Please help me welcome Author Scott A. Lerner to my blog today!
The
Fraternity of the Soul Eater
A
Samuel Roberts Thriller
Book
3
Scott
A. Lerner
Genre: Urban Fantasy, Thriller
Publisher: Camel Press
Date of Publication: June 15, 2015
ISBN: 978-1-60381-289-4
ASIN: Not yet available
Number of pages: 218
Word Count: 57k words
Cover Artist: Sabrina Sun
Book Description:
It’s been a while since Samuel
Roberts was called upon to save mankind, and he’s getting restless. His
girlfriend Susan thinks he’s a danger junkie, and he’s worried he has a hero
complex. He’s back to his usual small-town lawyerly duties in Champaign-Urbana,
handling divorces and helping people beat DUI raps. But then a young fraternity
pledge calls. During an initiation ceremony he witnessed the live sacrifice of
a young woman, but he had so much alcohol in his system that no one believes
him. Except Sam. Lately Egyptian lore has been creeping into his life, his
dreams, and his movie preferences, and he’s pretty sure he knows why. Evil is
knocking on his door again.
Is the call welcome? Why can’t Sam
be satisfied with his comfortable legal practice and gorgeous redheaded
girlfriend? Maybe it’s because he knows that, as inadequate as he may feel to
the task, he and his friend Bob may be humanity’s only hope against ancient
supernatural forces combined with modern genetic engineering. Come hell or high
water. Or in this case, the underworld or subterranean pyramids.
The Fraternity of the Soul Eater is
the third book in the Samuel Roberts Thriller series, which began with Cocaine
Zombies and continued with Ruler of Demons.
Available at Amazon
Excerpt:
She was wearing
tight black jeans and a low-cut cropped T-shirt that exposed ample cleavage. A
golden ankh dangled between her breasts. On one forearm was a tattoo of a bird
I assumed to be a lark, and on the other, a tattoo of a hawk. Her bright blue
eyes matched her hair. She was striking looking but by no means beautiful. A
slight muffin top was made more visible by her short shirt, and she had
apparently broken her nose at least once in her life. She smelled like
sandalwood and cinnamon.
I would never
cheat on Susan, but I had to admit there was something sexy about Lark. I tried
to put my prurient thoughts away and deal with the issue at hand. Also, the
ankh made me wonder if she was playing for the other side. I was not a big fan
of birds, which for me had always been a harbinger of bad luck.
“So what is it
that you couldn’t tell me at the courthouse?”
“I’m a graduate
student at the University of Illinois and heard from a friend about Chris’s
case. I went to the preliminary hearing to get more information.”
“That’s fine—it’s
an open courtroom—but I can’t tell you the specifics of his case.”
“I am here to help
you, not the other way around.”
“Cool!” I leaned
back in my chair, trying to look casual. “Tell me what you know.”
“My sister was at
a party at that fraternity three years ago. She has not been seen since. I
believe she was killed there. I can’t prove it, but I have been trying to ever
since.”
“Did you call the
police?”
“No, I called
Pizza Hut.” She sighed. “I’m … sorry. This whole thing …. it’s hard to talk
about. Yes, I called the police and the FBI. I even hired a private
investigator.”
“No luck?”
“None. In fact,
they all told me to let it go.”
“I take it from
the fact you are here that you didn’t ‘let it go.’ ”
“You take it
right. I was attending the University of Iowa. I was close to getting an MFA in
fine arts but I transferred to the University of Illinois a year and a half
ago. I’ve been investigating the fraternity ever since.” As she spoke Lark
moved her arms about in quick gestures, reminding me of the bird she was named
for.
“What have you
learned?”
“For starters, I
believe your client.”
“Why?”
She hesitated, as
if pained by what she was going to relate. “Last year I dated a guy named
George Hammond. He was a rich kid, kind of a geek, but he was okay. I
essentially stalked him until he agreed to go out with me. At first I was only
interested because he was pledging the fraternity. I know I was using him, but
he was using me too. When he got accepted into the fraternity he told me a few
of their secrets.”
“Any chance I
could chat with George directly?”
She shook her
head, a little violently. “Not unless we hold a séance. I’m sorry. I appreciate
you speaking with me, and I don’t mean to be sarcastic. George died in a car
accident. Actually, he was murdered, but I can’t prove it.”
“What did he tell
you?”
“Every fall the
fraternity sacrifices a girl. Their choice is based on her not having much in
the way of family or money. They want someone who won’t be missed. The organs
are removed as though she is to be mummified. Since there’s no pyramid to bury
them in, the bodies are not wrapped or mummified or even kept.”
It was difficult
to absorb what she was telling me. “That is nightmarish. What the hell do they
do with the bodies?”
She jerked her
shoulders up and down in a shaky shrug. “Who knows?”
“Why would they do
such a thing?”
She looked
mournful now. “George didn’t know. It may have been to test the pledges’
loyalty to the fraternity. He said they would commit the murder at a hidden
temple and that the members would have to chant ancient prayers as part of some
strange ritual. The leaders of the fraternity told him that the girls’ souls
were being fed to the ‘Soul Eater,’ but George didn’t think they were serious.”
“Do you believe
what George told you?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
She looked me hard
in the eye. “My sister is missing.
Chapter One
I’d been staring at
the blank screen of my computer for the last two hours. I had seen too much. I
had opened doors that should not have been opened. In a world filled with
demons and monsters there was simply no room left for the mundane. I owed the
Fourth District Appellate Court a thoughtful and detailed brief. I owed my
client the effort he paid me for. Yet at times it all seemed so pointless. My black
thoughts were interrupted by the telephone.
“Law Office.”
“Sam, it’s Susan.”
“How may I be of service?”
“How about dinner tonight?” she asked.
“Sure, what do you have a taste for?”
“Indian?”
“Indian as in Mahatma Gandhi or Indian like Geronimo?”
“Like there are any Native American restaurants in Urbana. Can
you even think of an example of traditional Native American cooking?”
“Buffalo burgers and fry bread.”
She knew better than to respond. I could just see her rolling her
eyes. “How about Mumbai Grill at five thirty?”
“I will be there or I will be square.”
Susan was my girlfriend. We’d been through a lot together. She was
worried about me. She thought I was depressed. She was right, of course; I was
depressed. We just didn’t agree on what I should do about it. She felt I should
see a doctor. I felt I should not.
I was depressed because I realized the world was filled with evil
and indifference toward suffering. I was depressed because I knew that the
forces of darkness would rise again. I was depressed because it was unlikely I’d
have the luck and strength to defeat them again. I was also depressed because
the Mumbai grill had Chapati bread instead of Naan.
I was also wary of mental health care providers. They can help
with the symptoms of depression but have no pill to cure the underlying
problem. The problem is not that I fail to perceive the world as it is. The
problem is that I see the world exactly as it is. So the question was not why I
was depressed, but why wasn’t everyone else? As you get older you realize each
day is another day closer to death. I used to find solace in the belief that I
could leave the world in better shape than when I got here. Lately, however, I
was starting to believe the world was not getting better. If anything, people were
less kind than in the past. The environment was becoming irreparably damaged.
Evil was simply waiting like a wolf until the bunny that is humanity hopped a
few inches closer.
Don’t get me wrong: I was still able to function. I didn’t take
warm baths while listening to Johnny Cash sing “Hurt,” with only a straight
razor for company. At the same time I wondered what would happen if I did. Would
it make any difference?
I decided to go for a walk. It was the beginning of October but
warm enough that I didn’t need a jacket. I wore jeans, tennis shoes, and a gray
T-shirt with Bucky the Badger extending his middle finger toward any onlooker. A
plain gray sweatshirt covered the obscene gesture. I’d been scheduled to be in
court today, but the judge’s clerk had called to inform me that the hearing had
to be continued due to a judicial conference, thus explaining my casual attire.
I have short brown hair that is beginning to gray. I’m not sure
if that is due to age as much as it is due to having seen too much in my life.
I’m in pretty good physical condition for my late thirties. I’m of average
height and consider myself relatively handsome, although I’ll admit there are
those who disagree.
I found myself walking in the direction of campus. I walked west
on Main Street and took a left onto Lincoln Avenue. Soon I was passing dorms
and red brick buildings. Most of the campus buildings at the University of
Illinois are composed of red brick—actually, a combination of two colors of
brick, both reddish but slightly different hues. The campus was busier than
usual. The students were taking advantage of the warm weather and wandering
about.
Each year the students look younger and younger. The girls, or as
is more politically correct if not more accurate, the women, reminded me of how old I was getting. Their impossibly firm
bodies and unwrinkled faces reminded me of more innocent times. Sometimes I
thought I recognized someone from high school, only to realize the person I
would have known would be twenty years older. The boys appeared just as young
but were attempting to look older with the addition of scruffy beards and
multiple tattoos. My father told me he knew he was getting older when at the
football games he spent more time casting inappropriate glances at the mothers
than at the students. At the last football game I attended I found myself
concerned that the Illinettes, in
their skimpy outfits, might take a chill if they did not put on sweaters—or
maybe sweat suits. When did I become so old?
Having lost track of time and direction, I realized I was walking
down Gregory Street. On my right was the back of the Krannert Center for the
Performing Arts. On my left was the front of the Stoakfield Museum.
It is an enormous modern building, a venue for numerous plays and
performances throughout the year. It was built in 1969 and has various levels
and roofs. In front there is an outdoor amphitheater and inside, a number of
indoor theaters in various sizes.
Some of the more important milestones of my life were marked in
that building. My high school graduation and my law school graduation both took
place in the main auditorium. I was pleased to be finished with my formal
education. Neither ceremony provided me much in the way of satisfaction. At
least at my high school graduation there were the whoops and hollering of proud
parents at inappropriate times to break up the boredom. It was always the
parents of the children who barely graduated that made the most noise. That
would be the last graduation ceremony they expected to attend, so they wanted
to make it count.
I also remember the hidden corners of the roof being an important
high school hangout. There was a movie theater down the street known as the Thunderbird Theatre, which has since been turned
into a bar and local music hangout. Next to it was a pizza place called Tretoes.
The owner was a Russian immigrant who had lost two toes to frostbite. He named
the place after his remaining three toes, Tretoes.
People used to go to the movies and smoke pot on the roof. After
seeing the movie The Wall, I took my
girlfriend up there to make out. I feel a bit ashamed. I can remember the name
of the pizza place but have long since forgotten the name of the girl. I do remember
that she was young and smelled of cigarettes, pizza, and apple-blossom shampoo.
Her hair was long and dark and her skin was pale. I don’t remember if at the
time she was considered pretty, but in retrospect most high school girls were. It’s
not just their youth but their optimism that makes them attractive. Amazing how
life sucks the beauty from this world. It is a true eye-opener when you first
realize you can’t be whatever or whoever you want to be—all the lies of parents
and guidance counselors coming to light.
The worst part of adulthood is the shocking discovery that love
can be as tiring and stale as any other emotion, given enough time. Children born
with endless potential grow up in a world where it is mostly wasted and tossed
aside. The souls of our youth, like rusted tin cans, fill the trash heaps we
call penitentiaries and minimum wage jobs.
The sadness evoked by dredging up my past caused me to turn away
from the Krannert Center for the Performing Arts. I veered to my left and moved
up the walkway to the Stoakfield Museum.
Built in 2002, the museum was made of the same familiar red brick as most of
the other buildings on campus, yet it relied heavily on glass and cement as
well. The metal roof was towering and gave the structure a more modern look.
The museum’s collection used to be housed on the top floor of Lincoln Hall, a 1911 building located on the
quad. At the time it looked like a junk shop; ancient artifacts were shoved
together, only inches apart. I kind of liked the chaos. I felt like an
archeologist, discovering new items each time I came to visit. It was a bit
disconcerting, however, to see an old tea cup next to an ushabti—a funerary
figurine from Ancient Egypt—or a bronze sculpture next to an old radio.
The Stoakfield Museum
was completely different, perhaps in an effort to rebel against its predecessor.
The artifacts were elegantly displayed in their Plexiglas cages. The floors
were white and the sun shone through large windows. The display area was twenty
times larger with a third as many artifacts. I was told most of the collection
was sequestered in spacious rooms in the basement, inaccessible to the public,
and that only five percent of the collection was on display at any one time.
I walked up the wide, curved staircase to the second floor. It seemed
to float, for the individual stairs didn’t touch the ground but were built into
the wall. The room I enjoyed most held the ancient artifacts. I’d been told
that an impressive collection of Babylonian and Sumerian clay tablets was
hidden from the public. A few sat in their display cases waiting for admirers.
What I wanted to see were the items from ancient Egypt. For some reason I have
always been fascinated with ancient Egypt. As I walked into the room, a large ebony
sculpture of the Pharaoh Khafre stared out at me. It was impressive, but I was
disappointed to see a sign indicating the statue was a reproduction.
There was a new display I had not seen before. In a glass case
was a papyrus with a picture of the jackal-headed Anubis, standing before a
scale. The scale looked like the common image of the scales of justice, with a
heart on one pan and a feather on the other. Underneath were rows of detailed
hieroglyphs. The description next to the document read “Spell Number 26 from The Book of the Dead.” Apparently the
heart of a dead man would be weighed. If it weighed less than a feather, the
soul would go on to the afterlife. The afterlife, sometimes referred to as “The
Land of Two Fields,” was a heavenly place. If the heart was too heavy, the soul
would be devoured.
The ancient Egyptians believed the soul was in the heart. Therefore
the heart always remained with the mummy, while other important organs such as
the stomach, intestines, liver, and lungs, were stored in canopic jars. Other
organs of less importance, such as the brain, were cast aside.
I looked up and saw another display I hadn’t noticed previously—a
new ancient mummy in its case. The phrase “new ancient mummy” reminded me of “jumbo
shrimp.” In other words, an oxymoron, a term that sounds like something a
stupid teenager would use to wipe his face. The mummy was the museum’s second.
It was larger than the first and slightly darker in color. It was shaped like a
giant Cuban cigar, lying in its Plexiglas tomb without a sarcophagus or a mask.
It must have felt naked. The lyrics to the song “King Tut” started running through
my head. Childhood memories of a banjo-playing comedian on roller skates
appearing on The Johnny Carson Show
filled my mind.
I looked down at my borrowed Jaeger-LeCoultre watch. It was
almost five, and the museum was about to close. I headed out the door, leaving
history behind me. It would take a half hour to get to the restaurant. If I
walked at a leisurely pace, I would be there early, but that was all right.
When I reached the quad, I stopped to watch the squirrels gather
acorns and whatever junk food the students had left behind. It was fall and the
trees had turned various shades of yellow and orange. The squirrels seemed
particularly industrious. It must have been happy hour for squirrels. They
seemed to ignore me but nod to one another as they passed, food bulging their cheeks.
About
the Author:
Author and attorney Scott A. Lerner
resides in Champaign, Illinois. He obtained his undergraduate degree in
psychology from the University of Wisconsin in Madison and went on to obtain his
Juris Doctor degree from the University of Illinois in Urbana Champaign. He is
currently a sole practitioner in Champaign, Illinois. The majority of his law
practice focuses on the fields of criminal law and family law. Lerner’s first
novel and the first Samuel Roberts Thriller, Cocaine Zombies, won a bronze
medal in the mystery/cozy/noir category of the 2013 Independent Publisher
(IPPY) Awards. The second book in the series is Ruler of Demons. The Fraternity
of the Soul Eater is book 3. Book 4, The Wiccan Witch of the Midwest, will be
released on Halloween, 2015.
You can find Scott online at: www.scottlerner.camelpress.com
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Let's thank Scott for joining us today! Please check out his links and book!
Keep Writing!
Jodie Pierce
