TITLE: Day of the Nightwraith
GENRE: Fantasy: Contemporary
Buck Buchanan, an 800-year-old Celtic warrior, wants nothing more than to die. But he can't, or, more precisely, won't, until he kills the last dragon--the Nightwraith. After seventy years of coming up empty, he tracks the beast to the streets of present-day Philadelphia. With his 200-year-old ex-wife at his side, Buck discovers the Nightwraith's horde of immortal, formerly-human worshippers are planning to incinerate the city in order to plunge the world into war, and he has to decide whether bringing an end to his own life is more important than saving millions of others.
"I guess it was only a matter of time, wasn't it?" the bartender asked. He hadn't shifted, hadn't flinched, when Buck had entered the bar, and for that Buck respected him.
Buck pulled off his amber sunglasses and stuffed them into the inner pocket of his green leather jacket. "Probably," he answered, looking over the three other men in the small tavern. Gruff Parisians, all gathered down at the opposite end of the bar with their beer and wine. They reeked of mortality, of day jobs, of depression. In here only to forget the world around them, the world that would forget them soon enough.
That was fine by Buck. He turned back to the Spaniard behind the bar. "How've you been, Julian?"
"I go by Antonio now." He smirked, a friendly cover to the anxiety his red-veined eyes betrayed.
"Does it matter?"
"To me it does." He reached for a short glass and flipped it over, and then grabbed a bottle of scotch from a mirrored shelf behind him and filled the glass half way. He nudged it across the bar. "I don't
suppose you're just here for information?"
Buck shook his head. Some of the wraithborn were good for information, that was true, but not Julian. The ones like Julian were only good for dying. "Afraid not. We have a bit of a debt to settle."