s how she thinks of the other one—trundles up behind her.

It’s a real nice ride, she says.

"You need a ride?" Squats asks from behind her. His tone isn’t friendly.

Nah, she says. I’m just out here flippin’ the bird to pass the time.

You’re a Yankee, Blondie says. Ironic, because he doesn’t have much of the Southern pluck to his voice. Those icy eyes roam all over her. A cute Yankee.

Miriam massages her temples. She thinks for a moment about indulging these two frat-tards in some clever roadside banter, but the truth is, she’s damp, she’s tired, and the blacked eye is really starting to pound.

"Listen. I know how this goes. You two boys think you’re going to get some. Maybe tag me at both ends, maybe just push me around, maybe see if I have any money. I get it. Like any good scavenger, I know predators when I see them. You know what, though? I just don’t have the time. I’m fucking tired, for real. So. Get back in your lockjaw jalopy, and head back to the highway from whence you came."

Blondie steps up on her. He doesn’t touch her, but he’s nose-to-nose.

I like the way you use your mouth, he leers.

Last warning, she says. You see the black eye, and you think I’m good to go, but sometimes a girl lets herself get hit for all kinds of complicated reasons. I won’t let that happen again tonight. You picking up what I’m putting down?

Apparently not, because Squats puts his sausage fingers on her hips.

Miriam reacts.

Her head snaps back, pops Squats’s nose—

Squats is in his fifties now, fatter than ever, his nose one big gin blossom, and he’s yelling at some woman in a yellow dress, and sweat is beading on his brow, and flecks of spit are flying out of his mouth, and suddenly, he plants his fat hand on the kitchen counter as the heart attack tightens the left half of his body and turns his every nerve ending into a roadmap of pain.

— and he howls, and Miriam thinks to turn up the volume by reaching back and gripping his crotch in a crushing claw. Blondie’s taken aback, but she knows she doesn’t have long. She spits in his eye, which buys her another second, so she uses her free hand to punch him once, then twice in the throat—

The cancer is eating him up, juicing his bowels into a tumor-squeezed mess, but he’s old, at least in his late seventies, and he lies there surrounded by the boops and beeps and blips of hospital equipment, and he’s got his family there. A young boy grips his hand. An old woman bends down to kiss his forehead. A woman in her forties with her blond hair pulled tight and a peaceful look on her face pats him on the chest once, then twice, and that’s it— the old man cries out, shits blood, and dies.

Squats tries to slap at her, a clumsy grizzly-bear move, but she steps out of the way and his meaty palm swishes through air. Miriam’s elbow catches him hard in his already-busted, already-bleeding nose, and Squats goes down.

Blondie, face red, still choking, rushes at her with all the finesse of a tumbling boulder. She pulls her upper torso back to dodge him, but lets her knee hang out there and catch him right in the breadbasket. Blondie grunts, a hard oof of air, and slips on some gravel. He goes down.

You think I come out here and I don’t know how to protect myself ? she screams at them. She picks up a handful of gravel and pitches it at Blondie, who moans and protects his head. Miriam hawks up another loogie and spits it in his hair. For good measure, she grabs the Tarheel hat off Squats and pitches it onto the highway. Assholes.

Then: harsh white. Headlights. Big shadow grumbling.

The hiss of hydraulic brakes.

A bobtail—the truck part of an eighteen-wheeler, this one without its trailer—pulls up onto the shoulder, gravel popping underneath its massive tires.

Miriam shields her eyes, sees the driver’s silhouette. Jesus, she thinks, it’s a goddamn Frankenstein. Where are the torches and pitchforks when you need them?

The Frankenstein is holding a crowbar.

Everything okay here? Frankenstein asks. The voice booms, even over the rumble

[samjehanzeb · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Blackbirds ist der Auftakt einer Reihe, die allen Roadmovie-Fans das Herz höher schlagen lassen wird. Meist in der Perspektive der abgebrühten Miriam wird der Leser in eine Achterbahn von Ereignissen geworfen. Ehe man es sich versieht, jagen Drogendealer und Killer sie quer durchs Land und metzeln alles nieder, was ihnen in den Weg kommt. Es wird mit Wonne gefoltert und zwar auch gerne mal mit Ausführungen des Täters. Es wird zwar nicht zum Splatter-Roman, doch man sollte nicht zu zart besaitet sein, wenn man Blackbirds lesen möchte.Der Roman beginnt mit Miriam, die in einem schäbigen Hotel dem bevorstehenden Tod eines wirklich unsympathischen Scheißkerls beiwohnen möchte – nunja, „möchte“. Vielmehr fühlt sie sich verpflichtet, schließlich hat sie seinen Tod bereits gesehen, außerdem hilft ihr das Bargeld in seinen Taschen dabei, ein paar Tage über die Runden zu kommen. Sie ist knallhart, hat ein ausgesprochen derbes Vokabular, säuft, was das Zeug hält, und bevorzugt den gelegentlichen, aber auf jeden Fall unverbindlichen Sex mit Fremden. Ihre unheimliche Fähigkeit hat sie sichtlich gezeichnet und sie meidet enge Bindungen zu anderen Menschen wie der Teufel das Weihwasser. Als Straßenvagabundin macht sie also keine Gefangenen und kann ebenso heftig austeilen, wie sie einstecken kann, und sie geht keinerlei Verpflichtungen ein. Sie denkt praktisch, egoistisch und überaus zynisch. Kurz gesagt: Miriam ist selbstzerstörerisch. Umso überraschender ist es, dass sie dem vereinsamten Louis ein wenig das Herz öffnet und zum ersten Mal seit einer Ewigkeit so etwas wie Zuneigung für einen Menschen zulässt. Es ist eine wackelige Beziehung, die Miriam aber etwas mehr Menschlichkeit verleiht und den Bogen an einer Stelle schlägt, wo man als Leser beinahe zu genervt ist von der schlecht gelaunten Protagonistin, um noch lange am Ball bleiben zu wollen. Denn im Grunde ist der Ansatz dieser rohen Figur nicht schlecht, nur leider übertreibt es der Autor gerne mal. Es dauert recht lange, bis man mit der Figur wirklich warm wird. Viel zu lange bleibt sie zu oberflächlich, als dass man das Verhalten glaubhaft nachvollziehen oder sich in Miriam hineinversetzen könnte.Nach und nach erfährt man schließlich aber doch mehr über die holprige Vergangenheit von Miriam und endlich wird ihr Tiefe zuteil. Das macht den anfänglich schwachen Start zwar auch nicht wieder gut, doch mit diesem Wandel wird plötzlich die Neugier des Lesers geweckt und auch dessen Verständnis.Den übrigen Charakteren schadet die Oberflächlichkeit nicht, da es sich dabei hauptsächlich um regelrechten Abschaum handelt, der sowieso keine Sympathien wecken soll und stattdessen für Entsetzen zuständig ist. Das betrifft vor allem die Auftragskillerin Harriet, für die zu foltern Kunst und Glücksgefühle bedeuten; und ihren Chef, den seltsamen Glatzkopf, der in seinem Beutel Menschenknochen sammelt.Die Erzählung wird in mehreren Teilen immer wieder unterbrochen und fortgesetzt, so dass sich die Details wie ein Puzzle langsam zusammenfügen und spannende Stellen mit einem „Zwischenspiel“ zum Cliffhanger werden. Im Falle von Blackbirds ist das recht interessant und wertet die Erzählung auf, auch sind die Sprünge nicht so groß, dass man den Faden verlieren würde.Blackbirds liefert eine spannende Idee und ein actionreiches Abenteuer mit ordentlich Blut. Einzig die vulgäre Sprache der Protagonisten ist auf Dauer etwas anstrengend, da hier wirklich, wirklich viele davon sich die Klinke in die Hand geben, zu jeder Gelegenheit. Vielleicht musste der Autor, der sonst Drehbücher schreibt, in seinem Debütroman etwas kompensieren, was ihm bei den Filmstudios aufgrund von Zensuren verwehrt bleibt. Man weiß es nicht. Einen Blick wert ist der Roman aber durchaus. Chuck Wendig hat die Verbindung von Urban Fantasy, Thriller und Roadmovie gut hinbekommen, und wer es gerne rau, teils brutal, auf jedenfall schonungslos mag, der kommt ganz auf seine bzw. ihre Kosten. Man sollte sich allerdings bewusst sein, dass dieser Auftaktroman ganz klar auf die Fortsetzung baut und viel mehr Fragen aufwirft, als welche zu beantworten. So bleibt auch ungeklärt, wie Miriam zu ihrer Fähigkeit gekommen ist und was genau in ihrer Jugend mit ihr passierte. Blackbirds schließt zwar die Haupthandlung letztlich ab, liest sich aber insgesamt doch mehr wie eine Einleitung für das eigentliche Spektakel.Noch ein Wort zum Buchcover, denn hier sind mit viel Liebe zum Detail jede Menge Hinweise auf die Story eingeflochten worden. Und wie oft kommt es bei einem Cover schon vor, dass es ernsthaft durchdacht wurde? Schöne Sache!

[halo_star · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

BLACKBIRDS is the story of Miriam Black, a twenty-something drifter who can see when and how a person is going to die by touching them. Naturally, this has caused her no small amount of anxiety, as well as considerable guilt about not being able to do anything to stop the events (she tried, once.) Miriam has become cold, at least on the outside. Then she meets a truck driver named Louis, who surprises her with his kindness. She falls for him. She sees how he's going to die. And it involves her.Miriam is one of those super-sarcastic characters that is popular nowadays. While she is genuinely funny in the beginning, this quality does start to wear out its welcome after a while. She's also not very nice or likeable, even in a bad-but-charismatic way. I didn't have much sympathy for her.Though there are some potentially interesting logistical conundrums built around the premise that "fate" will always have its way (Miriam tries to avoid Louis for his own safety, but he keeps turning up), but the story never really rises above the level of a decent mystery-suspense thriller.

[shanaqui_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

I got Blackbirds from Angry Robot on Netgalley, to review. I wasn't sure if I'd like it from the description, and the pre-existing reviews, but I wanted to give it a go because the idea is something relatively simple that could be turned into a really good story. The core idea is that a girl (Miriam) gains a power which means the first time she has skin-on-skin contact with someone, she sees how they die.

I enjoyed the character of Miriam: she's a tough talking girl who swears like a sailor and does whatever she has to do to get through life, trying to tell herself that all these deaths she witnesses (and can't prevent) don't matter to her, and that she can't do anything about it. There's a lot that isn't explained about her gift, which is equal parts frustrating and intriguing: I'm definitely looking forward to the sequel, to fill in the gaps that Blackbirds has left.

I liked the other main characters, too: Ashley and Louis. Well, Ashley is kind of unlikeable, but I like what was done with him, and Louis... well, you can't help liking Louis and rooting for him, even though the story is telling you the whole time that nothing good is going to come of this.

There are a couple of things that I didn't find convincing enough: the motives of the people who were after her; Louis' attraction to her; the whole Ashley thing. Some of that might be resolved in the next book, but either way, the momentum of the story carried me past anything that gave me pause. I read it in one sitting -- if it sounds interesting to you, then I'd say go ahead and pick it up, as long as you can get past the fact that there's graphic violence, swearing and sex!

[vombatiformes · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

I'm a previous fan of Chuck Wendig's work (having been introduced to it after picking up a copy of Double Dead at a Barnes & Noble and enjoying it very much) so I came into this novel prepared for his writing style and anticipating enjoying it as I did with Double Dead.I'm not sure if my level of enjoyment was less on reading this novel than on his other work because I'm less interested in the subject or if it was something else, though I suspect a combination of things. The story follows Miriam, a young woman with a terrible gift -- she is able to tell when and how someone will die, but she isn't able to do anything to change it. Understandably, and due to some past trauma, Miriam has a lot of problems. Her life is a mess and her psychological situation is dubious at best. Still, she is a survivor -- and her character is intense and dynamic and there is a lot to like about her as a person.Unfortunately, while I really like seeing writers I enjoy shine through their work, Wendig's characteristic style of profanity and sarcasm begins to wear a bit thin very early on in this book. A lot of the action seems terribly self-conscious and the dark humor wears itself pretty thin barely a quarter way through the novel. The strengths are obvious -- the mystery surrounding Miriam, the uncertainty about whether she really CAN exert power over her own life and over her visions, these things really compel the reader forward and make them eager to get to the end so they can have some of their questions answered. I think, though, this was actually the major and damning difference for me between this novel and my experience reading Double Dead. I savored the latter, and was disappointed and dying for more when I got to the end. For me, Blackbirds was very much about reaching the end and finding out what happens a-la cheap mystery novels. Blackbirds, of course, is much more than a cheap mystery novel, but I am disappointed by my lack of interest in hanging around the characters longer or getting to know their world better. I am sure that I will read the sequel at some point but as of now I am not clamoring for it, and I do still hope to see more and more work from Wendig as I think his writing is strong and interesting and I like seeing how he strings chaotic elements together into a cohesive whole in his stories, which are often mixed up and complicated in a pleasant way. I guess Blackbirds, and the world of Miriam, may just not be a hit for me. I have seen many reviews weigh in in its favor so I am open to the idea that this may be a matter of personal preference rather than any major failing on Wendig's part as a writer.

[csdaley-1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

This was barely a four for me. Let's be clear here. This is not an easy book to read. It is dark and very few good things happen in it. A lot of violence. None of these things bother me but something about this book kept me moving forward in the story. It is well written but not going to be for everyone.

[ahs7wolfy · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Miriam Black is used to death. It's what she sees if she comes into skin-on-skin contact with someone. She's seen so much of it that even violent death has lost the ability to shock. So it must be that the man in her latest vision calling her name as he looks over the shoulder of his killer that has affected her so much. Was it actually Miriam herself he was looking at and why would she be present at such a gruesome death if it was? Usually she only turns up for those that die alone so she can take what she needs to continue her nomadic drink and nicotine filled lifestyle. Miriam has tried to thwart her visions before but somehow fate always manages to get what it wants. Wanting to have nothing to do with the death of Louis the kind and caring truck driver she vows to be nowhere near the scene of the crime when it occurs. Can she get away or will Miriam become victim to fate once again?This is a dark, gory, foul-mouthed urban fantasy ride that veers towards the horror end of the spectrum. There is a small cast of mostly unlikeable characters (including the protagonist) so if you find this off-putting then this book is probably not for you. Neither if you're a bit squeamish or offended by profanity (there's lots of it - although it does get quite creative at times). Personally I don't mind either as long as they are true to the story or characters involved and here it fits perfectly. The majority of the story is told in present tense with flashback segments of an interview with a magazine reporter used to give insight into Miriam's past and character. It works well and drives the story on relentlessly. This was my first encounter with the author's work but it won't be my last. There's already a couple of sequels to this book with another on the way and I'll definitely be on the lookout for those at the very least.

[Nicole Jachim · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Amazing read, finished it in a day and a half!!

[Aimee · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

I didn't love Miriam in this book at first. I was sort of frustrated and a little off-put by some of the seemingly 'clearly, this is a bad decision' moments, but something about it kind of grew on me and I'm so glad I've stuck with this series. This first book isn't what I think I'd consider the best of the series, so if you're wavering a little, I highly suggest you keep going and let the development of Miriam's voice and self sweep you into the later books.

[MistinaChristina · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

I really like thus book but..it is dark and grim and I had to take it in small doses. I'm going to stick with the series for now and see how it goes because its very original, and different is to find.

[Breogan · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

It starts very well. (Translated from Spanish)

[streetwa · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

My first book from "Angry Robots" publishing - a cyberpunk / science faction imprint. The writing reminds me of pulp fiction type detective / crime writing with clipped descriptive sentences and detached amoral characters. The story is good - the central character is a woman who can see the future death of anyone she touches and she lives a life on the road in southern USA scavenging from her "victims" but her life changes when she seems to actually care for someone who's death she predicts and what follows is a downward spiral of violence and twists. It reads easily and is quite well told but is sometimes a bit predictable and the main character is not quite as shocking as she is meant to be. Overall I enjoyed reading this and will read Chuck Wendig again but I haven't rushed onto Amazon to get the sequel (yet).

[kraaivrouw · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

I'm typically pretty dubious of most urban fantasy that is written these days. I miss the really good stuff - Emma Bull, Charles de Lint, early Anita Blake novels - back before stuff started sparkling that really shouldn't and high school chicks started laying themselves out like prey at the feast. But honestly, I loved the cover on this so I thought - "what the hell."

I'm so glad I did. Miriam is an amazing character - damaged, tough, a survivor. I can't imagine what it would be like to know the death of anyone you touch, but Miriam has this skill. It's helped her survive, but it's also led down an endless path of highways, motels, truck tops, and Waffle Houses. Stealing where she can, hitchhiking, running from the world.

And then there's Louis Darling and everything changes - because this time Miriam wants to change the outcome and that will require a new way of living, of thinking, of making choices, and of taking action. This book is a roller coaster on the seamy side of America's highway system. I loved it and can't wait for Mockingbird - the upcoming sequel.

[tldegray-1 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

I can't quite decide if I liked this book. It was far more of a gangster-type novel (drug dealers out for revenge) than it was anything else, and that really isn't my style. I liked the main character--well, to the degree that she's likeable--and I was interested in what she could do and how she handled it. I very much enjoyed the interludes as info dumps, especially the interview where she discusses her life and her abilities.

The ending circled back around to speculative fiction. The origins of her powers came into question, along with the idea that there is some force guiding or watching her. I'd much rather read that than anything else.

[mysterymax_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Finished Blackbirds by Chuck Wendig. It was very dark. Several times I thought, "I can't read this." But I kept going.

It's disturbing, compelling, thought provoking. Miriam is in her twenties. She's had a tough life, due in large part to the fact that if her skin touches someone else's skin she sees how they will die.

The story is about fate and the possibility of changing fate. I gave it 3.5 stars. Not 4, because I will never read it again, but not 3 because I couldn't stop reading it. Would I recommend it. Conditionally, yes.

[quondame · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

A dark, dark story, this did not drag for a second. The characters are scarily real.

[keyboardscoffee · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

GAH!

I have not loved a book like this in a very long time. I could not put it down, and it takes a lot to hold my attention.

Urban/supernatural fantasy is probably my favourite genre, and with Blackbirds you get the best parts of that genre all wrapped up into one book. It was gritty, sassy, gruesome and all kinds of fun.

I loved Miriam from the first sentence. She’s pessimistic and full of…angst? I don’t know if that’s the exact word I want. BUT she’s not depressing about it. She’s realistic. Less “woe is me” and more “life sucks and then you die”. Her voice made the story move quickly even if there wasn’t anything intense happening at that moment (but there usually was).

The way Miriam’s “sight” worked was really interesting too. I liked how it wasn’t as straightforward you might think seeing someone’s death is. Instead of using it as a cop out for the storyline, Chuck used it to progress the plot. It brought up more questions rather than giving all answers.

I will definitely be grabbing the next in this series and inhaling it like I did Blackbirds. And if you’re a fan of urban fantasy, I suggest you grab this.

[vibrantminds · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Miriam has a gift or a curse as she would say is more fitting; she can see when someone is going to die by simply touching their skin. As time passes she has learned to use these situations to her advantage. She sees it as fate and despite what she may or may not do fate cannot be changed. When Miriam crosses paths with a truck driver, Louis, and views his death she is taken back. He is to die a torturous death within the month and before he dies he says her name. Bothered by this turn in events she wants nothing to do with him but their paths keep crossing, after all it is fate. A very intense story filled with violence, language, and some sex, despite that it is well written and envelops the reader into their domain.

[nnschiller · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Blackbirds is an excellent book. I didn't want to like it, but Wendig's tight prose and penetrating insight ended up charming me. I'm honestly pretty tired of the antihero/anti-heroine morality play where the "evil" character ends up showing more human value and virtues than the "good" characters, but despite playing with these tropes and genre conventions, Wendig's work ends up mostly just being human.

So, this is a case where if I didn't know anything about Wendig from Twitter, the genre pigeonhole and back of the novel blurbs and reviews would have driven me away. I'm glad I picked it up.

I started the book in audio format, but finished in one night reading the eBook version. It definitely was a "stay up till I finish" kind of read, but it has charms that extend beyond it's pot-boiler plotting.

[lancasterways · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Profanity. Sex. Violence. This is the depravity a reader must enjoy in order to appreciate Chuck Wendig's Blackbirds (Angry Robot, 2012).

I loved it.

Miriam Black is like that creepy kid from The Sixth Sense if he were older and more inclined to dropping the f-bomb. Miriam is more macabre, too: Instead of seeing dead people, she sees how they die. The merest touch imparts to Miriam knowledge not only of how a person dies, but also when, information that comes in handy to a drifter living by the seat of her pants. (Think scavenger.)

Blackbirds opens with Miriam moving from one encounter to the next, a glutted vulture seeking out her next meal. She's picked up by Louis, a kindly truck driver, after she encounters two rednecks. (Whom Miriam roundly beats. Thanks, Louis, but she don't need no man.) Miriam accidentally touches Louis and receives a vision of his death in which he appears to be calling her name and looking at her over the shoulder of his murderer. Thus Wendig sets Blackbirds' story in motion.

If its premise is straightforward--urban fantasy chick with special powers gets into trouble--Blackbirds is anything but simple. In a postscript interview with Adam Christopher, Wendig admits that Blackbirds went through seven or eight drafts, including from a book manuscript to a film script and back again. (The visual style of the book is indicative of its time as a script.) And it shows. There is nothing rough or extraneous about Blackbirds. Wendig distilled the story down to its essence, and then sprinkled it liberally with profanity.

The care Wendig put into telling this story shows. His prose is whip-smart, each sentence a revelation in its own way, whether it's creative vulgarity or unexpected observations, for instance, the "chemical stink" of Philadelphia (a smell this reader knows all too well). Each sentence builds upon the last, lending the story a propulsive feel. Readers will find themselves impatient to know what happens next. Blackbirds is the definition of a "page turner."

Wendig's prose is punchy, conversational. (If he speaks in any way resembling his writing voice, I would love to have a beer with him.) His dialog is natural; readers will recognize the rhythms of characters' speech. If there is an exception, it might be Miriam herself, whose incessant patter sometimes reads as forced, or, perhaps, too clever, almost as if she's a Gilmore Girl gone to seed. Still, Miriam's dialog is in character. She isn't stupid, and the endless string of wisecracks, vulgarity, and observations speak to her nervous energy, a trait indicated, too, by her chain smoking, drinking, and, ultimately, rootless lifestyle.

Wendig is at his best (and that is saying something) when it comes to characterization. Miriam is a compelling and charismatic protagonist, of course, but it's with the characters that revolve around her that Wendig really shines. Wendig can summon up a sense of character with just one or two sentences. Consider Ashley Gaynes, a conman whose whole being is summed up in his shit-eating grin. Or Frankie and Harriet, a pair of odd couple cutthroats who make small talk about crazy old cat women. Their reactions to a story about a particular cat woman, something told almost in passing, points to their very natures.

Readers should be warmed: This is not a PG book. You will have by now noted that I've mentioned profanity several times, and there is a lot of it. If you don't crack a smile at creative cursing, if you find such language tasteless, Blackbirds isn't for you. Blackbirds is violent, too, practically from the first page, and it is graphic. I wrinkled my nose a few times, and I'm not squeamish; indeed, I like my stories bloody. Readers with weak stomachs should consider themselves warned.

Those concerns aside--and I don't consider them my concerns--Blackbirds is a wonderful book. The story is well plotted, the characters, even the minor ones, fully drawn, and Wendig's prose is outstanding. A sense of "writer's craft" permeates the entire book. A dark urban fantasy, Blackbirds will be best enjoyed by readers who like their fantasy to have elements of mysteries and thrillers, and for fans of the quirky and offbeat. Highly recommended.

[ladycato · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

This is one of those urban fantasies that's on that gritty, grimy edge of horror. Wendig is a visceral, punchy writer. He wields profanity the way a teenage girl says "like." That's typically not my thing, but the Miriam's voice works well here. She's hurting because she knows she's hurt others, and her snark is a method of defense. It's an intense read that zooms by--which is great because there's so much violence and gore, but it never dwells on it. The brisk pace pushes things along.

[branimal · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Miriam Black doesn't want your help. She’s a loner by choice. Why? Well, Miriam can tell you with 100% accuracy when and how you’re going to die. With a little simple skin on skin action, she can peer into the future and find out when you’re going to meet your maker. Big deal right? If Miriam knows how you’re going to die, why doesn't she just become a superhero and save the day? The thing is – fate ain't got time for superheroes. What fate wants, fate gets and avoiding the grim reaper isn't something she’s equipped to deal with.

Unfortunately for Miriam, she can’t always choose her battles. Crossing paths with a kindly trucker forces her to let her guard down which allows a friendship to take root. However, when she sees how he’ll kick the bucket, she opts to get as far away as possible, hoping to somehow avoid the whole mess altogether. Remember what I said before? How fate always gets its way?

This book was straight up awesome. Wendig has a way with words; like he’s cooking with literary hot sauce. And don’t give me any of that crap about how Wendig wrote Miriam like she’s a dude; as if there’s any set way a man/woman is supposed to act within fiction. Miriam is Miriam. She’s a loose cannon. She’s fun to read, she’s a breath of fresh air and the girl can trade verbal barbs with the best of them. Seriously, there are some of the best one-liners in here. If you’re not laughing out loud at what Wendig throws at you, your funny bone is broken.

Not only is Miriam memorable, the supporting cast shines in their roles. The two thugs on her trail, Frankie and Harriet, provide excellent entertainment while Miriam is off screwing something up somewhere. Her boss, Ingersoll, is obsessed with tracking down Black, hoping she’ll help him expand his operation beyond its minimal existence. All three are solid foils for Miriam. Despite knowing there are two books that follow, they’re not written as simple obstacles for her to overcome. They have a serious mean streak and will linger long after you close the book.

I loved the hell out of this and I can’t recommend it enough. On to book two!

[psutto_2 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Miriam Black can see how someone dies just by touching flesh to flesh. Obviously this has turned her into a pretty damaged character. From trying to stop the deaths she soon becomes fatalistic and takes what she needs from those destined to die soon in a peripatetic existence rattling round the USA. When she is targeted by a con man and gets involved with an organised criminal gang things start to go awry. This is a dark and bleak story but is blackly amusing with some great turns of phrase, it’s what you’d expect from Wendig really if you follow his blog or twitter. I enjoyed it but think it may not be for everyone, there is also a strange lack of women populating the world of Blackbirds, 90% of the people Miriam meets are men and Miriam and the other main woman character are basically men with breasts which could piss you off. I’m willing, based on the writing to forgive it some but this drop its rating.

She puts her hands on her hips and cocks them this way, then that. With the back of her hand, she wipes away a smear of lipstick from where Del kissed her.
“The lights need to be on,” she says to nobody, foretelling the future.
She clicks the lamp by the bed. Piss-yellow light illumines the ratty room.
A roach sits paralyzed in the middle of the floor.
“Shoo,” she says. “Fuck off. You’re free to go.”
The roach does as it’s told. It boogies under the pull-down bed, relieved.
Back to the mirror, then.
“They always said you were an old soul,” she mutters. Tonight she’s really feeling it.


Overall – Smart, sassy first book in an interesting series, I will read the sequels despite problems with the first

[alwright1_1 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

People keep calling it "gritty." Apt enough I suppose. It is dark, but there's a lot of humor in it, and I enjoyed the main character and her powers. First time reading Wendig off Twitter.

[halkeye · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

worth finishing though I found it a very slow start

[rmagahiz · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

A blood-drenched and profane book that follows a bunch of twisted people (all except for one character) down some dark byways. It's more of a thriller than an urban fantasy story, given that it only has that one key characterization relating to the paranormal. The flashback scenes in between the main action chapters were not much of a relief, either, and not just because of the way they end up badly. There is a raw kind of energy that gets expressed in grotesquery which readers just a little more squeamish than me might have a hard time getting through. Most readers should be able to tell whether this is the book for them in the first dozen pages.

I've been to Barnegat Light and I'm not really buying the idea that someone could fall from the top to the bottom of the staircase and survive. But that's not a major point.

[girlmisanthrope · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Loved it. It's dark and gritty and it ain't pretty. Miriam is cursed with the ability to visualize a person's death with any skin-on-skin contact. Some she's tried to prevent, but that's against the rules. Now, she scuttles along the fringes of society, through motels, back lots, bars. The prose is like staccato gun fire; the grotesque words fire into your brain. Miriam attracts the attention of some individuals darker than she, who want to exploit her "gift". Refreshingly, Miriam is not the typical urban fantasy chick (beautiful but unaware, blessed with martial art fighting skills, develops a tough skin, blah, blah, blah)---instead she is truly cursed. She didn't want this. She tries to find a way to live with it, she's vulnerable. She still has hope for friends, a boyfriend, a job. She gets beat up and stays down sometimes. Can't wait to read the rest in the series. Oh, and the cover art is gorgeous.

[srearley · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

I enjoy Wendig's blog, and knew going in to Blackbirds that it would likely contain a lot of profanity. I don't think I was expecting quite as much as there actually was...

This was a little outside of what I normally read, it was a lot more violent and there was a lot more...well gross stuff, for lack of a better phrase....but at it's heart, it had some really interesting characters, and I wanted to know what happened.

[ktp50 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Fast paced thriller. Main character can tell when and how people are going to die by touching their skin. In addition she cannot do anything to change what is about to happen to them. The reader can kind of guess how the story turns out. But still-and-all and entertaining read.

[stefferoo · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Oh man, what can I say about Miriam Black? Funny how Chuck Wendig was able to hook me on his Blackbirds female protagonist the way he couldn't with Mookie Pearl in The Blue Blazes, my first book by this author. I may have mentioned my aversion for rough, brutish, brawn-over-brains characters like Mookie in my review of that book, but here I find myself completely taken with Miriam and her snarky, foul-mouthed, firebrand hellion devil-may-care badass ways. This chick had me at, "That's me. My fair fuckin' lady."

Miriam also has a very special ability -- she can foresee the manner in which a person will die and know exactly when, down to the very micro-second. All she needs is any skin-on-skin contact and the visions will trigger, the deaths playing out in her mind in their entirety but lasting only a couple seconds to anyone watching from the outside. She used to care, used to want to save others from their preventable demises, but quickly learned her lesson: What fate wants, fate gets. Now she's a vagrant, hopping from city to city trailing those she knows will soon meet their end, so she can swoop in and rob them at the time of their deaths and no one will be the wiser.

Then one day she meets Louis, the random truck driver who gives her a lift and is the first person in a long time to show her even a hint of kindness. She finds she likes him, but then she shakes his hand and sees his death -- in 30 days, Louis will be brutally murdered. Miriam is shocked; she's seen hundreds of deaths from accidents, suicides, and health problems, but very rarely has she seen murder. And the kicker is, in her vision right before Louis dies, he looks up past his killer and calls Miriam's name...like he sees her there.

It was difficult to put this book down. Obviously, the plot being such a tease was a major draw, but like I said before, I was also very much taken with Miriam. I still don't know why, really; it's not like I can relate to her all that easily since I am nothing like her, but I felt connected to her regardless. She's definitely unique, and it'll be a mistake going into this book expecting her to be just another independent, tough-as-nails paranormal fiction female protagonist. Miriam would probably just beat someone like her up, but only after cussing her out and drinking her under the table.

A lot of the criticisms I've seen directed at this book claim Miriam's character doesn't read like a "real girl", but I have to disagree. Not only do I know women who act just like Miriam, I also think that her rough, trashy badass exterior reflects the kind of life she's had growing up with her disturbing power, making her behavior and personality convincing and refreshingly honest. At the same time, I sense that underneath is someone more perceptive and complex, with a introspective, kind and caring side to her that you just have to dig a little bit beneath the surface to find. Okay, maybe make that dig A LOT beneath the surface, but I still know it's there.

This book also made me start appreciating Chuck Wendig's style a lot more than I had before. His writing, topics, and characters are infused with this attitude which to me is a little reminiscent of the transgressiveness in books one might find by authors like Chuck Palahniuk or Bret Easton Ellis. I also love the paranormal spin to Blackbirds, but I would also hesitate to categorize it as urban fantasy because it throws so many of that genre's conventions out the window; my guess is that a person can be really put off by this book if caught completely unprepared by it.

Sometimes, it does feel like the book is deliberately out to shock you, what with some of its violent and graphic scenes as well as Miriam's potty mouth, but I was strangely cool with it. The subject matter also had a way of making me feel deliciously unsettled, but it at least made this book memorable. I admit I was somewhat initially hesitant about tackling another Chuck Wendig book after enjoying but not being completely blown away by The Blue Blazes, but I definitely liked Blackbirds more than I thought I would.

[sfcc_2 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Miriam Black is a scrappy drifter with a peculiar supernatural ability: touch anyone flesh-to-flesh, even an accidental brush of the hand, and Miriam sees in an instant every gruesome detail of how they will die. This ability, as much a curse as a superpower, leads Miriam down a gritty, bloody path toward a confrontation she knows she’s powerless to stop. A solid work of witty and unapologetically dark urban fantasy. --Brian Vander Veen