It’s one of those rare series in which, rather than running slowly out of steam, each subsequent book is better than the last.
– M. R. Graham
The Sixth and Final Book of The Vampire Flynn
In the wake of his darkest hour, Peter Dawes has become indentured by the Supernatural Order. Stripped of his freedom, he spends the following years as the Order’s puppet while still trying to mend from the events which led to his captivity. The split in his mind has become permanent, and the alter personality he fights has also made reclaiming his life impossible. The only safe haven he knows is the vampire coven his brother, Robin, has established in Philadelphia.
Until an incident across the country demands his attention. Supernatural creatures descend on a bar named Nocturnal Embers in search of the secrets it holds. As Peter is sent to aid the local vampires (and report back to the Order), he is pitted against another man – an immortal named Victor Mason – who has his own agenda. Whether or not he can be trusted, Peter is still forced to shadow him in order to solve the mystery. Something has been hidden from sight, and now threatens to fall into nefarious hands.
Personalities clash and worlds collide as a plan is revealed in layers. A nemesis emerges in the shadow of an old foe, forging unlikely bonds. A fateful decision will threaten everything Peter has
And this time, Flynn will not be so easily silenced.
Truth be told, I did not know what I expected to see when we finally met. The man who stood in the doorway, however, both matched and befuddled my expectations. He stood near the entrance, his posture statuesque, with a three-piece, hunter green suit hanging from a medium-sized frame. The shorter cut of his dark hair, paired with his clean-shaven appearance, leant itself to a man who looked no older than his early twenties by appearance. Inside his brown eyes, though, I saw many more years. One didn’t need to listen for a pulse to know he was an elder vampire.
“Is that who I think it is?” I asked.
Keira nodded, but failed to say anything else. At that moment, the man advanced forward with all the ominous flair of Darth Vader, causing ‘Mr. Chekov’ to straighten his stance to match the cool composure of the person who headed in his direction. “Victor Mason,” he said, addressing the newcomer but also confirming my suspicion. “I thought you weren’t in town.”
“Left for a short time. As I suspected, you returned.” Victor continued walking forward and stopped his march uncomfortably close to the man in front of him. Though their height difference forced Victor to look up at him, the vampire still seemed to overshadow his quarry. “Felix Chekov. What brings you to Nocturnal Embers?”
“Nothing.” Felix gestured toward the bar. “Came here for a drink. Last I checked, that wasn’t illegal.”
“Not illegal, but inadvisable considering the trouble you caused last time.” Victor shoved his hands into his pockets. “Is this man causing you trouble, Tony?”
The bartender took a deep breath. “Nothin’ I couldn’t handle, Victor, but I don’t mind the assist just the same,” he said. “He can’t seem to get his mind off a question he had no right askin’ me in the first place.”
“That’s curious,” Victor said. “You do realize that Rupert Shaw owns this bar, right, Felix?”
Felix smirked, and the way his lips twitched suggested both his irritation with the vampire in front of him and his impotence to do anything about it. “It was only a business proposition for a friend,” he said, spreading out his arms at his sides. “We’re friends, aren’t we, Tony?”
“Our people’s the same people, but we ain’t no friends.”