Consuming Fire
What Has Been Seen Cannot Be Unseen…
Liverpool is in the grip of an intense heatwave, and strange things are happening.
A woman dies in an apparent case of Spontaneous Human Combustion; a truck explodes on the dock road; the charred corpses of pets litter the city; forest fires ravage the pinewoods…and there are birds everywhere, silent flocks drawing in ominously.
Detective Inspector Darren Swift thinks there are connections, and his investigation delves into the worlds of football, nightclubs and organised crime. But is he imagining things?
Dr. Helen Hope doesn’t think so. And she believes the key lies in a mysterious seventeenth-century occult book which has gone missing from Liverpool Library.
In the blistering sequel to Reprobation, DI Swift is forced to confront some inconvenient ghosts from his past, as a terrifying shadow lies over his city’s reality….
Liverpool is in the grip of an intense heatwave, and strange things are happening.
A woman dies in an apparent case of Spontaneous Human Combustion; a truck explodes on the dock road; the charred corpses of pets litter the city; forest fires ravage the pinewoods…and there are birds everywhere, silent flocks drawing in ominously.
Detective Inspector Darren Swift thinks there are connections, and his investigation delves into the worlds of football, nightclubs and organised crime. But is he imagining things?
Dr. Helen Hope doesn’t think so. And she believes the key lies in a mysterious seventeenth-century occult book which has gone missing from Liverpool Library.
In the blistering sequel to Reprobation, DI Swift is forced to confront some inconvenient ghosts from his past, as a terrifying shadow lies over his city’s reality….
Purchase Link - https://mybook.to/consumingfire
Read an Extract!
This extract is, in fact, the first page of the book, and therefore needs no introduction!
Eliza Bektashi was walking across Crosby’s pedestrianized shopping square, as slowly as possible to conserve her energy in the oppressive heat, laden with carrier bags that caused her to list from side to side. Sweat salted her eyes, trickled down her back, and stuck her long sleeves and long skirt clammy against her skin.
She stopped and put down her bags for a moment to catch her breath; there was no rush. She had bought almost everything on the list in the main supermarket, but she couldn’t understand why these people didn’t buy what they could in the discount stores across the square. There were pounds to be saved every week, and if her employers couldn’t be bothered to pocket the difference, then she would. It was not yet midday but already the tables outside the cafes and pub were filling up with customers. Liverpool was in the grip of a June heatwave that showed no signs of abating. The initial stages of British summer euphoria – bare legs, ice creams, barbecues,and electric fan sales – had morphed into the inevitable sprinkler wars, newspaper warnings to keep an eye on pensioners – and this too had now waned as a collective lethargy had settled over the city. People were doing the bare minimum and the scent of body odour and knocking off work early had become standard.
Eliza stood for a few moments in the shady part of the square until she had accepted and bathed in her new level of discomfort. Outside the newsagent the local newspaper sandwich board lamented yet another animal burned to death. That made two cats and two dogs in the past month, Crosby pets set on fire in acts of seemingly mindless violence by local thugs, leaving their owners distraught. Eliza shuddered, despite the heat, and fingered for the amulet she usually wore on a necklace, but her neck was bare. She had left it at home. She surreptitiously muttered a prayer, took a deep breath and steeled herself for the blinding sunshine that lay between her and the Homesaver store. But just as she was about to set off, her phone rang; no doubt Madam with something else for her to buy. She fumbled for the phone in her cross-body handbag. The bag’s metal clasp had been heated so much by the sun that she could hardly bear to touch it, and she winced as her fingers were scalded. The small piece of metal caught the sun’s rays and blinded her as she finally retrieved the phone.
‘Hello?’
She could just make out a faint whispering on the line.
‘Hello? Hello?’
The whispering became louder but no clearer. It sounded as if there were many voices, perhaps thousands; infinite voices, all whispering in strange tongues that she didn’t recognise. The sound was pitchless and insistent and if she didn’t know better she would have said that it was not human. Then suddenly there was a searing pain in the pit of her belly, and she screamed and doubled over, clutching at her abdomen. A man moved towards her to try and help, but he stumbled back in terror, falling into an elderly couple behind him because Eliza was screaming, but instead of noise, flames were licking out of her mouth. Suddenly her entire body was engulfed in fire as if a switch had been flicked on a gas appliance. She began to run around in circles, in a blind panic, her eyeballs gone now, her arms flailing. She tried to grab at people to help, and they ran from her screaming. Someone came running out of the pub with a fire extinguisher, someone from the bank with another. The foam was unleashed with a hiss but to no avail; if anything the flames rose higher.
The square was empty now except for Eliza’s flaming, fading body; people cowered in shop doorways, a few filming on their mobile phones, having decided to commit their enforced voyeurism to public record. Eliza stopped running now, the flames became smaller and were replaced by a pungent black smoke. Her body seemed to disintegrate before people’s eyes; flesh burned away and blackened bones crumbled to dust. And then, as quickly as it had appeared, the fire died down and extinguished itself. All that remained was a smouldering pile of white ashes scattered around a pair of feet, which were seemingly untouched. Two severed, cauterised ankles at the top of two charred stumps. The gaudy cheerfulness of the purple-painted toes and pink rubber flip-flops was an affront, an indignity, and yet the only reminder that a human had been there. Every other trace of the woman had vanished. There was an eerie silence for a moment, and then the collective horror took over and the screams began.
Author Bio –
Catherine Fearns is from Liverpool, UK. In previous incarnations, she was a financial analyst, a cocktail pianist and a breastfeeding counselor, but nowadays she likes to write. Her first novel, Reprobation, was published by Crooked Cat Books in October 2018 and quickly became an Amazon bestseller in several categories. The follow-up, Consuming Fire, is currently on pre-order and will be available in early 2019.
Catherine writes for music website Pure Grain Audio, and her music journalism has also appeared in Broken Amp and Noisey. Her short fiction and non-fiction pieces have been published in Here Comes Everyone, Toasted Cheese, Offshoots & Metal Music Studies. She holds a degree in History from Oxford University, a Masters from the London School of Economics, and is a member of the Crime Writers’ Association.
When Catherine is not writing, she plays guitar in a heavy metal band, mainly to annoy her four children.
Social Media Links –
Twitter: @metalmamawrites
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