Zathyn Priest
Official Author Website
The Slayer's Apprentice
Available January 14th
A series of gruesome murders lands The Crucifix Slayer the title of Australia’s most infamous and deceptive serial killer. Stalking prey with predictable routines, The Slayer strangles his victims with nylon cord and then arranges bodies in relaxed, everyday poses. On their foreheads he draws a reverse crucifix. A clean killer who leaves no DNA behind, The Slayer pitches his intellect and illusiveness against that of Detective Paul Somerset. The hunt becomes a personal one for Somerset and he won’t rest until he’s brought The Slayer to justice.
After a year of terrorizing the public the murders cease as suddenly as they began and The Slayer vanishes. Four years later another double murder takes place and The Crucifix Slayer has returned with a vengeance.
Phoenix Love is eighteen years old, tends bar in a sleazy hotel and is the sole carer for his five-year-old brother, Echo. Phoenix is coarse, unsociable and a deft pickpocket stealing patron’s wallets to make ends meet. His compulsively ordered antisocial life turns upside down when a wallet he steals belongs to Senior Constable Daniel Hart.
Daniel’s attraction to Phoenix fast turns into fixation. Everything once important to him, including his desire to climb the police force ranks, falls to the wayside in favour of pursuing Phoenix’s affection.
As Phoenix’s behaviour becomes more dangerous and erratic, the truth in concerns to his secretive, unlawful past starts to unravel. Suddenly he is the center of attention for Detective Paul Somerset and a prime suspect in relation to The Slayer’s return. While Daniel is hell bent on proving Phoenix is an innocent victim of The Crucifix Slayer, Detective Somerset is hell bent on proving Phoenix Love is The Slayer’s apprentice.
It begins with a character, usually, and once he stands up on his feet and begins to move, all I can do is trot along behind him with a paper and pencil trying to keep up long enough to put down what he says and does.
(William Faulkner)
Writing fiction is a solitary occupation but not really a lonely one. The writer's head is mobbed with characters, images and language.
(Hilma Wolitzer)