The Dark Communion

When Daddy, Gramps, drunk Uncle Billy...whoever it was, looked at you when you were a little kid, blankets around your neck, trembling in bed, sure-as-shit convinced that there was something out to get you under your box-spring, in your closet, and they told you there wasn't anything there - that monsters didn't exist - they were lying to you.Jono Swyftt knows this because that's what he does. He kills things. Bad things. Nightmare things: Orcs, trolls, haunts, gnomes...the bloody...
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When Daddy, Gramps, drunk Uncle Billy...whoever it was, looked at you when you were a little kid, blankets around your neck, trembling in bed, sure-as-shit convinced that there was something out to get you under your box-spring, in your closet, and they told you there wasn't anything there - that monsters didn't exist - they were lying to you.Jono Swyftt knows this because that's what he does. He kills things. Bad things. Nightmare things: Orcs, trolls, haunts, gnomes...the bloody Easter Bunny.Swyftt was a copper, a priest, a Night Hunter, a husband, a father. Now he's just a burnt-out PI with an arsenal of big-ass guns - an unrepentant foul-mouth who keeps everyone at arms length - and yet, whether your problem is a mating orgy of Cyclopes, a murderous imaginary friend, or a strip club full of horny Sirens, everyone from US Senators to Julia Roberts knows he's the one man to call. When a high-school student hires him to find a missing autistic boy and a catatonic billionaire runs away from a nursing home, it's up to Swyftt, his partner, and his ward to piece together the clues and stop the nightmare that's feeding on the city with an underground ring of serial-kidnapping bums. But that's what Swyftt does. He's the very last line of paranormal defense in the greater Seattle area. And he ain't bloody cheap.