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Housetrap - ebook

The Housetrap Chronicles, Book 1

A missing boyfriend, an elf on the run and Martian vampires. What’s a private eye to do?



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    In a world ruled by committees of wizards and packed with every creature imaginable, in the sleazy backstreets of Central City you can always count on Randolph C. Aloysius to solve your problems. That is, assuming his trusty Girl Friday, Bertha, can track him down. 

    A sucker for a pair of legs, Randy takes the case of a long-legged elf trying to locate a missing boyfriend. Simple. 

    Of course, nothing is ever simple in Randy’s life, what with avoiding commitments to his long-suffering lady friend, an attempted murder, a real murder, stolen baubles, and another damsel in distress. What’s a private eye to do? 

    Easy. Follow the clues off-world, avoid demons, vampires and other assorted miscreants, and hope to come home with enough coin left over to meet Bertha’s back wages.



Reviews

  • Grade 
    11/28/2017

    Highly recommend to experienced Fantasy readers

    The world-building in Housetrap requires the reader to be capable of some suspension of belief to take in all the magic, fairy creatures, planetary travel, and some juxtaposition in the levels of available technology/magical creation limitations. Most fantasy readers will have the ability to sink into the world without any difficulty, and once there, Hore’s descriptions are consistent and connected in a way that world makes its own kind of sense. As an example, in one scene, Randolf is looking into his crystal ball and switching channels trying to find something to watch. It is explained that the wizards still hadn’t found a way to create audio and visuals within the same device. Now we know why a world that can send people to Mars doesn’t have something as simple as a television. It’s believable in that it is explained, and quite frankly, the real world still hasn’t found a cure for the common cold, though we are capable of splicing genes into organisms which causes them to produce human insulin.

    Housetrap in an enjoyable quick read while, at the same time, being a great mental workout. R.J. Hore’s word choices and sentence structure are on a level with great literary works of fiction. While being fast-paced, the complexity of the writing style will increase the reading time and the amount of time spent lingering in pure awe at R. J. Hore’s mental capacity to contain that much knowledge and the talent to convey it in such an enjoyable way. I highly recommend this book to experienced readers of the fantasy genre.

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    Housetrap - ebook

    Housetrap - ebook

    A missing boyfriend, an elf on the run and Martian vampires. What’s a private eye to do?



    Excerpt

     

    I don’t like Elves, never have. I sat tilting back in my chair counting the stains on the ceiling when she walked through the open door of my inner office unannounced—unannounced, because I’d just given Bertha the afternoon off to visit her sick brother. Bertha’s half Banshee, thin as a lamppost with long straight dark hair and big brown eyes. She’s always got a relative down with the Black Death or some obscure curse; I think she has twelve brothers, but I digress.

    The Elf arrived in my office wrapped in a full-length gold lamé coat with a large hood covering her head and hiding most of her features, but I could tell she was pure Elf. Those yellow eyes are a dead giveaway even if you can’t spot the pointed ears. I’m a student of nature, have to be; the breed often determines character, or motive, or veracity. In my business you have to stay two jumps ahead or you’re squashed like a scarab. I’m a Mongrel myself. You can never tell about Mongrels, and there are more of us around now ever since the Goldilocks affair. Now there was a real witch, not the kind with just a warty nose, but she married that Wolf back in the days before they gave femmes the vote. Then they went overboard and made it all legal in the Intermarriage Act of 1812, and everything has tumbled Jack over Jill downhill ever since.

    The Elf glanced about the room nervously, then in a single fluid motion crossed her long legs and slid into the battered chair opposite me like maple syrup poured from a mason jar. I sighed deep inside, rocked forward to rest my elbows on the scratched oak desk, painted a smile across my ugly mug and waited. I had all day; it had been two weeks since my last case. She fidgeted for a minute and I matched her, stare for stare, until my eyeballs screamed for mercy. The Elf had the kind of face you see perched high on a mantelpiece, thin bone china, pale, delicate, and carved by a master.

    She broke first. “I need your help, Mr. Aloysius.” Her words vibrated in the air.

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