Just for grins, here's a blog for fans of Jonathan Crowley. Not the writer, though he's quite good at what he does, but the Hunter. Well, and alkso a Blog to let you know what his creator, James A. Moore is up to of late.



Your patience is asked for, because, really, I've never done this before.



But as soon as I can, I'll post news and information regarding upcoming projects.



Just as an example, I'll let you know a little something about Vendetta, the latest story about the talented Mr. Crowley. Most fo the time the creatures he hunts, the people he interacts with, they're just people and beasts. He doesn;t much care to get involved with the details as they only get in the way of taking care of business. But there are exceptions, aren't there? There are a few people in his world who matter, whether or not he likes the idea.



It was hinted to in the past, and now tjhe secrets get told. Jonathan Crowley had a family once. He had a wife, he had children and he felt loved and at peace. Then something came along and took that from him.



And now, half a lifetime later, he finds a name and a location on the creature that took his family away and made him watch as they died.





Want to know more?



Well, for starters, there's a limited number of copies available for Vendetta. Like, 300 maximum. It's a signed, limited edition and while it'll probably come out later as a mass market, for now, it's only available on this format.

It's also available for preorder right here: https://www.horror-mall.com/VENDETTA-by-James-A.-Moore-Limited-Edition-p-18601.html



For those interested, here's a liitle teaser: the prelude to the story:



VENDETTA





The rain fell in a light, annoying mist. Just enough to get you wet, but not enough to soak you. Jonathan Crowley hadn’t brought an umbrella. Not that he much cared.

Despite the chilly, damp weather, there was a very large crowd at the funeral of Vernon Dunlow. Not a surprise, really, when one considered how much the man was worth. In his lifetime Dunlow had amassed a fortune worthy of kings. He’d done it slowly, methodically, and with a little help from the supernatural.

Not that long ago, Crowley reckoned, Dunlow had been a very powerful demonologist. He’d summoned the dark spirits for power, for wealth, and even to bring his dying daughter back to life. He’d screwed up on the last one. She was alive, but hardly mortal anymore.

Luckily for her, she normally behaved herself.

That was why he was standing in the rain at a funeral. Not to mourn the loss of Vernon Dunlow—though despite the demon issues he was a good enough man—but because of Amelia Dunlow. He was here to pay his respects and to check up on her.

Oh, and to get those last few books Vernon had been stupid enough to hide from him the last time he’d been to see the family.

Amelia stood near the hole in the ground where her father would soon be interred. She was, without doubt, the most beautiful woman Crowley had ever seen. Hardly a challenge under the circumstances. She’d had a little help as it were.

Every man in the area and a few of the women as well would have probably loved to be with her in a sexual relationship. Some would have gleefully sold their souls. Most of them would never get the chance.

The man standing beside her on the other hand, Mike Blake, was probably with her regularly. Crowley was a little surprised to see Blake at her side, especially at the funeral. The last time he’d seen the man he was still warring over whether he would go to be with Amelia or sit in his living room and get numbingly drunk. Alcoholics almost always face that sort of decision. His estimation of the man went up a notch. He’d felt absolutely certain that Blake would fall back into the bottle.

Amelia was dressed in black; a veil covered part of her face and her long, elegant form leaned against Mike. He was also in black, a suit that cost more than he’d been making a year when he met Amelia. Blake held an umbrella over Amelia, defending her from the rain that drizzled down and wetted the side of his face and the growing bald spot on the top of his head. There were no other mourners standing close to the two of them. There was no other family to consider. Amelia was alone in the world, except for Blake.

Crowley cast his eyes over the crowd. Most of them were obvious business associates of Vernon Dunlow. A few of them were likely close friends of the family. The Dunlows had a lot of friends. They were honest people and generous with their wealth. It hadn’t been all that long ago that Fortune Magazine had done an article on the Dunlow family and their policies concerning benefits for their employees. Despite the climate of looking out for the top dollar and cutting benefits that dominated corporate America, the Dunlows had kept up with good retirement packages, excellent health benefits, and even stock option bonuses for their staff.

They had remarkably little turnover in their ten thousand plus employees, which came as no surprise.

Every person there would likely miss Vernon Dunlow as the years passed; even the ones who’d never really known him very well. That was a fine testament to the man’s memory.

Crowley waited until the mourners began cycling in front of the lowered coffin before he started moving forward. Amelia hadn’t seen him yet. Neither had Blake. He’d have bet money neither of them was actually expecting him, either. Jonathan Crowley was not known for making social visits.

Amelia listened to the condolences of the people in front of him and nodded her head, answering each well-wisher automatically. Mike did the same, but he held himself like a man trying to avoid getting confrontational. That much hadn’t changed. He was desperate to keep Amelia safe at all times. Good, Crowley mused. That’s good. The more he wants her safe, the easier it is for me to ignore her existence.

The procession moved with slow, steady speed. Crowley looked at the people ahead of him and spotted one who seemed familiar. He was a stocky man, not fat, but heavyset, with a silvery crew cut and a black suit that was perfectly tailored to fit him. He was exactly the sort of man who looked like he’d be comfortable knocking back cheap beer at a local bar or sipping champagne with royalty. Crowley recognized him immediately and felt the smile try to grow on his face. He forced the expression back. There’d be time enough for that later.

Mike saw him first. The man’s eyes flew wide for a moment and then lowered to half-mast, as if he were expecting trouble. Considering how well they’d gotten along previously, Crowley wasn't shocked by that. Then again, something about Blake pissed Crowley off and always had.

Amelia spotted him and despite the circumstances, he saw the excitement in her eyes. She lowered her head to hide the expression and Crowley took two more steps forward.

The gray haired man stopped before the two mourners and offered his condolences. Mike shook his hand and thanked him for showing up. He spoke to the man with respect and Crowley bit his tongue to stop from making a scene. He had no intention of causing problems at the funeral.

There would be time for dealing with the man later, after the services.

Amelia saw the man and spoke more formally. She understood just how dangerous the stranger was, and how powerful his influence could be. That made her the exception, not the rule.

Albert Miles, for his part, was the very image of kindness. That was his way. He spoke softly and genuinely. Crowley had no doubt in his mind that every word the man spoke was completely sincere.

Another few paces forward and it was his turn to say hello.
Mike managed a weak smile. It was probably the best he could offer.

“Mike. I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you, Jonathan. It’s good of you to come. I know Amelia appreciates it.”

“The least I could do, I’m sure. Vernon was a good man.”

“Yes, he was. He’ll be missed.” Oh, he could tell how much Mike Blake disliked him, and all that knowledge did was increase his amusement.

Instead of saying anything else, he nodded again and moved over to say hello to Amelia. Up close her beauty was even more evident. Eyes that could capture a man’s soul, lips that could, he felt certain, drive a man to extreme acts with only a few whispered words. She was physical perfection from head to toe, not a single flaw to be found.

“Hello, Amelia. I’m sorry.”

Amelia barely looked at him. “We’ll talk later, if that’s okay, Jonathan.” Her lips trembled, her shoulders hitched slightly.

“Of course. I’ll see you in a little while.”

He took her hands in his and held them for the briefest moment; just long enough to feel her fingers twitch, to hear her intake of breath, and then he moved on.

The funeral was ending, so he moved toward the parking lot and his car.

A quick glimpse showed him that Albert Miles was heading for his own vehicle, a glossy black Rolls Royce.

He quickened his pace and stepped closer to the man, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“I remember you.” The words were purred into Miles’ ear. “I remember you very well, indeed.”

Most people, Crowley knew from experience, would prefer not to be remembered by him. It was almost always an indication of bad things to come.

Albert Miles turned toward him and smiled as pleasantly as if he were seeing an old friend. “Mister Crowley. What a delightful surprise.”

“Hasn’t been long enough in my book, Mr. Miles, but then, I believe we have unfinished business between us.”

“Really? What sort of business?”

“Something to do with you killing Serenity Falls.”

“Nonsense, my good man. The town is still there, isn’t it? I visited it only a few weeks ago.”

“I’m sure you did.” Crowley smiled. Ten feet away from him, one of the mourners looking in their direction suddenly remembered that he had better things to do and scrambled for his car keys.

“Have you been back there, to Serenity Falls, Mr. Crowley? I think they’re making delightful progress. You’d barely be able to tell there was ever a disaster in the town.”

“Let’s keep it that way, Mr. Miles. I think the people there have suffered enough.”

“Oh, really! I hardly have the time to consider the past anymore, Mr. Crowley. I have other matters to attend to.”

Crowley’s smile grew larger still, wide enough now to make his jaws ache.

Miles looked at him with eyes almost the same color as his hair and smiled back, a cheerful, familiar expression. He would, Crowley suspected, have used the exact same smile if he were telling grandchildren tales of Santa Claus, or if he were in the process of cutting a bound man into shreds of raw meat.

“Now is not the time to discuss what you have in mind for other people and places, Mr. Miles. But rest assured, we will be discussing matters in the near future.”

Miles laughed politely. “Is this the point where I should give you another distraction, a chance for me to escape from your attention for a time?” His voice was rich and jovial.

“Now is the time for you to put your affairs in order, Mr. Miles. I still haven’t quite forgiven you for what you did.”

“Oh, Mr. Crowley, I’d be disappointed if you had.”

The man looked at his watch and tsked. “I’m afraid we will have to have this discussion another time. I have a plane to catch.” He put his hand out for shaking and Crowley gripped it firmly. There was a piece of paper there, folded exactly twice and no larger than an index card. “I’ve a gift for you, Mr. Crowley. I believe you’ve been looking for the man on that paper for a very long time.”

“Why would you give me a gift, Mr. Miles?”

“I can appreciate your reasons for looking, Mr. Crowley. I lost a wife, too, as you might well recall.”

Crowley felt his stomach fall away into an abyss.

“What did you say?” His voice was barely a whisper.

“I said it was lovely seeing you again, Mr. Crowley. I look forward to having a proper chat sometime soon.” There was mischief in his eyes. “Don’t worry. I won’t warn him that you’re coming. That would ruin the fun. Besides, I no longer have any need for associating with that particular individual. He’s become…a hindrance, if you will.”

Crowley stood perfectly still as Albert Miles climbed into the Silver Cloud. He was still standing there five minutes later when the vehicle drove out of sight.

Finally, he looked at the paper as Amelia and Mike were escorted to the limousine that would drive them back to her home.

The writing was neat and precise. A single name and address to go with it were all that were written on the paper.

Really, they were all that was needed. Crowley folded the paper and slipped it into his jacket pocket.

He tried to ignore the fact that his hands were trembling with suppressed rage.


He still had to deal with Amelia and the books her father had hidden away.

More news soon, all the best,



James A. Moore