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A Hybrid’s Tale by Andrew P. Weston is a book worth reading #darkfantasy #bookboost #mondayreads



Title: A Hybrid’s Tale

 

Author: Andrew P. Weston

 

Genre: Dark Fantasy

 

Publisher: Raven Tale Publishing

 

Book Blurb:


Born a Cambion – a half-demon, half-human hybrid – and cursed by a terrible hunger he can barely control, Augustus Thorne spends his long and lonely life hunting and exterminating any Incubi and Succubae he can find. But no matter how many he destroys, he can always make room for one more. Especially if it’s the foul scum who raped his mother; Augustus’ own spawn-father, Fanon.

 

Guided by his mother’s diaries, Augustus pursues Fanon down through the centuries and around the world, until fate seems to point him toward his heart’s desire. Yet, things are not as they appear, and the revelations Augustus uncovers are mind boggling. For if he wishes to face his father, he must first learn more about his own unique heritage, and the awful circumstances that led to his creation.

 

The trouble is, doing so might just cost him his humanity.

 

Excerpt:

 

Paris is the capital and largest conurbation of France. Covering more than 41 square miles, it is comprised of twenty Arrondissements, or districts, which have remained largely unchanged since 1860. The central municipality itself has a population of over two and a half million, while the metropolitan area swells that figure to thirteen million residents.

 

The city is a major rail, highway and air-transport hub, possessing a metro system serving some six million passengers every day. Its cultural institutions; the Louvre, Musée National d’Art Moderne and Musée d’Orsay are world renown and extremely popular, and the central area running along the banks of the Seine River is classified as a UNESCO Heritage site, boasting many notable monuments; Notre Dame Cathedral, Sainte-Chapelle and The Eiffel Tower to name a few.

 

Throughout its history, Paris has always been one of the most densely populated cities of the Western world. And during the Age of Enlightenment, people would travel from across the globe to attend its centers of advance education and be cultivated by its incredible ambiance.

 

No wonder Fanon had chosen to set up a permanent base here, somewhere that he could loosely call home.

 

The fifth and sixth Arrondissements in particular—known as the Latin Quarter—are blessed with a lively, hedonistic quality, despite the fact it has been a scholastic center since the twelfth century. With marvelous views of Notre Dame, the Seine, and further on, the incredible one thousand and sixty-three-foot tall Eiffel Tower, it was a place that you came to lose yourself in.

 

Sad to say, it was also easy for people to go missing in this city; involuntary victims of something more insidious than plague, fire, or revolution, for it formed a perfect hunting ground for those with peculiar tastes.

 

I was here thanks to my mother’s superb chance entry: “his vivid description of our new life across the water fires my imagination. The narrow crowded streets are said to be vibrant and friendly. Character and charm exudes from every doorway. People are more exotic, their passions so aptly naming the Arrondissement in which we shall live that my dear Augustus, for all his strangeness, will blend in perfectly.”

 

Her words had narrowed the margin considerably.

 

Typically European weather greeted me as I exited Paris-Charles de Gaulle airport, but the inclement conditions could do nothing to hide the spoor that saturated the rain-sodden atmosphere. Up until now, I’d felt more like a backpacker doing the rounds of every stopover in the world than the valiant demon slayer I was supposed to be. But I had been looking for a needle in a haystack when I took off from Los Angeles. Now, that haystack had been threshed down to a mere sheaf, and soon, the needle would have nowhere left to hide.

 

The air was heavy with both Incubus and Succubus sign, an indication that they came here to dine on a regular basis. But one fragrance in particular was dominant and fresh.

 

As the events at Sleepy Hollow were still at the forefront of my mind, I decided it would be prudent to distance myself from any possible further fallout Fanon might generate in his eagerness to ensure he’d covered his tracks.

 

Taking my time, I booked a lovely room in a charming backstreet auberge not far from the city center, thereby avoiding the unnecessary complications that came with all the CCTV and security features usually incorporated into larger hotels. Then, armed with the information at hand, I waited until evening before hitching a ride to the Latin Quarter, a place I hoped to reacquire my target.

 

I knew I was on the right track the moment we crossed the river heading south, for my nasal passages started twitching in response to Fanon’s strengthening esoteric signature. That twitch became an irritating throb the closer we got to the old district.

 

With a few minor course directions from me, the taxi eventually pulled into a pretty little square and was forced to pull to a stop, unable to proceed any further as vehicular traffic was prohibited along the surrounding narrow cobbled streets. Just as well, I suppose. I may have to shift things up a gear and I don’t want to have to split my attention between Fanon and any mobile phone-happy witnesses’ intent on making me a YouTube sensation.

 

An unusual concentration of fear teased my scent glands as I opened the door. Bull’s-eye! I must be close. Ardor rising, I threw a bundle of cash at the driver, and mumbled, “Gardez la monnaie (Keep the change).”

 

One of the side streets opposite exuded a constant air of abandoned hope, making it seem darker than all the others. Walking briskly toward it, I allowed my screens to fall into place. Senses heightened, my eyes worked overtime; scanning nooks, probing crannies; scrutinizing every chimney top, guttering, skylight and roof angle for any anomaly where Fanon might be hiding.

 

Phasing in my Cambion sight, I bridged the boundary between worlds and the scene before me overlapped momentarily, gaining a translucent texture and added depth. A shimmering haze distinguished itself, leading through the ether and directly toward a twofold set of doors set back from the road, side by side. Both seemed somehow less inviting than all the other entrances, and appeared to lead to a private residence on one side and an olde-world bookshop or place dealing in antiquities on the other. It was hard to tell at this distance as the gold lettering embellished across the glass was so badly faded.

 

I grinned. It seems longevity creates a tendency to fall into the same line of business? Or is that merely a familial trait?

 

Buy Link

 

 


Bio:

Andrew Weston is a bestselling author from the UK who now lives on the beautiful Greek island of Kos with a growing family of rescue animals.As creator of the critically acclaimed IX Series, the Cambion Journals, and Hell Bound, Hell Hounds, and Hell Gate, (novels forming part of the Heroes in Hell universe), Andrew has the privilege of being a member of the Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers Association, the British Science Fiction Association, and the British Fantasy Society.He also enjoys writing review articles for Amazing Stories and The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction.

 

Social Media Links:

 

Twitter: @WestonAndrew

1 Comment


N. N. Light
N. N. Light
Jan 29

Thank you, Andrew, for sharing your book with us!

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