Mortis Operandi is Here!

Well, I’m back from Bhutan, Nepal, and Tibet — what a fabulous trip! I’ve put some photos up on Facebook, and I’ll try to get an album or three up on Picasa someday soon….

While I was gone, Kfir Luzzatto, my co-editor at The Harrow Press, was pulling together the proofs and galleys for Mortis Operandi, and I’m very pleased to announce that we’ve pushed the button on it today! Buy it in hardcopy or on Kindle; it’s available in Canada, Europe, Japan, and the UK, as well.

Mortis Operandi is The Harrow Press’s fourth anthology and features 16 stories about supernatural crime and crime-solving:

Some Favor Fire (Lane Robins) — She had no hopes of salvaging the building: Switch, the arsonist who had decided to light up Coxville, SC, was damn good at what he did. Their plan was to beat the fire down enough to spare the neighboring buildings, down enough to recover bodies that could be identified without the need for dental records and DNA tests.

Krug’s Pen (Erik T. Johnson) — “Mr. Krug, is this your pen?” Martin asked, holding it aloft and noticing a family of pigeons living in the nest-sized hole in Mr. Krug’s chest.

The Doom That Came to Al Capone (David Bernard) — When Frankie needed a favor, you had two choices. You could do it or you could learn how to breathe underwater at the bottom of the Chicago River. And since I was allergic to cement overshoes, I found myself hopping a train east to Arkham, Massachusetts.

Last Call (‘Nathan Burgoine) — “I want to hire you, actually.” 
I laughed.  “You’re a demon. You can’t hire me. I can’t spend your currency.”

Memories, Freestyle (Samantha Mills) — “We’ll keep her here till the case is resolved. If you find her memories, we have a hope of patching her together again. If not … well, we haven’t found any family yet. She’ll likely end up in a social ward.”

All the Many Ways We Burn (John Bowker) — Not even the most hardened of cons could have predicted eighty-four cigarettes would be the down payment for resurrection until RayRay got dealt a phoenix in the prison yard.

The Man in the Mirror (Steven W. Alloway) — I’m John Wells. I run Wellington Security. I provide unconventional solutions for people with more to protect than money and jewels.

Once a Chekist (Leigh Kimmel) — I’d be lying to say I wasn’t afraid to answer a summons to the Lubyanka, but after living a lie for the past twenty years, I’d developed the necessary willpower to show no fear as I walked up to the appropriate pedestrian gate.

Immaculate (Christine Rains) — She’d been wrong to think there was no evidence of a horribly violent murder in this bedroom. The bigger question now was, how did it get onto the ceiling?

The Trouble with Captain Justice (Steve Chapman) — I hear this from clients all the time. They think they’re special. That he’ll drop whatever he’s doing and make it right for them. That’s the trouble with Captain Justice. There’s only one of him, and Capital City is a big, bad place.

Turnabout Is Fair Play (Jennifer Rachel Baumer) — Last thing they really needed to be doing was reaching out to the Other Side. For one thing, they were all in their late seventies, no matter what Lucy insisted, so chances were a lot of them were going to be finding out soon enough.

The Death Detective (Resa Nelson) — Now that Jasper could see Barney was dead, it was his job to report him. For the first time, he dreaded going to work in the morning.

The Lady in Fur (Allison Sakaida) — I hadn’t asked if she needed help because clearly she didn’t; I hadn’t asked if she knew what she was looking for since clearly she did; and I didn’t ask her now if she’d found what she wanted because obviously she hadn’t. She looked at my face and seemed to read me as easily I’d just read her. Her eyes narrowed.

The Art of Dancing Naked (Chuck Rothman) — “You’ve been murdered. That’s why you’re still here. You’ll stay a ghost until we catch the killer. Until you get justice. Understand?”

Dead to Rights (Rebecca Roque) — The case we’d been pounding our heads against for three weeks was a string of bank robberies whose perpetrators left no psychic fingerprint for Capozzi—our resident psychometric—to trace. What made it more than interesting to me at this very moment was the fact that every hit had been on a major bank, and I stood in front of the third largest bank in the city.

The Patron Saint of Walking Ghosts (Michelle Scalise) — “I’d love to tell you about Daddy,” Gram said. “He was a saint to them sad children. All that other business wasn’t none of his doing. The government—”

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