Supernatural Central Short and Quick Interview with Gail Z. Martin
Tell me a little bit about your main character of this book.
A: Joe Mack was born Josef Magarac and came to the United States in the 1880s from Hungary to work in the steel mills of Pittsburgh, wanting nothing more than a safe place to raise a family and a good job to support them. He lost his wife and child to fever. As he lay dying in the aftermath of the Homestead Strike of 1892, he called on Krukis, the Slavic god of justice, for vengeance. Krukis made Joe his immortal champion. He changed his name to Joe Mack, and now he fights vampires, dark witches, and the corrupt men who are a different kind of monster.
Do you believe in the paranormal and if so, do you have an experience you can share?
A: I am open-minded about the possibility. I know enough people who have had experiences I can’t explain to admit that I don’t know.
What titles are you working on now that you can tell us about?
A: The next book under my Gail Z. Martin name will be Sinistram, the third Night Vigil book which I hope to have out in September. The next Morgan Brice book will be Angels and Omens, the fourth Treasure Trail book. In addition to Times Change, my husband and co-author Larry N. Martin and I also had another recent release, Dead of Winter in our Spells Salt and Steel series, and as Morgan Brice, my latest release was Cursed in my Witchbane series.
Excerpt 1:
I’d burned her bones, but she was back again.
And now she was pissed.
I fired my shotgun filled with salt rounds, but she vanished between when I pulled the trigger and when the shells fired. Then she materialized behind me and gave me a shove that sent me sprawling.
I’m a big guy, and thanks to a favor from a Slavic god, I’m immortal and pretty damned hard to injure. That doesn’t mean I like being tossed around by ill-tempered ghosts who have overstayed their welcome.
I rolled and came up with the shotgun locked and loaded, firing into the ghost’s midsection. That bought me a moment or two since salt fritzes ghosts’ ability to manifest, but I knew she wouldn’t be gone long.
I walked to where the tracks had been and stopped when the toe of my boot struck an old spike left from the long-ago rails. A scream reverberated through the forest. I pumped my shotgun and blasted her again before she could fully re-form. Then I set a salt circle around myself to keep her from knocking me around, dumped lighter fluid on the spike, and dropped a match on it.
People called the ghost the Lavender Lady. The stories said that she had been gathering the flowers back in the early 1900s when she was struck by a train—back before the tracks had been pulled up when trains still ran.
The town of Moonville was nothing but ruins now; the railroad was long gone, and the tunnel had fallen into disrepair, but the Lavender Lady still wandered the forest, surprising hikers and scaring thrill-seekers.
The Lady’s real name was Henrietta Austin, and while her body was found amid the flowers for which she was nicknamed, the evidence suggested foul play, covered up by the train accident story. Since the culprit was long dead, I couldn’t give Henrietta justice, but I might be able to give her peace.
But first, she would try her best to kill me.
Henrietta’s ghost hurled herself against the salt circle’s iridescent barrier, angry at fate and desperate to take it out on someone. Her corpse-pale face, marred by fury and decomposition, pressed against the scrim, and a terrible screech threatened to make my ears bleed.
“Depart from here, Henrietta Austin, and trouble the living no more,” I commanded. “Your time is long past, and your killer is dead. Let go and move on.”
The fire flared around the old rail spike, and I could see Henrietta’s spirit fading. The accelerant I’d poured on the metal stake wouldn’t melt iron, but I took the chance that flames would burn away enough of the coating to drive her off. Then I could pull the stake out of the ground, put it in the lead and iron box I’d brought, and make sure Henrietta never bothered anyone again.
Henrietta gave one last blood-curdling scream and vanished. I wasn’t foolish enough to believe her energy had dissipated that quickly after haunting these woods for a century, but perhaps she needed to recharge before attacking again.
By that time, I intended to have her anchor—the spike—out of her reach forever.
Excerpt 2:
She lit candles and seated herself across from me at a small table with a block-printed covering with protective sigils blind stitched into its complex pattern. The area was well-warded and protected with powerful magic. I’d learned a long time ago that Sicilian and Corsican witches had special talent, and I could feel the energy in the air as Mrs. Brandino settled into the chair and centered her magic.
“Take my hands.”
Delicate fingers closed around my meaty digits, feeling fragile in my grip. I noted the thin, crepey skin mottled with age spots that contrasted with my rough palms. I was far older, but she seemed ancient.
“Jack West and Sarah Grace McAllen Harringworth, your friend has come to speak with you.” She closed her eyes, and her features relaxed as she tranced to open the connection to the Beyond.
When she opened her eyes, I knew she had stepped to the back of her consciousness and allowed the spirit of Jack West to move to the forefront.
“Hiya, Joe. Been a while.” The voice was Mrs. Brandino’s, but the tone and inflection were pure Jack West.
“How’s life on the other side?”
She shrugged, capturing West’s mannerisms perfectly. “Still can’t play a harp for shit,” he joked. “What brings you here?”
“I finally finished the Moonville case—for good, this time.” I told him about the fight with the woman’s ghost and the railroad spirit and how I torched the tunnel and took the spike. “I think it’s finally done.”
“We thought that before,” West pointed out.
“I know. And for a while, things died down—I think it took a while for the spirits to power back up again. But this time, I really believe I broke what was holding them there.”
“Nice work,” West said. “Glad to know you’re still on the job. Those new partners working out okay?”
I had told him about Adrian and Jenna the last time I’d come to Mrs. Brandino, and while I knew West wouldn’t begrudge me mortal companionship, I think he hated to be excluded. While he’d never admit it or want me to join them in the hereafter, I think he missed our adventures.
Apparently in heaven there are no heists to bust.
“They’re not bad—for kids,” I admitted, even though I had figured out that my new partners were about the same age that West and Sarah Grace were when we worked together. “Pretty sharp, actually. But I miss hanging around like we used to.”
“Look at you, getting sentimental over Prohibition,” West teased. “You might miss us, but I bet you don’t miss the bathtub gin.”
He was right about that, and recalling the taste made me shudder.
“True. Is Sarah Grace floating around in the ether?”
“Tired of talking with me already?” West joked. “Yeah, she’s here. If you wrap up any more old cases, let us know. The afterlife is pretty boring.”
I felt the energy shift, and Sarah Grace’s presence moved to the forefront.
“Hello, Joe. Nice of you to drop by. What are you up to these days?” Damned if she didn’t sound just the same a hundred years after some of our best exploits.
“Still on the job, not lollygagging like you two. I’m cleaning up loose ends. Wrapped up the Moonville case—and I think the fix will stick.”
Her laugh was as infectious as I remembered. “Never a dull moment with you. Glad to hear it. How are you—really?”
Leave it to Sarah Grace to get to the heart of the matter. I shrugged, uncomfortable. “You know. Same old, same old.”
“Um-hum,” she replied, and even channeled through the medium I sensed her disapproval. In my mind’s eye, I imagined the tilt of her head and her skeptical expression. “Being immortal isn’t a free pass not to take care of yourself. You can have a purpose and still be happy sometimes.”
Even from beyond the grave, she had me dead to rights. Maybe that’s one of the reasons that West and Sarah Grace were so special to me. Our partnership morphed into deep friendship. While I had liked and respected all my partners over the years, some were closer to my heart than others. West and Sarah Grace would always be among my favorites.
“I’m happy when I solve cases.” I knew it was a weak comeback.
“Joe—you know what I mean,” she chided. “Even watchdogs chase a ball now and then.”
“Point taken. Fetch more, bark less?”
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