Time Hunter: Kitsune by John Paul Catton, Terry Molloy, The Copyright Group

By John Paul Catton, Terry Molloy, The Copyright Group

In the 12 months 2020, Honoré Lechasseur and Emily Blandish locate themselves thrown right into a secret as an ice spirit wreaks havoc throughout the Kyoto's Gion competition, and a haunted funhouse proves to comprise greater than simply paper lanterns and wax dummies. yet what does all this need to do with the based proprietor of the cover and elegant model chain... and to the mythical eastern fox-spirits, the Kitsune?

Part secret, half detective tale, half darkish myth, half technology fiction... unique adventures in time and space.

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Sample text

Very scared stories make us cold, and give us – nan, to yuu no – give us the chicken-skin. But this year most scared ever. ’ Mochizuka twisted in his seat, leaning enthusiastically towards his foreign guests. ‘Blue Deluxe always do good business about ghosts. Strange photographs of O-Bake in temples and shrines. But this year, so many. This year, everybody seeing ghosts. Traditional Japanese ghosts, like Okiku-san, Oni-babaa, Nimenonna ¼ they are everywhere. People seeing them in mirrors and the windows of the shops.

There was a curious glittering in the air, a nimbus of white, a cloudlike aura of crystals blossoming into view. A rift in the parade opened, as some of the dancers stopped what they were doing and turned round, as if in surprise. The centre of the cloud of white was a young woman, dressed as an apprentice geisha. Her kimono was the purest white, and, as she spread out her arms to her side, the long sleeves almost brushed the ground. Her face was an inverted white teardrop, eyes and mouth so slight that they were mere flicks of an artist’s brush.

The stunned silence that followed was broken by harsh, discordant sounds from within the house. Furniture being knocked over. A strangled shriek. The Mistress twitched her head around, looking as bewildered as if she had suddenly found her house on fire. An assistant was in the doorway behind them, his face distraught, flapping his hands at them ineffectually. ‘It’s the guests – please come, please come quickly – it’s the guests –’ Mochizuka shouldered roughly past the Mistress and the assistant, and plunged into the tea house interior.

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