Brimstone Kiss: Phantom Queen Book 10

Book 10: The Phantom Queen Diaries

by Shayne Silvers

Genres: Fantasy; Fantasy action & adventure; Dark Fantasy; Dragons & Mythical Creatures; Humorous Fantasy; Urban Fantasy; Fairy Tales, Folk Tales, Legends & Mythology

Synopsis

No one told Quinn there was a cover charge to enter Hell—or that Valhalla didn't allow bar tabs.

Thanks to a witchy homebrew, Quinn MacKenna—part-time goddess, full-time troublemaker—has slipped past death's door to rekindle an old flame and snuff out an old friend.

But in order to do that, Quinn will need allies, be they an alcoholic ferryman, a deadly Horseman, or some of the most feared and respected gods this side of the afterlife.

In a do or die effort to track down her old nemesis, Quinn must first expose dark truths, strike a bargain with Hades himself, and journey to a realm fraught with bloodshed and brimming with booze. The sort of place only a warrior could love—or a scrappy redhead from Boston.

Quinn quickly becomes immersed in all manner of schemes and intrigues that threaten to distract her from her goals—like starting a bar fight in Valhalla, or flying with the Valkyries, or surviving the mists of Niflheim with the power of a stolen kiss. Quinn's devil may care attitude will lead her down a brimstone path paved with good intentions, reminding her that, sometimes, you have to be willing to lose everything if you want to find anything.

Especially if that thing happens to be a mythical city littered with ancient treasures.

In the end, Quinn will have no choice but to wallow in the past or embrace her future as her toughest crucible threatens to become her greatest failure. Will she emerge victorious, or will she remain doomed to wander the beyond for all eternity?

Come hell or high water, there's only one way to find out.

If you like Jim Butcher, Kevin Hearne, Steve McHugh, Michael Anderle, Ilona Andrews, Patricia Briggs, Shannon Mayer, or K.F. Breene, you won't be able to put down the highly addictive Phantom Queen Diaries or anything else in the Temple Verse.

“Shayne Silvers, Jim Butcher, and Kevin Hearne are easily my favorite Urban Fantasy Authors. In that order.” — Michael Anderle, Amazon Top 25 Bestselling Author

More than 1m copies downloaded and thousands of five-star reviews. Available in digital, print, and audiobook formats.

What Amazon readers are saying:

★★★★★ ‘His foul-mouthed unicorn murders rainbows!'

★★★★★ ‘Move over Dresden!'

★★★★★ ‘The Temple Verse HAS to be picked up by Netflix soon.'

★★★★★ ‘Silvers could write a grocery list on a dirty napkin and make it an international bestseller.'

★★★★★ ‘I went from crying my eyes out to laughing uncontrollably, repeatedly.'

★★★★★ ‘It's like the characters walked off the page, joined me at the bar, and bought me a drink.'

★★★★★ ‘I am astounded as to how the author keeps the story fresh and exciting.'

★★★★★ ‘I usually see plot twists a mile away. Shayne has proven me wrong. Every time.'

★★★★★ ‘Best books I've read in thirty years.'

★★★★★ ‘His intense actions scenes let you see the fangs and claws, hear the gunshots, feel the magic, and smell the fear.'

★★★★★ ‘Everything you thought you knew about vampires, shifters, dragons, wizards, fairies and gods is flat wrong.'

★★★★★ ‘Publishers who didn't snap up this series are missing out on a gold mine.'

Silvers has pleasured over one million readers with the Temple Universe. Now it's your turn for a little pleasuring...

Release date: March 12, 2020

Publisher: Argento Publishing

Print pages: 278

Sample

Chapter 1

 

 

I wished I could say I went strutting towards that bright light everyone talks about when I’d died. I’d given it some thought before—how my every step would be accompanied by a chorus of angelic harmonies, how I’d tip my halo as though I’d just turned water into whiskey, how a host of cherub angels in their silk diapers would throw open Heaven’s pearly gates the instant St. Peter himself crossed my name off the VIP guest list, his fellow apostles ushering me in with tears of joy running down their holy faces, and how I’d be greeted by martyrs lazing on cumulus couches and nimbostratus armchairs.

 

If only.

 

First of all, I was pretty damned sure Heaven had blacklisted me some time ago for conduct unbecoming. Secondly, I had a sneaking suspicion I’d left the Almighty’s jurisdiction altogether; being a part-time goddess came with all sorts of theological conundrums I hadn’t even considered yet, including a debate as to who or what had rights to my immortal soul—assuming I still had one. But then, since I wasn’t really dead, I’d banked on sorting all that out later, thank God.

 

In any case, there was no white light. There were no heralds harking. There were no haloes, no chubby baby angels, no saints, no cloud furniture, and definitely no bottles of aged whiskey with my name splashed across their label being served by John, the Baptist Bartender—another fantasy I’d entertained.

 

There was, however, a creepy guy with a boat.