Mr. Twilight

Mr. Twilight

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Mr. Twilight combines the mystical and the mysterious, the supernatural and the primitive, in a rich, steamy brew of otherworldly adventure.

In bookshop specializing in rare volumes, an avid fan of horror fiction seizes a tome too valuable and too incredible to fathom. In the end, the man was too curious to live. . . .

A few miles away, in a Manhattan brownstone, another man learns about the explosion that left a gaping hole in the fabric of reality. Colin—he has no other name—has been an unrelenting warrior against the dark, the demonic, and the damned. A man who has angels at his side and hell staring him in the face, he has devoted his life to solving magical crimes and tracking down—and neutralizing—the perpetrators of those crimes, human and nonhuman alike. Now Colin is about to team up with a beautiful Native American a long way from home and a tough NYPD detective who seems to be immune to magic. Together, in a funhouse of evidence and apparitions, they are chasing a killer and untangling a tale that leads from the infamous Vlad the Impaler to a dead twentieth-century occult author and his gorgeous daughter—who is as seductive as the devil himself.

Product Details

ISBN-13: 9780345495617
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Publication date: 09/26/2006
Sold by: Random House
Format: NOOK Book
Pages: 352
File size: 746 KB

About the Author

Michael Reaves received an Emmy Award for his work on the Batman animated television series. He has worked for Steven Spielberg’s DreamWorks, among other studios, and has written fantasy novels and supernatural thrillers. Reaves is the New York Times bestselling author of Star Wars: Darth Maul: Shadow Hunter, as well as the co-writer (with Steve Perry) of the two Star Wars: MedStar novels, Battle Surgeons and Jedi Healer. He lives in the Los Angeles area.

Maya Kaathryn Bohnhoff is the author of the novels MAGIC TIME: ANGELFIRE, THE MERI, TAMINY, THE CRYSTAL ROSE, and THE SPIRIT GATE as well as a slew of short speculative fiction in such magazines as ANALOG, AMAZING STORIES, REALMS OF FANTASY, PARADOX, and INTERZONE. Her short fiction has been nominated for the Nebula and British Science Fiction awards. Visit her website at

Read an Excerpt

HE CAREENED THROUGH CORRIDORS OF LIGHT-DEVOURING black, endless and vermicular, as if he were trapped in some gigantic intestinal labyrinth. The only reality was the cold grip of Lilith’s hand in his, the only light the fear in her eyes, which he could somehow see in the roiling darkness.
They turned corners at random, fleeing with no map or plan, twisting this way and that through blind intersections and surprise junctions, racing up and down flights of stairs that seemed to invert under their feet—flipping from ascent to descent, like something from an M. C. Escher painting.
The world was strangely silent, except for their frantic footfalls. There were no sounds of pursuit, yet Colin knew that behind them the Headmaster’s myrmidons were closing in.
Suddenly before them was a breach in the labyrinth wall, a huge, irregular gash in the stone. They scrambled through it and found themselves at the base of one of the castle’s great corner towers; it reared above them, a gleaming black finger pointing at the chaotic sky.
Colin shook himself. He remembered that the highest towers of the Scholomance rose no more than a hundred feet above the tops of the island’s trees, yet this one seemed thousands of feet high, looming through cloudy mists over an endless landscape.
There was no time to backtrack, no other route to seek. Their pursuers, unseen but nonetheless deadly, would be upon them in minutes. Colin mounted the parapet and edged out onto the tower along a thin ledge, no more than a foot wide. Arms spread-eagled, belly flattened against the cold stone, he began to climb. Behind and below him, Lilith followed.
Though the walls were smooth obsidian, scarcely rough enough for an insect to cling to, somehow the two managed to find toe- and finger-holds. Colin didn’t pause to think about how that was possible, he simply climbed until he reached the top of the tower. There, he peered over and received yet another shock—before him stretched a sea of carved and mortared stone, a roofscape that seemed to stretch as far as the horizon, composed of domes, minarets, spires, chimneys. It was as if the Black Castle had swollen to a hundred times its normal size—an amorphous armored creature, bristling with chitinous structures. As if it had devoured the island’s shoreline and the surrounding lake.
Again they fled, this time down a serpentine stair, and thence over an endless, tumbled collection of steps, ramps, colonnades, battlements, and other impediments—some that seemed to grow up out of nowhere to divert their path. Time and again they were forced to stop and retrace their steps. Although they could see no one in pursuit, still the sense of impending capture grew with each footfall.
At last they found themselves in a cul-de-sac—an irregular cup of stone and mortar from which there was no escape. Colin had been a student at the Scholomance for years—memory refused to put a number to them—yet he’d never seen this blank courtyard. His mind protested that it didn’t exist, no more than did the thousand-foot towers or the endless cityscape.
In the moment he decided to believe this was a dream (prayed it was a dream), Lilith, her face colorless, her eyes wide and terrified, turned to him and said, “Only one of us can escape, and it has to be you. You must find the Trine, and use it to rescue me.”
“We can both escape,” he protested, knowing as well as she did that, even within this dream, it was not true. It was a truth he refused to admit. “There has to be a way…”
“There isn’t, Colin. You know there isn’t.”
And before he could protest again, before he could stop her, she twisted away from him. One step, the pivot of a stone beneath her foot, and she dropped into a sudden black abyss.
Colin lunged forward, but too late…always too late.
The entire structure seemed to melt away from around him then, and he was falling as well, falling through gray limbo, screaming Lilith’s name as he tumbled endlessly through darkening clouds….
COLIN WOKE LYING ON ONE OF THE LEATHER sofas in his second-floor library, heart rabbiting in his chest, a thin film of icy sweat on his skin.
Dreaming. Again.
He’d been having too many of those lately, and, like all the others, this one did nothing to edify—only terrify. There were no discernible omens, no prescient revelations. It was simply a dream of frustration, of loss…of condemnation.
Too late.
Its very meaninglessness scared him so much that he allowed himself to pretend there must be meaning, if only he could divine it.
He sat up, swung his legs off the sofa, planted his feet firmly on the floor, and ran long, thin fingers through his riotous hair, trying to force sense into the dream.
The Scholomance had appeared out-of-proportion. Well, of course it had. It assumed terrifying proportions in all his dreams—as it did in waking memory.
He and Lilith had been trapped in its labyrinthine bowels. And why not? The Scholomance had devoured them in their time, just as it devoured a new “class” of students every seven years. In its long history, only Colin had come to it out-of-season, fetching up nameless and alone on its forbidding shores, malnourished and speaking a language no one understood.
The sense of pursuit was a horrific dose of reality in Colin’s dreamscape. Then, he had been pursued by the Scholomance’s Headmaster. Now…God, now he wasn’t being pursued so much as he was being stalked. Stalked by a predator far more devious than the Headmaster and infinitely more merciless…and whose motives were impenetrable. At least he’d known what the Headmaster wanted with him.
He rubbed bleary eyes and looked up. The walls that surrounded him now were familiar, comforting, and covered with mahogany shelving, up to what had been the ceiling of the second floor. It had been cut back to form a mezzanine, reachable by a spiral staircase. More bookshelves rose from the mezzanine almost to the third-story skylight, upon which a soft rain was falling.
Colin let his gaze range over the crowded shelves. At last inventory he had over fifteen thousand volumes: folios, scrolls, codices, opuscules, enchiridions, incunables, and other works, both fiction and nonfiction, ancient and modern.
And in none of them was the answer to the riddle of his own self.
Find the Trine and use it to rescue me, Lilith had pleaded. Well, he’d found it, hadn’t he? Twice. But that was then and this was now, and Lilith was irrevocably gone. Beyond any hope of rescue.
While he had lost Lilith, he still had the Trine—a triune artifact of such power that the Headmaster had disassembled it and hidden the elements separately about his “school” of the arcane. Colin doubted that he had expected a nameless, teenage waif to spend a year of his life tracking those elements down and using them to escape.
The Book, the Stone, and the Flame.
Deep within Colin—now a young man, now free of the Scholomance and its insidious Headmaster—was a bereft boy who would have traded the entire unholy trinity to bring Lilith back.
“Do you realize how often you fall asleep wherever you happen to be out of sheer exhaustion? You really ought to plan for sleep, Colin. You are still human, after all.”
The voice sent chills coursing down Colin’s spine and brought his mind into sharp focus.
The angel reclined, in profile, on the matching leather couch directly across from where he sat. She appeared to be reading; at least, she held a leather-bound volume open in her pale hands. She was momentarily dazzling in the semidarkness of the room—as if she sat in a spotlight—and Colin’s synesthesia caused bright chips of radiance to dance in the fringes of her aura. He looked away from her, seeking her reflection in the front of a long glass display case that ran at right angles to the sofas and in which he kept mementos of his various “adventures.”
She was beautiful, of course; even her eyes, which were blank silver discs bright as newly minted dimes, enhanced rather than detracted from her appearance. She was wearing white jeans, a long-sleeve peach T-shirt, and gray running shoes. Her hair was strawberry blond today, cut short and spiked. A Mogen David, a tiny gold cross, and a star-and-crescent dangled from the earlobe he could see. A five-pointed star hung from a silver chain about her neck.
He could see his own semitransparent reflection in the glass as well: tall, lean almost to the point of cadaverousness, wearing faded black jeans and a charcoal gray T-shirt. His skin was pale, made more so by contrast to his unruly black hair. The reflection of his face was superimposed over an ancient humanoid horned skull. Compared to the angel’s reflection, his seemed ephemeral, as if she were the flesh and blood being and he a mere phantom.
Well, maybe that was the case after all.
“Hello, Zoel,” he said. “Slumming?”

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Mr. Twilight 3.8 out of 5 based on 0 ratings. 5 reviews.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
But not my cup of tea. I can go with the paranormal flow but cant deal with the sheer volume of words obscuring the story. I can tell a lot of research went into it. I am just the wrong reader. 134 pages in and it was a struggle for me so I gave up.
Guest More than 1 year ago
I have read books, some best sellers, that have a great opening and middle but fizzle with a weak ending. It is at these times that I often think of the question posed by the late wonderful singer Peggy Lee: 'Is that all there is?' To Ms. Lee's question, I have good news. MR. TWILIGHT more than satisfies. Besides having a tantalizing opening and a remarkably well sustained middle, it has a knock out ending that makes the reader say wow! Ms. Lee would be proud.
dmacmillan on LibraryThing More than 1 year ago
Surprisingly, I enjoyed this book. I didn't hold out much hope for it having not enjoyed some of Reaves' other books. I chose it because mainly because it was published by DelRey. I've rarely been disappointed by DelRey books, series' are excluded. If this book was a cocktail the recipe would be: Start with a glass of matured Harry Dresden, add a dash of American Gods and a slice of angel and demon. Stir in a shot of The Historian's Dracula, then shake. I enjoyed the Native American female character and seeing the differences in how she used magic and how the main character used magic. It's good to see some diversity in female leading characters. I would love to read see a sequel a second book by this team.
wyvernfriend on LibraryThing More than 1 year ago
Colin has no other name but he's often known as Mr Twilight. He devotes his life to solving and neutralising magical crimes and criminals. He teams up with a beautiful Native American and a New York detective who is apparently immune ot Magic.While I found the adventure interesting, some of the flashbacks and other information just made the story drag. I did want more of the story and less of some of the minor details that seemed to make the story too involved and I'm not sure if it's not a problem of two authors. Interesting and I'd like to read more and I hope the plot overwhelms the back story this time.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Nice book and very open to many sequels. Waiting for more....