The Apocalypse Door

The world is a dangerous place, and its Peter Crossmans job to protect it. Men of the cloth can only do so muchagainst ancient evils, you need the ancient strength of faith. Thats where Peter Crossman, Knight Templar in modern America, comes in. Crossmans world is yours and mine. Governments and businesses squabble, people go out for coffee, folks meet and fall in love, and the Red Sox will win the Series when Hell freezes over. But that last just might happen if Crossman doesnt get his latest assignment right.The Apocalypse Door is a spy story with a truly unique twist. On a routine mission to discover the whereabouts of some missing UN peacekeepers, our hero discovers a plot that points to the uncovering of a very unholy artifact. An object of such power that it might very well open a portal to damnation and beyond, giving some unsavory people a whole lot of powerand bringing about the destruction of the universe.Fortunately, demonic magic isnt the only source of Power in the world . . . and Peter Crossmans power comes from Above.

J. D. Macdonald is better known as James D. Macdonald. He and his wife, Debra Doyle, are the authors of the acclaimed Mageworlds series. J. D. Macdonald is a winner of the Mythopoeic Fantasy Award. He resides in New Hampshire.

Excerpt from The Apocalypse Door:

The Blue Dolphin was a waterfront dive on the Hudson side of Manhattan. The lights were low, the vinyl on the seats was cracked, and the air was thick with the odors of sweat, cigarettes, and sin. I’d reported in by phone to the local chapter as soon as I was clear of Newark. The phone call had been four hours ago and every bone in my body kept screaming, “The OP is Blown, Get Out,” but there are times when you have to ignore screaming bones. I mentally gave my contact fifteen more minutes and turned my attention back to observing the degradation of my fellow man.

I half-heard, half-felt someone approaching on my right. I still had my attention split three ways between what I hoped was a waitress, the stage, and the door—mostly the door—when she came up and bent over to murmur a few words in my ear. Her breath was warm, her lips moving close beside my ear. She was all but nibbling my earlobe.

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been two days since my last confession.”

My cover was blown. She knew what I was, even if she didn’t exactly know who. And she knew exactly how to get to me. I couldn’t refuse her the sacrament, not without risking my own damnation. I had no choice but to ask her, “What is your confession, my daughter?”

“I’ve come here to kill you.”



Copyright J.D. Macdonald