Chris Quinton

Some years ago, Malcolm Thompson had inherited his father's bookshop, along with a rather majestic cat.  Some months ago, Malcolm had met archaeologist Jeff Conway. Jeff intrigued and fascinated him, but the difference between their ages had been enough that, in Malcolm's opinion, nothing could happen between them. Some days ago, the dream that had repeated itself for weeks, the dream about a leather-bound tome, became even more detailed.
A voice had been added to the mental images, a voice that instructed Malcolm to open the book, a voice filled with a sense of urgency and a deep growl to lend power to the words. Now, his cat turned out to be so very much more than a domesticated anything, and the local legends were a terrifying reality. Danger threatened not only the Lynn Valley, but several planes of existence, and a war band had to be formed.
A war band that he and Jeff were destined to join. If they survived.