Meet Viceroy, the snarky little vampire dog that spins New York city’s supernatural world into a royal rumble of angels, reapers, vampires, a troll hunter, a witch, and a girl who dreams of a cake truck, in a funny, New York gothic phantasmagoria on Death, unlikely friendships, and a good cup of tea.
“Gracie, she’s certifiable. Dogs chase squirrels; that’s what they do. It doesn’t make him a vampire. The worst thing you’ll have to deal with is a hyperactive little guy in need of some exercise.” Bryan
When the supernatural world leaks into everyday life, particularly Gracie’s everyday life, no one is happy. Well, maybe except for Viceroy.
"This is an absolutely fabulous book; pay no attention to the little cretin in the previous review. He was no help whatsoever when it came to writing this story down and turning it into a book that anyone would actually want to read. Writing and publishing is more work than any sane person would want to attempt, but then look at us; there's not a normal brain cell between us. So while we humans were doing all the work, that ridiculous excuse for a dog was chasing squirrels.
If I were in my right mind and not slithering down the slippery slope of sentimentality I'd put him out on Bourbon Street one night to become someone else's problem. Buy the book. You won't be sorry; it's quite good, and Ben could use the money."
"So here's the thing. I would have written this book myself if I could spell and type. I asked Felix to teach me, but he just laughed. He should know better, because last time he laughed at me I peed on his, well, nevermind. I'm getting off track here. Anyway, like I said, I would have written this book myself since the story is mostly about me. And that's the problem. Since the humans wrote it, they made it all about them and I'm hardly in it at all. Of course, it's a good story, it's about a dog, and yeah, some people. Read it yourself and if there's something you don't like, don't come looking for me; go after Felix."
"It wasn't me that led the group to the angel battle; the evidence is circumstantial at best. In any case, what happened is no reason to portray me so poorly. And, Lucy, I'm still waiting for the restaurant reservations you promised me."
"Felix, I feel that by not accompanying you to New Orleans I've abandoned Ben. I'll fly down and join you all as soon as I take care of a small issue. Please don't worry, I have it well under control."
News from up above doesn't filter down into the catacombs as fast as it should, but I'm so glad I got to at least read the rest of the story. And guys, no offense, but next time you visit someone's house, please take your belongings with you when you leave.
"Felix, perhaps this isn't the best place to leave a message, but I don't want to risk the alternatives. It was so good to see you. Alister and I may head down your way on a supply run; lets get together. Also, thank you for delivering the package alive.
I’ve been a private investigator (that was interesting), A heavy construction manager for in-ground pool installations, a research, and development baker, a corporate communications writer, an investor relations director, a graphic designer, a director of internet development, and the creator and manufacturer of Heal My Hands, a line of natural skincare products (shameless plug here). We’ve lived in a few places and traveled a bit; I got Zika in Cuba and broke my leg on a scuba boat off Saba. Yes, I’m clumsy—I’ve had to replace my iPad screen twice. All of this figures one way or another in my writing. Whether it’s for better or worse is a matter of opinion.
I have two fabulous daughters, three delightful grandchildren, an exceptionally supportive husband and muse who cooks like a four-star Michelin chef, and Suleiman, a Nothern New Mexican Purebred, the black variety. While I’ve been writing short stories for years, A Scurry of Squirrels is my first novel.
I might have answers. Ask away.