Forces from Beyond (Ghost Finders, Book 6) by Simon R. Green

By Simon R. Green

Meet the operatives of the Carnacki Institute—JC probability: the crew chief, courageous, fascinating, and nearly unbearably smug; Melody Chambers: the technology geek who retains the antisupernatural apparatus working; and chuffed Jack Palmer: the terminally gloomy telepath. Their undertaking: take care of Ghosts. Lay them to relaxation, ship them packing, or simply kick their nasty ectoplasmic arses…

A chance to Humanity rests at the backside of the North Sea: the interdimensional entity referred to as the Flesh timeless. it's a enormous being of incredible energy, method out of the Ghost Finders’ league, so the staff has no selection yet to just accept an alliance with their evil counterpart, undertaking Crowley.

Only the creature has already grew to become its eye upon the Ghost Finders—and dispatched an murderer with a dangerous vendetta opposed to them…

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Extra resources for Forces from Beyond (Ghost Finders, Book 6)

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Good black suit, a little too small, clutched briefcase, freckles of gray in the hair. No rings. He did not seem startled or doubled over with desire as they sometimes were. He was calm, his answering smile measured and almost sweet, like a photograph of a soldier lost in a long-ago war. Coolly, without taking his dark eyes from hers, he turned over his left palm and rested it on the creamy brown edge of his briefcase. His hand was covered in a mark she first thought horrible—it snaked and snarled, black and swollen, where fortune-teller’s lines ought to have been.

At the end of each day they tell her all they have learned of living. It is necessary work. No family has been so often formally thanked by the city as hers. _______ On the other side of the street: a fortune-teller’s shop. Palm fronds cross before the door. Inside are four red chairs with four lustral basins before them, filled with ink, swirling and black. Orlande lumbers in, a woman wrapped in ragged fox fur. Her head amid heaps of scarves is that of a frog, mottled green and bulbous-eyed. A licking pink tongue keeps its place in her wide mouth.

It folds itself, origami-exact, in midair: it has papery eyes, inky feathers, vellum claws. It stares down the long avenues, searching for mice. This is the life cycle of Palimpsest fauna. Yumiko leans against the door post, holding her arms out like a sister who had never hoped to see her dear one again. She is not wearing her schoolgirl’s dress any longer, but a red scrap that clings to her waist like a spool of yarn pulled tighter than breathing. With a local girl’s surety she guides Sei inside—a little scalloped bell chimes, and Imogen looks up from her parchments with a stern face, her black hair soft around a neck just slightly too long for a woman to wear in company.

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