GtPGKogPYT4p61R1biicqBXsUzo" /> Google+ Spotlight: No Rest for the Wicked by Dane Cobain w/excerpt + giveaway | I Smell Sheep

Monday, July 13, 2015

Spotlight: No Rest for the Wicked by Dane Cobain w/excerpt + giveaway

No Rest for the Wicked
by Dane Cobain
Genre: Supernatural Thriller
Publisher: Booktrope/Forsaken
Cover Artist: Ashley Ruggirello
When the Angels attack, there’s NO REST FOR THE WICKED.
Father Montgomery, an elderly priest with a secret past, begins to investigate after his parishioners come under attack, and with the help of Jones, a young businessman with an estranged child, Montgomery begins to track down the origin of the Angels.

The Angels are naked and androgynous. They speak in a dreadful harmony with no clear leader. These aren’t biblical cherubs tasked with the protection of the righteous – these are deadly creatures of light that have the power to completely eradicate.

When Jones himself is attacked, Father Montgomery knows he has to act fast. He speaks to the Angels and organises a final showdown where he’s asked to make the ultimate sacrifice.


Chapter Eleven: Beings of Light

Sunday November 15th, 2009
Montgomery stayed behind long after the service, sweeping the floors and adjusting the religious displays. In the glory days, they’d had a cleaner; now, the church was falling apart. It was tiring, but the priest worked hard to look after the place himself. He liked the hallowed silence that the church offered, and he wished he were strong enough to carry out repairs. As it was, he satisfied himself by dragging an old broom across the dusty stone and polishing every surface he could reach.

It started on a quiet November night. Most people had to work in the morning, and those who didn’t were kept inside by the cold air and the dark sky. Cars rumbled hypnotically past, as easy to ignore as a ticking clock.

He was wiping down shelves in the old rectory when he heard the commotion. For centuries, the room had mostly been used for storage, but meetings were occasionally held there. Strange noises startled him, but the courage and curiosity of his youth prevailed. His old brain decoded the pattering of running feet, and a pair of heavy fists smashed against the door.


The voice had a thick Irish accent, and it radiated panic and despair. The oak portal rattled in its hinges, and Montgomery raced towards it, wrenching the rusty bolts back and fumbling with the key. When the bolts snapped open, the door flew out and almost knocked the Irishman over. As soon as the drunk was over the threshold, Montgomery slammed the door behind him and jammed the bolts home.

“Ah,” said Montgomery, calm and composed in the face of insanity. “Niall. And what can I do for you?”

“They’re after me, Father,” Niall whimpered, grabbing Montgomery’s arm and steering him into the shadows. “I seen ‘em, I really did.”

“Calm down. What is it?” The lairy Irishman was a notorious drunk, and Montgomery often looked after him. Niall didn’t have a home, so he slept on the floor in the rectory. This arrangement was under threat since he’d been caught with the communion wine.

“I seen ‘em, Father. All in a line behind the bushes. Well, we’ve all heard about ‘em, sure enough. It’s all anybody talks about, these days.”

“Slow down, Niall. Start from the beginning.”

“Sure thing, Father,” he said. “They can’t set foot in the house of the Lord. We’ve got all the time in the world.”

The priest was used to the Irishman’s ramblings, but he normally flowed through topics as though the boundaries didn’t exist. For once, Niall made sense – sort of.

“You were being followed?”

“You don’t know the half of it. It’s these Angels. That’s what I reckon.”

“I’ve heard of them,” Montgomery said, and he had. Half of the country was alive with the rumour. “Go on, I’m listening.”

“There I was, sitting in the car park and minding my own business. You know how it is, Father. I was drinking my medicine, if you catch my drift.”

“I understand.”

“Out of nowhere, this fella comes up to me… I thought he was the fuzz until I found my glasses and got a proper look. D’you know what, Father? He was naked, I’ll swear it. Naked as the day he was born. He was handsome, though. Reminded me of my younger days.” Now that the sense of imminent danger had passed, Niall was settling into the story.

Montgomery was patient though, and he said nothing as he parsed reality from the tale.

“He was a strange fella, and not just ‘cause he was naked. He seemed to shine. I thought I was seeing things. It’s happened before, it’s the nature of the beast. It was like he was lit up by a spotlight, only more like he was the spotlight, and I was on the stage.”

“Did he say what he wanted?”

“You see, that’s the weird thing… he did. He had a deep voice that echoed like he was standing inside the church. And he said to me, ‘Justify yourself.’ Then he told me to wait, and I was just about to run. He said there were more on their way, and that’s all I needed to know. I’m telling you, it was hard to move my legs.”

“Catatonia,” Montgomery murmured. “Interesting.”

“And then he said, if you’ll believe me, ‘His fear is building. Follow him, but don’t catch him yet. This fruit is not yet fully ripe.’ Well, Father, that got me moving all right. I ran across town and they followed me all the way here. They ain’t coming inside the church, though. They wouldn’t dare.”

But Montgomery was no longer listening. He could hear voices through the walls, and he sidled over to the door to listen. He wondered if they were real. Could the drunkard’s tale be a trick? Cautiously, he slid the bolts across and opened the door, peering out into the darkness. He couldn’t see anything unusual.

“Hello?” he called, but there was no response except for the faint echo, which mimicked his gentle accent and faded into the night. He tried again, and then a third time, but nothing changed. It was raining, and a fine mist was rising from the river and tickling the horizon. He called one last time, before giving up and returning to the warmth.

The old Irishman had slumped to the floor and fallen into a dazed half-sleep in his absence, and Montgomery frowned at the recumbent figure like a mother at an unruly child. It was getting late, and it wouldn’t be easy to take Niall to the shelter. With the long, deep sigh of an impatient man, he grabbed Niall’s legs and dragged him to the corner.

The Irishman smelled like a distillery, and the priest marvelled at his aptitude as a drunken raconteur. Montgomery poured a glass of water and stood it beside him, knowing all along that Niall would only touch it if his life depended on it. There was nothing else to do – Montgomery couldn’t make the stone floor more comfortable, but comfort was a luxury that Niall could rarely afford. Montgomery’s heart was racing, and the rest of the cleaning would have to wait for another day.

He turned off the overhead lights and left Niall on the floor, illuminated by dim side-lights that skirted the great religious precinct and lit the pews. He knew from experience that the church could be unnerving at night, and who knew what hallucinations his alcohol-riddled mind might produce?

Montgomery dismissed the experience as the work of a gullible fool with a drunken imagination, and he felt no fear as he walked through the churchyard in the near-darkness. He left the doors unlocked so Niall could leave, though he’d never left them open before. There wasn’t anything worth stealing, but he held a secret dark opinion of human nature. He was a deeply spiritual man, but he was also a realist – faith wouldn’t protect the church from graffiti and vandalism.

He was deep in thought as he began the long walk home through the dusty estate. For a fleeting moment, he thought he was being watched, but he shrugged it off and walked calmly through the sleeping city. It was a feeling he was about to get used to.

About the Author:
Dane Cobain is a writer and poet from a place you've probably never heard of, somewhere in England. His debut novella, a supernatural thriller called 'No Rest for the Wicked', will be released by Forsaken in the summero f 2015. When he's not writing books, he's reading and reviewing them on his book blog, - Charles Bukowski, Graham Greene and Phillip Pullman are favourites.

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  1. Thanks for the excerpt and giveaway!


  3. Thanks for the excerpt. Sounds good and thanks for the giveaway

  4. Looks great, thanks for the excerpt and chance!

  5. I'm hooked. I need to read this book I have to find out what happens to these people.