A Deafening Silence In Heaven Read online

  Praise for the Remy Chandler Novels

  Walking in the Midst of Fire

  “Sniegoski continues to ramp up the stakes in the entertaining fifth hard-boiled adventure . . . complete and entertaining.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  In the House of the Wicked

  “Remy and his human friends are engagingly believable characters in a series noted for flashes of humor despite its overall serious tone. Series fans and followers of Jim Butcher’s Dresden Files will enjoy this urban fantasy.”

  —Library Journal

  “A fun book . . . a thought-provoking book.”

  —Innsmouth Free Press

  “The conflict and situations within this novel are refreshingly personal. . . . The characters are varied and very well-developed, bringing life and humanity into this novel largely centered around the angelic pantheon. . . . A very powerful, very personal tale that is equal parts gut-wrenching, heartwarming, and awe-inspiring.”

  —The Ranting Dragon

  A Hundred Words for Hate

  “Sniegoski nicely juggles a large cast and throws in some touching moments (Remy’s conversations with his late wife, Madeline, are especially sweet) and humor (as always, provided by Remy’s dog, Marlowe) to balance the epic violence. There’s more than enough nonintrusive exposition to let new readers jump into the story, while longtime fans will appreciate the development of recurring characters.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “A fun, fast ride that takes advantage of a strong setting and interesting characters. And when a book combines that with serious angel smackdowns, really, what else do you need?”

  —The Green Man Review

  Where Angels Fear to Tread

  “This strong, fast-paced noir fantasy is a treat. Remy is a compelling character, as he constantly struggles to hold on to the shred of humanity he forged for himself by suppressing the Seraphim. . . . This is one of the better noir fantasy–meets–gumshoe detective series on the market today.”

  —Monsters and Critics

  Dancing on the Head of a Pin

  “[Sniegoski] nicely blends action, mystery, and fantasy into a well-paced story . . . a very emotional read, with the hero’s grief overshadowing his every move.”

  —Darque Reviews

  “Equal measures heartbreaking and honorable; Sniegoski has created a warm, genuine character struggling with his identity and destiny. . . . The fast pace, gratifying character development, and a sufficiently complex plot to hold your interest from start to finish make this one a winner.”

  —Monsters and Critics

  “A fun read. The pace of the book is excellent, and it never has a dull moment. . . . The tale is definitely something that you would read out of a 1930s crime noir novel, and it is engaging, tightly written, and moves along at a rapid pace. You won’t find a dull moment.”

  —Sacramento Book Review

  A Kiss Before the Apocalypse

  “The most inventive novel you’ll buy this year . . . a hard-boiled noir fantasy by turns funny, unsettling, and heartbreaking. This is the story Sniegoski was born to write, and a character I can’t wait to see again.”

  —Christopher Golden, bestselling author of Waking Nightmares

  “Tightly focused and deftly handled, [A Kiss Before the Apocalypse] covers familiar ground in entertaining new ways. . . . Fans of urban fantasy and classic detective stories will enjoy this smart and playful story.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “This reviewer prays there will be more novels starring Remy. . . . [T]he audience will believe he is on earth for a reason as he does great things for humanity. This heart-wrenching, beautiful urban fantasy will grip readers with its potent emotional fervor.”

  —Midwest Book Review

  “It’s kind of refreshing to see the holy side represented. . . . Fans of urban fantasy with a new twist are likely to enjoy Sniegoski’s latest venture into that realm between humanity and angels.”

  —SFRevu

  “Blurring the lines between good and evil, A Kiss Before the Apocalypse will keep readers riveted until the very end. This is an emotional journey that’s sometimes filled with sadness, but once it begins you won’t want to walk away. Mr. Sniegoski defines the hero in a way that makes him very real and thoroughly human. . . . Fast-moving, well-written, and wonderfully enchanting, this is one that fantasy readers won’t want to miss.”

  —Darque Reviews

  “A fascinating look at religion and humanity from a different point of view. Mr. Sniegoski has written a compelling story of what emotion can do to even the most divine creatures. A Kiss Before the Apocalypse is not a book that one can pick up and put down easily. Once you start, you will not want to put it down until you are finished.”

  —Fresh Fiction

  “An exciting, page-turning mystery with the bonus of the popular paranormal aspects as well. This author has created a compelling central character with both human and angelic features, which allows the reader to become completely immersed in the story and the tension as it builds. The suspense alone leaves the reader anxious to come back for more. The story builds to a thrilling, edge-of-your-seat, nail-biting conclusion and will leave you wanting to read more of this character and certainly more of this author.”

  —Affaire de Coeur

  ALSO BY THOMAS E. SNIEGOSKI

  A Kiss Before the Apocalypse

  Dancing on the Head of a Pin

  Where Angels Fear to Tread

  A Hundred Words for Hate

  In the House of the Wicked

  Walking in the Midst of Fire

  ROC

  Published by New American Library,

  an imprint of Penguin Random House LLC

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014

  This book is an original publication of New American Library.

  Copyright © Thomas E. Sniegoski, 2015

  Penguin Random House supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin Random House to continue to publish books for every reader.

  Roc and the Roc colophon are registered trademarks of Penguin Random House LLC.

  For more information about Penguin Random House, visit penguin.com.

  LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA:

  Sniegoski, Tom.

  A deafening silence in heaven: a Remy Chandler novel/Thomas E. Sniegoski.

  pages cm.

  “A Roc Book.”

  ISBN 978-0-698-15781-1

  1. Chandler, Remy (Fictitious character). 2. Private investigators—Fiction. 3. Angels—Fiction. I. Title.

  PS3619.N537D43 2015

  813’.6—dc23 2015026446

  PUBLISHER’S NOTE

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Version_1

  Contents

  Praise

  Also by Thomas E. Sniegoski

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Epigraph

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPT
ER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  CHAPTER FORTY

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  EPILOGUE

  Excerpt from The Demonists

  For my father.

  If I end up being only half the amazing individual that you were, that will still be something pretty darn special.

  Love and miss you every day.

  Joseph J. Sniegoski

  November 20, 1919–April 26, 2013

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Intense amounts of love and thanks to my long-suffering wife, and to Kirby for always keeping things interesting.

  Special thanks also to my buddy Christopher Golden, the amazing Jessica Wade, Ginjer Buchanan, Howard Morhaim, Kate Schafer Testerman, Thomas Fitzgerald, Dale Queenan, Larry Johnson, Pam Daley, Frank Cho, Dave Kraus (from his La-Z-Boy in Heaven), Kathy Kraus, Mom Sniegoski, and the Filthies down at Cole’s Comics in Lynn, MA.

  You ain’t seen the last of the Boston Seraphim.

  What we call the beginning is often the end.

  And to make an end is to make a beginning.

  The end is where we start from.

  —T. S. ELIOT

  PROLOGUE

  A shopping mall food court

  Somewhere in the United States

  It was a day that seemed just like any other.

  The sun rose as it was supposed to, and people woke from their nightly slumber to begin their daily routines: preparing for work, getting dressed for school, walking the dog, retrieving the morning paper from the front walk, making breakfast.

  It was all so normal.

  All so mundane.

  If only they were aware of the event of cosmic proportions and significance that was about to occur.

  • • •

  He who had been called the Son of the Morning sat at a table in the food court of the mall, observing the ebb and flow of humanity.

  Leaning back in the metal chair, Lucifer Morningstar saw them at their best and worst: an old woman fumbling with multiple plastic bags unwittingly drops a wad of dollar bills to the floor; a man sidles up alongside her, snatches up the money, and then promptly returns it to her. A teenage girl—a mere child—picks up her phone from the tabletop, her hands shaking horribly as she checks to see if her dealer has called, and bursts into tears when she sees that he hasn’t. An overtired and whining child is brought to obvious joy when handed a book to read. A man who is unhappy with the speed in which he received his burrito takes it out on the young girl at the counter. A Benny Goodman instrumental plays over the food court sound system and an old man grabs hold of his wife’s hand; they look into each other’s eyes and smile, their love still strong.

  “Don’t tell me that you’re still upset with them,” said a voice beside him, and Lucifer turned to see an elderly gentleman, dressed in a beautifully tailored dark suit, standing at the table, orange tray in hand.

  “I was never upset with them,” the Morningstar said, pushing out a chair so the gentleman could sit down. “I was much more upset with you.”

  The old man sat down and began to disperse the items on His tray. He placed a cup of steaming coffee in front of the Morningstar. “You thought that I loved them more,” He said. He took His own steaming cup from the tray, and what appeared to be a container of chicken fingers.

  “I wasn’t the only one,” Lucifer said. He continued to watch the patrons of the mall food court.

  “No, but you were the loudest voice.”

  The old man prepared His coffee: two sugars and three containers of cream.

  “I felt I needed to be loud so you would hear me . . . hear us.” Lucifer sipped his own black coffee, dark eyes roaming the court.

  The old man chuckled, drinking delicately from his cup before setting it down upon the table. “Oh, I heard you, all right.”

  Lucifer fixed Him in a steely gaze.

  “But did you listen?”

  The old man did not answer but reached into the foam container and removed a piece of fried food.

  “Is that a chicken finger?” Lucifer asked Him, shocked by what he was witnessing.

  The old man studied the batter-covered object, which did not resemble any part from a chicken, or a finger, for that matter. “I love chicken fingers,” He said, taking a bite. “Horrible for you, but everything in moderation.”

  Lucifer drank more of his coffee, noticing the euphoric teenage girl from before, walking past them while talking happily on her cell phone, her dealer having finally called. Life was good again. Or not.

  “I listened, but I don’t believe there was anything I could have said at that time to convince you otherwise,” the old man said, picking up a napkin to wipe the grease from His mouth. “You did what you felt you needed to do, as did I.”

  Lucifer turned his cup ever so slowly.

  “Was it worth it?” he asked, feeling a heavy sadness for all that had come to pass.

  “That’s a question I should be asking you,” the old man said, pointing with a chicken finger.

  Lucifer continued to slowly turn his cup, a faint trace of steam billowing from the hot liquid.

  “It is what it is,” he said finally, neither regretful nor content.

  The old man finished His chicken finger and licked the tips of His delicate fingers.

  “Things happened, and as a result . . .” He made a rolling gesture with His hand.

  “Here we are,” Lucifer finished. “When it’s presented that way, it all seems so simple.”

  “It’s all in how you look at things,” the old man replied as He wrapped His hand around His coffee cup. He was watching the elderly couple that Lucifer had been observing earlier. They were talking happily, and for a brief moment even began to dance, which got them both laughing.

  “Why are we here?” Lucifer finally got up the courage to ask. “I’m sure you’re well aware of the whispers of a new war between Heaven and Hell floating in the ether.”

  “Yes, I’m afraid I am.”

  “So?”

  The old man lifted His cup and had some more coffee. “I think it’s time for something more to happen,” He said, speaking over the rim of His cup.

  Lucifer leaned in closer. “War?” he asked.

  The old man was silent, as if deciding on His answer.

  “No,” He said after a moment. “The opposite.”

  “Truce?” Lucifer suggested. “I thought we already had that.”

  “Peace,” the old man corrected.

  Lucifer was shocked. “What are you suggesting?”

  “I want you to come home.”

  And for the first time in countless millennia the Son of the Morning was speechless.

  “It’s time for us to be whole again,” the old man told him.

  “Do you mean to say . . . ,” Lucifer began, and stopped as the old man sitting across from him nodded slowly, a loving smile spreading across His face reminding Lucifer of the very first dawn over th
e world on the eighth day.

  “Unification, my son,” the old man said, and then slid the container of chicken fingers toward him. “Chicken finger?”

  • • •

  The Bone Master screamed far longer than Remy Chandler imagined it could have.

  When the creature finally fell silent, Remy let its body slip from his grasp. But the fire continued to burn, jumping to the assassin’s robes and the flesh beneath; before long, there would be nothing left to show that the assassin had ever lived . . .

  . . . except for the physical and mental damage it had inflicted.

  Marlowe came to Remy, leaping up onto his chest, stretching his neck to eagerly kiss Remy’s face. Remy found it suddenly difficult to remain standing, and dropped to his knees, giving the dog ample opportunity to display his rampant affections.

  As Marlowe licked his face, Remy caught sight of Linda staring at him from where she sat, perfectly motionless upon the floor. He wanted to explain everything to her, but the words would not come.

  The look of fear in her eyes froze them in his throat.

  “I believe,” he began, forcing the words from his mouth, “I owe you an explanation.” He found his speech strangely slurred and wondered what could be the cause, then realized that his entire body was growing increasingly cold. He could not feel his limbs and suddenly toppled over onto the floor.

  Marlowe yelped in panic as he fell, and Linda was at his side, leaning over him, tears in her eyes, her face racked with the beginnings of panic.

  “You’re bleeding,” he heard her say, though the words were strangely muffled.

  He managed to lift his head and saw that he was indeed bleeding. The cold realization washed over him—the assassin’s bullets had found their target, the venom-infused teeth sending a powerful poison coursing through his veins.

  Remy tried to alter his internal chemistry, as he had so many times before, to burn the poison away. . . .

  Nothing happened, and the cold continued to permeate his every fiber. He was finding it harder and harder to remain there—to remain with Linda and Marlowe.

  Marlowe cried pathetically, pacing back and forth in front of them. Linda was holding him now, gripping him tightly in her arms and begging him to stay with her.