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The Protagonist Speaks

Interviews with the characters of your favourite books

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Thriller

Reverend Evan Wycliff (of his eponymous mystery series, by Gerald Everett Jones)

Dear readers, tonight with us is a reverend with an astrophysics background, who keeps running into situations that require a sceptic’s investigative skills.


Tell us a little about where you grew up. What was it like there?

I spent my boyhood in farm country—Appleton City, Missouri. It’s flat land in the heart of the state, north of the hills and the sinuous-shaped bodies of water known as the Twin Dragons – Truman Lake and Lake of the Ozarks. These are Bible-believing folk. When I was young, the area was sleepy, mostly family farms. In the years since, corporate interests have bought up huge tracts of land, and farming on a small scale doesn’t pay. Employment is better in the south, where the lake supports jobs serving the tourist industry. Branson is Missouri’s version of Nashville.

Did you have any favourite toys as a child? Any cherished memories?

My fondest memory of my childhood is my friendship with Bob Taggart, a boy of my own age. We hunted and fished together. Our faithful companion was his dog Brownie, who was in fact a succession of mixed-breed mutts to which he gave the same name. He pranked me a lot, thinking himself clever. One time, he took me into the basement of his father’s pharmacy and dared me to open a jar of what looked like disgusting medical samples and take a bite. I did, then he admitted it was fruit preserves. It was Bob’s dead body I found in the first novel, Preacher Finds a Corpse.

What do you do now?

In my teens, I had intended to enter the ministry. I studied at Harvard Divinity, then dropped out when I learned too much about Christian church history. I then undertook astrophysics at MIT. No answers there, either. I returned to the farm and got part-time work as a credit investigator for the local auto dealership and also as an occasional guest preacher. I later became pastor of the Baptist church, and because I have a curious mind and investigative skills, people come to me with problems no one else has any interest in solving. Because I was also trained as a skeptical scientist, some people think I’m an agnostic.

What can you tell us about your latest adventure?

The fourth novel in the Preacher Evan Wycliff series is Preacher Stalls the Second Coming, released on March 5, 2024. A crazed scientist knocked on my door with a bizarre warning – the Deep State may be planning to fake the Second Coming of Christ with advanced virtual-reality technology. Meanwhile, a faith-healing evangelist was luring poor and homeless people to a religious retreat with promises of ample food, then exhorting them to prepare for the End Times by starving themselves to death. I couldn’t ignore these unbelievable stories when a young woman from my church disappeared inside the cult leader’s farm.

Continue reading “Reverend Evan Wycliff (of his eponymous mystery series, by Gerald Everett Jones)”

Amber Yu (of The Bonehead Resistance, by Narelle King)

Dear readers, tonight with us is an ordinary Australian citizen who found herself embroiled in extraordinary events. After her son is taken hostage, she must race from leafy suburbs to the dusty outback, confronting merciless soldiers and terrifying monsters.


Tell us a little about where you grew up. What was it like there?

I grew up in north-west Sydney. My parents have lived in the same small brick house in Eastwood since they immigrated from China, a couple of years before I was born.

They had this great backyard full of fruit trees. I used to climb the trees and make myself sick eating the fruit. My mother was always tearing her hair out trying to get me to do homework, but I just wanted to be outside.

A few years ago they sold half the backyard to a developer who owned a couple of properties next door. He whacked an apartment tower on them, so now they only have a small vege patch, and nothing grows well because it’s always shaded.

Did you have any favourite toys as a child? Any treasured memories?

I spent hours jumping on our trampoline. This was in the 90s, so there was no padding or safety nets or anything, if you weren’t careful you’d land on the springs or the metal bars. One of my cousins fractured her leg falling off it.

When I was a teenager my friends and I would lie on it and talk for hours.

What did you think when you saw the Boneheads for the first time?

I was in shock. Just that morning Adam and I had been laughing at the rumours about the PM working with monsters. We thought it was a joke.

And the Boneheads were terrifying. Those black pits they have for eyes – they’re like something out of a nightmare. I watched them gun people down in the street. I’ve seen a lot of death since then, but I don’t think I’ll ever stop having nightmares about that.

Continue reading “Amber Yu (of The Bonehead Resistance, by Narelle King)”

Phil (of The Rose, by PD Alleva)

Dear readers, tonight we print an overheard conversation between a human protagonist and a millennium-old cephalopod, discussing vampires, aliens, and alien vampires.


Phil, standing on a floor made of water, watched as the atmosphere cracked in front of him. Watched as the crack raced to the right and left. Behind the barrier water tumbled into the space from far away and high above, racing towards the barrier, and rising high overhead, ten feet above him. It was when the water settled to a calm flow that he saw the famed giant cephalopod, Artemis. His tentacles pushing through the water to the barrier between him and Phil. His eyes, large and round and bright white with a black dot for pupils, watched Phil with a stare Phil assumed was both suspicious and intrigued. Phil understood he had to come, but the why behind the reason he was never told. His hands, clenched into fists, shook by his side. He had more dire circumstances to tend to, and this meeting boiled his blood. Having to take part in an interview with Artemis was a waste of time and time was not on his side.

Artemis floated in the water, assessing, scrutinizing, and scanning Phil. When he spoke, his voice was carried across the water and echoed through the chamber where Phil stood, garbled and liquidly was his voice.

Artemis: Did Robyn tell you why I’ve requested your presence?

Phil: Robyn speaks in riddles, so no. (He paused, watching Artemis and how his lips curled into his mouth. Phil cleared his throat). But I assume it’s because of the glimmer and the change in the Akashic record. Robyn is quite disturbed by this change. Do you know who caused it?

Artemis: I have my suspicions. (He pushed forward, closer to the barrier as if the closer proximity would allow him to stare into Phil’s thoughts). Perhaps you already know.

Phil (with a slow shake of his head, his mouth agape): I… I have no idea who changed the record.

Artemis (pushing back, his tentacles flapping in the water): Let us see your mind then. Allow your thoughts to go free. I see you’ve blocked your thoughts from telepathy. Release the barrier. If you are innocent as you as claim than allow me entrance. (His tentacles pointed to Phil’s right). Project your thoughts to the wall. I want to see the past through your eyes. Show us your youth. Where you were born. How you were raised.

Phil (Staring at the ground, gritting his teeth. He turned to the wall, watching as the liquid barrier changed, projecting his thoughts on the watery screen. Saw his birth and the vampires surrounding him and his mother): I was born on an island. Born into slavery.  My mother the same and hundreds of others. Forced to endure, to work in the mines searching for minerals and gold. Forced into bondage, slaves provided for torture. Both Drac and human alike indulged in the desecration of children. Forced to reproduce to maintain their slave numbers. My mother was a beacon of hope during my time there. Unfortunately, she was murdered by the Drac vampires before I was rescued by Robyn.

Artemis: How did he know to rescue you? And after, what did Robyn teach you? What was living like?

Phil: I don’t know how Robyn was able to rescue me. You’d have to ask him. All I know is, I kept my eyes focused on the light, just like my mom had told me. And then he appeared. Took me to the underground where I was raised by him and away from normal society. It wasn’t until I was eight years old that I discovered the human population living above ground. Saw something called a television and on that television were two humans I had seen on numerous occasions on the island. But there on the island they would pat each other on the back, as if they were best friends. But on that television, those same two men were pretending to be enemies. Robyn had said they did so to create confusion and division among the people. A needed commodity for the elite to keep their stranglehold over the population.

(He stepped closer to the wall, watching himself as a child, being trained by Robyn). From what I was told, my education was very different than most other humans. With knowledge and training within science of mind concepts, telepathy, telekinesis, quantum mechanics and alchemy. Including a comprehensive history of our species and our planet, Earth, untold to the humans above ground. I was taught the power of energy, frequency, and vibration. How the universe is a recycling pattern of energy and how the dominant frequency within that vibration slithers into the consciousness of all who live within its vibrational hold. That the balance between the vibrations rages on, and how we, Robyn’s people, were the keepers of that balance. Should the scales tip to far in one favor, the universe can be destroyed faster than the speed of thought. We fight to keep the balance, with the understanding that in order for the universe to evolve peacefully the correct mix of these two polar opposite vibrations are required, with the light capturing the dark in its embrace and not the opposite. Because dark energy has no restraint, it only wishes to consume and that consumption can lead to total annihilation. But perhaps that is what the darkness desires, to destroy the light and remake the universe into darkness.

We lived peacefully and in quiet solitude, except when Robyn called on us for special missions. It was then that he taught me the sacred martial arts of Kobudo Tonfa, fighting with the blades, and the power behind the rose manipulation offering the ability to change chemistry with a thought, move objects with my mind, and suspend gravity. The rose is an all-powerful resource if used and wielded properly.

Continue reading “Phil (of The Rose, by PD Alleva)”

Darroll Martock (of The Psychopath Club, by Sandra Bond)

Dear readers, tonight we have with us a budding serial killer, a member of a self-styled psychopath club. He’s here to tell us about life, high-school, and the ability to move between alternate realities.


Tell us a little about where you grew up. What was it like there?

Er, no. It was as boring as all hell to live through and it would be as boring as all hell to make you read what some book I had to read in school called “all that David Copperfield kind of crap”. I was born; I was given a stupid name, with an even stupider spelling that nobody ever gets right; I grew up; I reached my teens; my parents divorced and my mom moved to the Midwest. There are probably some good parts of the Midwest. I live in a town called Muldoon. It is not one of those. It’s tiny and it’s cold and it’s boring. I want out so badly.

What do you do now?

I go to high school with an assortment of jocks, fools, inbred assholes and garden-variety losers. You read  books, right? Then you probably went to school with similar types.

But I hope you aren’t like me in other ways. No easy way to say this, so out with it: for years I’ve wanted to kill people. Made plots and plans. They might have worked, too. Only I’m too chicken to follow any of them through.

Or I was.

What can you tell us about your latest adventure?

Okay, here it gets weird. I ran my car off the road and suffered a brain injury. I deserved to have killed myself, but they saved me. Only now… I have this weird thing that happens, where I slip between alternate universes. (Except, guess what, Muldoon still sucks in every single one of them that I’ve seen.) I can’t control when it happens or where I go. I’ve found myself in universes where I died in that accident. People see me and think they’re seeing a ghost. It’s fun to play along with that.

Continue reading “Darroll Martock (of The Psychopath Club, by Sandra Bond)”

Pamela Williams (of May It Please the Court, by Daniel Maldonado)

Dear readers, tonight with us is a private investigator. She’s here to tell us about being drawn into a court case starting with the severe injury of a mother at her daughter’s sweet sixteen party — followed by her even more suspicious death.


Tell us a little about where you grew up. What was it like there?

I’m a military brat.  My father served in the US Army Special forces.  So I’ve lived in various places in the US, Europe, Latin America and Asia.

Did you have any favourite toys as a child? Any cherished memories?

Following in my father’s footsteps, I also served in the military and ultimately became a private investigator when I retired. 

What do you do now?

As a private investigator, I work with law firms and individual clients.  Sometimes, it’s the run of the mill divorce case spying on cheating spouses and catching them in the act.  But when I work for law firms, it can vary depending on the assignment.  I may have to spy on the firm’s clients to ensure they’re on the up and up.  Or I may have to investigate and interview witnesses to a murder scene.  It all depends.  That’s why I love my job.  It varies day by day. 

What can you tell us about your latest adventure?

In my latest adventure, I work with the Mendoza law firm to find out why a hotel guest unexpectedly injured herself by falling down the stairs.  Complicating things is she ultimately died under suspicious circumstances.  Inevitably, I have to investigate in various states including, Las Vegas, NYC, and Phoenix, Arizona.

What did you first think when you when to saw the scene of the accident?

The luxury hotel premises were lush and beautiful.  I wished I was staying there myself rather than working.  But what I found there, wow, it changed the whole investigation.  I’m skilled but sometimes luck plays a big part of it.

Continue reading “Pamela Williams (of May It Please the Court, by Daniel Maldonado)”

Emily Kostova (of Emily’s Lair, by Cary Grossman)

Dear readers, tonight with us is the owner of a local bookstore. Her knowledge of the Whitechapel murders and of Jack the Ripper bring her to the attention of the police. She is here to tell us about how investigating a current murder brought up a woman accused of witchcraft in the seventeenth century.


Tell us a little about yourself.

I’m Emily, the proud owner of Emily’s Lair, a private, non-corporate bookshop in New Vernon, Connecticut, with a wonderful variety of books. There’s an entire wall dedicated to classic literature, for example, sections on art, exploration, science, history, ancient civilizations, even true crime. You can get the latest releases, of course, but most of the shop is made up of books that I find interesting and think other people will too. I’m especially proud of the special section in back that’s filled with books on the European witch hunts. It also features more than one biography on the woman responsible for singlehandedly ending the witch hunts, Liesbeth Jansson.

Liesbeth Jansson? Who was she?

She was a woman from Breda, a city in the Netherlands. She got married to a professor from Leiden, a city that became a beacon of the Enlightenment. He died when the Plague swept through Leiden, and because Liesbeth was smart and strong-willed and refused to conform to what citizens at the time considered to be a “proper Christian woman,” she became a target. At that time, women who were different, or, especially, who weren’t submissive to men, were often accused of witchcraft.

Was Liesbeth Jansson accused of witchcraft?

Oh yes. But she fought back. You see, none of the women accused of witchcraft—the accused were almost always women—were actually witches. Many were elderly spinsters, midwives, or rich widows like Liesbeth. If you had money, you were a prime target because a witch’s money was always seized by the state, and witch hunters loved money. But with Liesbeth they had stumbled on someone they never expected to encounter—a woman with real power. She escaped, hunted down each of her accusers, and killed them in a very public and brutal manner. Once people realized there was a chance that they might accuse a woman who could fight back, the witch hunts ended.

What can you tell us about your latest adventure?

I met Will, a homicide detective. I fell for him right away despite that he was questioning me. You see, I was a person of interest in a murder that Will was investigating because I had once dated the man who was killed. Will came in the shop to ask me some questions; that’s how we met.

Continue reading “Emily Kostova (of Emily’s Lair, by Cary Grossman)”

Dayna Chrissie (of the Fantasy & Forensics series, by Michael Angel)

Dear readers, tonight we host LAPD’s best detective, or at least she was until transported to the magical world of Andeluvia. She is here to tell us of applying modern forensics to crime scenes involving centaurs, dragons, and other creatures.


Tell us a little about where you grew up. What was it like there?

I grew up in Pike County, Illinois. Pike County is known for deer hunting, farming, and apple cider, in that order. The kind of place where people say ‘gosh’, ‘darn’ and ‘shucks’. Very wholesome. I couldn’t wait to up stakes for UChicago as soon as I was accepted there as an undergrad.

You didn’t like where you grew up? Surely you have some cherished memories of the place?

It’s not that I didn’t like it, I just didn’t fit in. I took a lot after Wednesday Addams. Moody, dressed in more black than my Mom would’ve liked. Put it this way, I was the only kid who looked forward to dissecting frogs in biology class.

As far as memories…one winter when I was seven years old, I found a trail of blood spatters leading from the woods towards my family’s garage. I found my father inside, crying over our open chest freezer. In it was a doe he’d shot. He was a hunter, taking game that was in season, but what shook him to the core was that this doe had spoken to him right before she died.

I don’t know if I’d call that a ‘cherished’ memory…but it was my first encounter with the magical land of Andeluvia.

It wouldn’t be my last.

What do you do now?

Officially?  I’ve been working as a Crime Scene Investigator for the Los Angeles Police Department for the past few years. I’m the one who the cops call in after they find the body, and I also perform the follow-up in the lab.

Un-officially, I’m part of the Andeluvian Royal Court. I do my best to solve mysteries in a land of magic using good old fashioned forensic techniques. I also try to help out whenever a magical creature’s in trouble.

You know, that is kind of wild now that I said that out loud…

What can you tell us about your latest adventure?

Anything happening with me is like C.S. Lewis meeting modern CSI!

Right now, I’m busy solving a murder case. The Andeluvians believe the Good King Benedict was killed by the ruler of the Centaur Realm, King Angbor Skullsplitter.

I’ve got about three days, max, to solve the case before the two kingdoms go to war. Hey, no pressure, right?

Continue reading “Dayna Chrissie (of the Fantasy & Forensics series, by Michael Angel)”

Blanco and guests (of The Last Circus on Earth, by B.P. Marshall)

Dear readers, tonight rather than an interview we print a short scene describing the circumstances surrounding an interview. While it may sound a bit meta, let us assure you that the interviewees are Circus people from a post-apocalyptic Europe, whose performances usually involve gunfire, bloodshed and some kind of mayhem.”


“A mountain never meets a mountain, but a man may meet a man.”

The lead trailer had pulled to a dusty halt, and the elephants followed suit along with the rest of the circus caravan.

Perched on the now-stopped tractor, Sparrow looked up from her snack, a half-cooked potato, and rested a hand on her pistol. “Oi, Blanco. We might ‘ave trouble.”

Blanco was dozing on a pile of sacks and blankets atop the wagon behind her, Daisy the dog curled up beside him. Blanco lifted his bone-white dreadlocks off his pillowed jacket. “Bollocks.” He pulled himself forward to look, complaining. “Why can’t it be the opposite of trouble for once?”

“What is the opposite of trouble?” Sparrow mused. “Not-trouble? A surprisin’ situation what produces a feelin’ of joy rather than swearin’ and bullets flyin’ every feckin’ which way? Is there a word for that?”

Blanco hopped down onto the pale, rocky track. “I’ll be right back.”

“If it’s not trouble, ask if they got food!” Sparrow yelled, as Blanco’s lanky form ran up the line, past the trucks, horses, vans and elephants.

At the front of the caravan, Baba Yaga’s mountainous bulk, swathed in a dress composed of geological layers of hessian and long-discarded clothing, loomed over a small local gentleman, who wore a worn brown suit and hat, and clutched a pencil and notebook.

Blanco looked around. It was a good ambush point. Mountains rising to their left, the road falling away to dry ravines on their right. “What’s occurrin’, Baba?”

Baba Yaga shrugged. “We is ambush by little man.”

Blanco, still worried, glanced at the man, whose smile was strained, possibly due to the semi-auto Baba held like a toy in one meaty fist.

Blanco puzzled. In the middle of Tajikistan or Afghanistan or whatever other –stan they were in, men in suits, holding pencils poised over paper, were generally thin on the ground. Blanco noticed the man’s feet were bare, but his tie was knotted and neat.

“Can we help you, sir?” Blanco asked.

The man seemed relieved. “In fact, it is also a question of how I can help you. I would like to interview you, and provide you with great publicity!”

Blanco shook his head, bemused. “Mate, if I’m not wrong, we’re a long way from anywhere or anyone what might benefit knowin’ about our…um, circus.”

“Famous already you are, sir,” the man assured them. “I am in constant communication with influencers from Eastern Turkistan to the Indian Ocean, and I maintain the journalistic duties of this entire region. Your progress is great news.”

Baba Yaga snorted. “To who? I see only goats and some lizard in this place. Also one snake. I kill and eat. It doesn’t taste like chicken.”

Blanco sighed. “We didn’t say it tasted like chicken, we hoped it tasted like chicken.”

“It tasted like snake,” she sighed, still aggrieved.

Continue reading “Blanco and guests (of The Last Circus on Earth, by B.P. Marshall)”

John Conquer (of Conquer, by Edward M. Erdelac)

Dear readers, tonight with us is a P.I. from 1976 Harlem — the cat you call when your hair stands up, a supernatural brother like no other.


Tell us a little about where you grew up. What was it like there?

I was born in New Orleans but came to New York with my parents when I was seven. We stayed with my Uncle Silas till he passed. I was raised on West 115th in the Foster Projects in Harlem. They call ‘em the MLK Projects now. It was cool growing up. We had the big playground, monkey bars, ball courts…good old PS 170. When my daddy died and my mama got run down by a taxi, I stayed with Consolation Underwood in East Harlem. She was a bookie for King Solomon Keyes, and an Ifa priestess – an Ìyánífá. She taught me divination with the opon Ifa, had me memorize the 256 odu, while other kids were doin’ times tables. Said ‘cause I was born with a caul I ought to learn, maybe become a babalawo some day. She was Mama to just about every orphan in Harlem at one time or another. Always some kid coming or going in her kitchen. Me and her niece, little Phaedra Williams were the ones who stayed the longest. I used to walk Phaedra over to the pool at Marcus Garvey Park in the summer, stand under the monkey bars to catch her if she slipped. That was before ‘Nam.

Did you have any favourite toys as a child? Any cherished memories?

We couldn’t afford much in the way of toys. Played outside most of the time. One of my favorite memories is of sittin’ up late with my Daddy and my Uncle Silas beatin’ on these handmade mahogany Rada drums he had. My uncle taught me to beat the rhythm on the Boula when I was six. My mama would dance till the sweat made her arms shine in the dark.

What do you do now?

I’m a private investigator now, got an office on 33 St. Marks Place. I run down stray husbands and wives mostly, but sometimes folks call me when the hair on the back of their neck stands up, you dig? I got a reputation around town after I took down a rakshasi one night at the Empire Roller Disco in Brooklyn. Brought it in a lot of weird business. Weirder by the day, sometimes I think. Lucky I inherited a library from my godfather, Fish Marmelstein. He used to own a supply company, Brother Hoodoo. My daddy was his top salesman. Anyway, it’s got most everything I need. I got books on Vodoun, Hoodoo, Kabbalah, Hermeticism…you name it. And if I don’t have it, I know where to find it.

What can you tell us about your latest adventure?

Well, I wouldn’t call it an adventure. Adventures are supposed to be enjoyable, right? Where do I start? It’s been an eventful year. I took down a clique of vampires in the Harlem Hospital morgue, helped out my Uncle Silas’…..I don’t know what you call Verbena Mechant, a partner? Husband? Wife? Hell, you call her whatever she wants to be called. I learned that the hard way. Anyway, Auntie Verbena had a boo-hag causin’ problems with her girls in Crown Heights. Let’s see….there was that time Lou Lazzeroni found Genie Jones shrunk and floating in a lava lamp and called me in….there was that thing eatin’ graffiti taggers in the subway. Then there was that other thing running rampant at the Vatican…sorry, that’s what Pope used to call the apartment building where he housed his girls….ugh…sorry, Pope’s the pimp whose ghost haunts my car….eh, that’s a long story. I don’t wanna get into that mess. Let’s see….my last ‘adventure’….finding the dude who shot Preacher dead with an arrow in front of Hekima Books. Preacher, that was Benny Galarza, one of my oldest friends. We started the 167th Street Black Enchanters back in ’69 when we got outta Vietnam see….him and me and Black Adam. It had to do with a butchered gorilla carcass the cops found laying in an intersection in the Bronx. I just got out of the hospital from all that. It was a bad scene. Nearly got my black ass pitched off a roof.

Continue reading “John Conquer (of Conquer, by Edward M. Erdelac)”

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