Intergalactic gentleman and Multiverse traveler, Beasil Benedictus the Ninth, wakes up inside an elaborate trap made of clockwork jails, genetic experiments, and fantastical forests where men are beheaded for sport. Here everything is a game, except you don’t get to know the rules.
"Occult, paranormal detective fiction. Philip Marlowe meets the Sirius star."
I am Thomas Hunter, a paranormal investigator and part-time ghost charmer. I walk a thin line where the shadows of perception reshape the definition of reality.
I used to be a cop, I used to have a wife. Then I died.
When I woke up, I had three entities in my head, a bad case of amnesia, and an insider’s view of the occult.
I named myself Hunter because it expresses what I do.
Lately, two corpses have shown up in the San Francisco morgue. They have something unique about them: they don't decompose. The Vatican claimed them as holy relics, but alive these stiffs were no more Catholic than Crowley.
I wasn't the first choice for the case, but I might be the best. See, I find what the cops and private dicks miss, but I have to do it my way.
I am Thomas Hunter, and nothing is what it seems.
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