He's got the good stuff. However, I knew who the killer was near the middle of the book. Didn't take away from the story. Loved the end. Enjoyed the book. Loved the ending and the relationship between McCabe and Savage. Give me more! McCabe and Savage don't disappoint as far as characters go, but the storyline was a little blah. I think it would have been a better book if it had covered more of Hannah's story, but then it wouldn't have been the "quick and easy" read that Hartley seems to excel with. I enjoy the interpersonal relationship of McCabe and savage. See all reviews. Amazon Giveaway allows you to run promotional giveaways in order to create buzz, reward your audience, and attract new followers and customers.
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Shopbop Designer Fashion Brands. Deals and Shenanigans. Ring Smart Home Security Systems. A deafening crack from somewhere close. A load-bearing beam mere feet away splintered, shooting flames to the ceiling. They were out of time. The next instant, the twenty-foot beam pitched slowly, defying gravity and time as it groaned and timbered in a blazing fall.
The ground shuddered on impact, and a surge of heat blasted them back a few steps. They were out of time—the structural integrity was declining too fast. Chunks of roof began disintegrating feet away. Streams from firehoses were visible now, attacking from the left. Trick gave his Ajna free rein. The vic was in here—a scream had been heard. Go with your gut. A distinct glow emanated on the screen where no flames were.
Trick sent up a quick prayer. Be alive. He surged forward, clipping the TIC to his utility belt. Pete reported the find into his headset as they serpentined through the bonfire. They charged out into the considerably cooler air and jogged to the front of the building, where the EMS crew stood locked and loaded on the sidewalk. Flecks of ash covered his forest-green jumpsuit, which was being sliced open. Buddy was stitched on a patch above the left front pocket.
Series: Doc Savage Original Publication Order
Aside from burns to the backs of his dangling hands and singed hair, his body seemed unharmed. It was a freaking miracle. Screaming sirens and the roar of three more engines, two trucks, and a rescue truck sounded down the block as the second due arrived. The sirens died as teams of firefighters jumped out and went into fluid action, tugging hose off truck beds and laying lines. Trick yanked up his face shield. Sweat streamed from temple to neck. His clothes were soaked under the heavy gear. His pulse thundered from the rescue, and adrenalin ignited every cell. The previous exhaustion was a memory.
Beyond the police barricades, two black Suburbans, dash lights flashing, screeched to a halt. Had to be FBI. Trick closed his eyes and lifted his face to the hot, smoky sky and the universe beyond. Good going, Buddy. Another life saved, another fire on its way to being extinguished. Trick allowed himself a small grin. Each time a victim made it out alive was proof that desire manifested reality. What a perfect life. Did you save another one?
As busy as Cap was directing the second due, he paused to glare at Trick like that question was his fault. Trick ignored the cameras. Trick spun toward the last voice, frowning. A familiar woman with short black curls leaned over the barricade, microphone to her lips. Why would a reporter even know who his wife was? Why would she ask where Eve was? She was home, like always. Angry, sure, but home.
He swiped a gloved hand over his perspiring face and stepped off the curb. It was worth breaking from the action to get answers. Trick huffed out a frustrated exhale and changed direction. He jogged by the vic being hoisted into the back of the ambulance. He paused and barked further defensive strategy orders into his headset, then turned the full weight of his attention on Trick.
Especially not in the middle of an active structural fire. Cap glanced at Trick, who pointed out the White Sox man being interviewed by a cop. Problem was for the five Quinn brothers—especially the first four, each born a year apart—rivalry was a way of life. And as eldest, Jace had always elevated that fraternal competition to a blood sport. Angel of life. Trick wiped his mouth, swallowing the half-dozen caustic replies.
Jace was so not worth turning this grateful energy streaming through his body into something negative. A deep breath reconnected his chi to the high-frequency magic of the universe. Where miracles like Buddy surviving the explosion happened. Where Trick manifested joy and love for everyone, even Jace. Trick paused, frowning. The backyard barbecue for fifty of their friends and family had been planned for months. What happened? Agents died. Most of the first responders are still out searching the city.
The Girl on the Bridge
Why was this even remotely surprising? All the positive vibes morphed into exasperation. Trick tapped his helmet on his thigh. As if canceling their youngest brother sealed the deal. Too fucking much. Make a restaurant reservation. Then call Mom and Pop. The aggravated suggestions hit their mark, and Jace scowled. Just tell me the time and place. Less than an hour later, the fire was out. Trick trudged toward the crew milling by the engine.
Pete clapped Danny on the shoulder, which he shrugged off red-faced. Trick stifled his grin. His team scrambled to their individual tasks, and Trick helped Danny haul and refold the supply line, immersing himself in the physicality and redundancy of the task. This two-alarmer clearly resembled the recent lone-wolf warehouse fire. Which meant that despite public reassurances and massive citywide searches, the FBI had not found and defused all the bombs.
How many more hidden explosives were still out there? How many more innocent citizens would be injured or killed before this was all finally over? He paused and looked around for Jace, but the SUVs were gone. He strode across the street, raking back his sweaty hair with a quick swipe. The closer he got, the more the reporter came to attention, nudging the cameraman, grabbing her mic off the floorboard of the open van, and facing Trick with professional poise.
She arched an eyebrow. Trick frowned. How do you even know who my wife is? Family court? Fresh sweat beaded his forehead, and his pulse thundered like when the beam had timbered.
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What the hell was going on? The second he lowered the camera, her smile slipped. He strode back to his crew as if wading through hip-deep mud. His synapses were misfiring, his muscle coordination not assimilating with his conscious intention to put one foot in front of the other. What the hell? Overall, though, they were the perfect couple.
Everyone said so. She said so. This was just a colossal misunderstanding. The goodbyes on the other side of the two-way mirror were stoic and subdued. Not surprising, since the entire supervised hour had been steeped in misery. Zamira Bey slipped out of the observation room and met Mrs. Mulroney and her three kids as their door opened. Only the youngest, seven-year-old Bobby, seemed receptive to the positive emotions and grinned back. Guilt shadowed Mrs. Before the mother could hang herself with a caustic retort, Zamira sent out more vibes.
Let your love pour out. Show your kids how much you need them. The oldest, twelve-year-old Karen, rolled her eyes. At the juncture between the two designated exits, the group—minus Karen—clustered once more. Mulroney, whose flickering emotions hovered between resignation and irritability. For dissenters there have been even among savages. The Tongans for example thought that only the souls of noblemen are saved the rest perish with their bodies.
Belief of many savages that they would never die if their lives were not cut short by sorcery. Belief of the Abipones. But many savage races not only believe in a life after death; they are even of opinion that they would never die at all if it were not for the maleficent arts of sorcerers who cut the vital thread prematurely short. In other words they disbelieve in what we call a natural death; they think that all men are naturally immortal in this life and that every death which takes place is in fact a violent death inflicted by the hand of a human enemy though in many cases the foe is invisible and works his fell purpose not by a sword or a spear but by magic.
Thus the Abipones a now extinct tribe of horse Indians in Paraguay used to allege that they would be immortal and that none of them would ever die if only the Spaniards and the sorcerers could be banished from America; for they were in the habit of attributing every death whatever its cause either to the baleful arts of sorcerers or to the firearms of the Spaniards. Even if a man died riddled with wounds with his bones smashed or through the exhaustion of old age these Indians would all deny that the wounds or old age was the cause of his death; they firmly believed that the death was brought about by magic and they would make careful enquiries to discover the sorcerer who had cast the fatal spell on their comrade.
The relations of the deceased would move every stone to detect and punish the culprit; and they imagined that they could do this by cutting out the heart and tongue of the dead man and throwing them to a dog to be devoured. They thought that this in some way killed the wicked magician who had killed their friend. For example it happened that in a squabble between two men about a horse a third man who tried to make peace between the disputants was mortally wounded by their spears and died in a few days. To us it might seem obvious that the peacemaker was killed by the spear-wounds which he had received but none of the Abipones would admit such a thing for a moment.
They stoutly affirmed that their comrade had been done to death by the magical arts of some person unknown and their suspicions fell on a certain old woman known to be a witch to whom the deceased had lately refused to give a water-melon and who out of spite had killed him by her spells though he appeared to the European eye to have died of a spear-wound. Similarly the warlike Araucanians of Chili are said to disbelieve in natural death. Even if a man dies peaceably at the age of a hundred they still think that he has been bewitched by an enemy.
A diviner or medicine-man is consulted in order to discover the culprit. Some of these wizards enjoy a great reputation and the Indians will send a hundred miles or more to get the opinion of an eminent member of the profession. In such cases they submit to him some of the remains of the dead man for example his eyebrows his nails his tongue or the soles of his feet and from an examination of these relics the man of skill pronounces on the author of the death. The person whom he accuses is hunted down and killed sometimes by fire amid the yells of an enraged crowd.
To his astonishment the Indian remained long silent. The same long pause always occurred when an abstract proposition with which he was unfamiliar was put before the Indian for translation into his native tongue. On the present occasion the enquirer learned that the Indian has no idea of necessity in the abstract and in particular he has no conception at all of the necessity of death.
The cause of death in his opinion is invariably an ill turn done by somebody to the deceased. If there were only good men in the world he thinks that there would be neither sickness nor death. He knows nothing about a natural end of the vital process; he believes that all sickness and disease are the effects of witchcraft. It is closely connected with their system of sorcery which we shall presently consider.
The Pearl Savage (The Savage Series, Book 1) – B&N Readouts
A person dies—and it is supposed that an enemy has secured the agency of an evil spirit to compass his death. Some sorcerer employed by the friends of the deceased for that purpose pretends by his incantations to discover the guilty individual or family or at any rate to indicate the quarter where they dwell. A near relative of the deceased is then charged with the work of vengeance. He becomes a kanaima or is supposed to be possessed by the destroying spirit so called and has to live apart according to strict rule and submit to many privations until the deed of blood be accomplished.
If the supposed offender cannot be slain some innocent member of his family—man woman or little child—must suffer instead. Thus while the demon is the direct cause of sickness and death the sorcerer who uses him as his tool is the indirect cause. The demon is thought to do his work by inserting some alien substance into the body of the sufferer and a medicine-man is employed to extract it by chanting an invocation to the maleficent spirit shaking his rattle and sucking the part of the patient's frame in which the cause of the malady is imagined to reside.
As soon as the patient fancies himself rid of this cause of his illness his recovery is generally rapid and the fame of the sorcerer greatly increased. Should death however ensue the blame is laid upon the evil spirit whose power and malignity have prevailed over the counteracting charms. Some rival sorcerer will at times come in for a share of the blame whom the sufferer has unhappily made his enemy and who is supposed to have employed the yauhahu in destroying him. The sorcerers being supposed to have the power of causing as well as of curing diseases are much dreaded by the common people who never wilfully offend them.
So deeply rooted in the Indian's bosom is this belief concerning the origin of diseases that they have little idea of sickness arising from other causes. Some deaths attributed to sorcery and others to evil spirits; practical consequence of this distinction. In this account it is to be observed that while all natural deaths from sickness and disease are attributed to the direct action of evil spirits only some of them are attributed to the indirect action of sorcerers.
The practical consequences of this theoretical distinction are very important. For whereas death by sorcery must in the opinion of savages be avenged by killing the supposed sorcerer death by the action of a demon cannot be so avenged; for how are you to get at the demon?
Hence while every death by sorcery involves theoretically at least another death by violence death by a demon involves no such practical consequence. So far therefore the faith in sorcery is far more murderous than the faith in demons. This practical distinction is clearly recognised by these Indians of Guiana; for another writer who laboured among them as a missionary tells us that when a person dies a natural death the medicine-man is called upon to decide whether he perished through the agency of a demon or the agency of a sorcerer. If he decides that the deceased died through the malice of an evil spirit the body is quietly buried and no more is thought of the matter.
But if the wizard declares that the cause of death was sorcery the corpse is closely inspected and if a blue mark is discovered it is pointed out as the spot where the invisible poisoned arrow discharged by the sorcerer entered the man. The next thing is to detect the culprit.
For this purpose a pot containing a decoction of leaves is set to boil on a fire. When it begins to boil over the side on which the scum first falls is the quarter in which the supposed murderer is to be sought. A consultation is then held: the guilt is laid on some individual and one of the nearest relations of the deceased is charged with the duty of finding and killing him.
If the imaginary culprit cannot be found any other member of his family may be slain in his stead. However it would seem that among the Indians of Guiana sickness and death are oftener ascribed to the agency of sorcerers than to the agency of demons acting alone.
For another high authority on these Indians Sir Everard F. Strange ceremonies are sometimes observed in order to discover the secret kenaima. Richard Schomburgk describes a striking instance of this.
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A Macusi boy had died a natural death and his relatives endeavoured to discover the quarter to which the kenaima who was supposed to have slain him belonged. Raising a terrible and monotonous dirge they carried the body to an open piece of ground and there formed a circle round it while the father cutting from the corpse both the thumbs and little fingers both the great and the little toes and a piece of each heel threw these pieces into a new pot which had been filled with water.
A fire was kindled and on this the pot was placed. When the water began to boil according to the side on which one of the pieces was first thrown out from the pot by the bubbling of the water in that direction would the kenaima be. In thus looking round to see who did the deed the Indian thinks it by no means necessary to fix on anyone who has been with or near the injured man.
The kenaima is supposed to have done the deed not necessarily in person but probably in spirit. It is not always in an invisible form that these spirits of sorcerers are supposed to roam on their errands of mischief. The wizard can put his spirit into the shape of an animal such as a jaguar a serpent a sting-ray a bird an insect or anything else he pleases. Hence when an Indian is attacked by a wild beast he thinks that his real foe is not the animal but the sorcerer who has transformed himself into it.
Curiously enough they look upon some small harmless birds in the same light. One little bird in particular which flits across the savannahs with a peculiar shrill whistle at morning and evening is regarded by the Indians with especial fear as a transformed sorcerer.
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They think that for every one of these birds that they shoot they have an enemy the less and they burn its little body taking great care that not even a single feather escapes to be blown about by the wind. On a windy day a dozen men and women have been seen chasing the floating feathers of these birds about the savannah in order utterly to extinguish the imaginary wizard. When any beloved or influential person died nobody we are told would think the each of attributing the death to natural causes; it was assumed that the demise was an effect of sorcery and the only difficulty was to ascertain the culprit.
For that purpose the services of a shaman were employed. Rigged out in all his finery he would dance and sing then suddenly fall down and feign death or sleep. On awaking from the apparent trance he would denounce the sorcerer who had killed the deceased by his magic art and the denunciation generally proved the death-warrant of the accused. Again similar beliefs and customs in regard to what we should call natural death appear to have prevailed universally amongst the aborigines of Australia and to have contributed very materially to thin the population.
On this subject I will quote the words of an observer. His remarks apply to the Australian aborigines in general but to the tribes of Victoria in particular. The first is that infanticide is universally practised; the second that a belief exists that no one can die a natural death.
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Thus if an individual of a certain tribe dies his relatives consider that his death has been caused by sorcery on the part of another tribe. The deceased's sons or nearest relatives therefore start off on a bucceening or murdering expedition. If the deceased is buried a fly or a beetle is put into the grave and the direction in which the insect wings its way when released is the one the avengers take. If the body is burnt the whereabouts of the offending parties is indicated by the direction of the smoke.
The first unfortunates fallen in with are generally watched until they encamp for the night; when they are buried in sleep the murderers steal quietly up until they are within a yard or two of their victims rush suddenly upon and butcher them. On these occasions they always abstract the kidney-fat and also take off a piece of the skin of the thigh. These are carried home as trophies as the American Indians take the scalp. The murderers anoint their bodies with the fat of their victims thinking that by that process the strength of the deceased enters into them.
Sometimes it happens that the bucceening party come suddenly upon a man of a strange tribe in a tree hunting opossums; he is immediately speared and left weltering in his blood at the foot of the tree. The relatives of the murdered man at once proceed to retaliate; and thus a constant and never-ending series of murders is always going on. At other times a bucceening party will return without having met with any one; then again they are sometimes repelled by those they attack.
Belief of the tribes of Victoria and South Australia. Consequently on the first approach of sickness their first endeavour is to ascertain whether the boollia [magic] of their own tribe is not sufficiently potent to counteract that of their foes. Should the patient recover they are of course proud of the superiority of their enchantment over that of their enemies: but should the boollia [magical influence] within the sick man prove stronger than their own as there is no help for it he must die the utmost they can do in this case is to revenge his death. It is chiefly in cases of sudden death or when the body of the deceased is fat and in good condition that this belief prevails and it is only in such contingencies that it becomes an imperative duty to have revenge.