Bad Soul Book Tour & Giveaway

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Bad Soul Uncanny Ink Series Book 1 by David Bussell & M.V. Stott Genre: Urban Fantasy

Promises, rules, bones; Erin Banks will break them all. Unscrupulous and lethal, Erin has everything she needs to be an assassin in a world full of mobsters, monsters, and magic. She wasn’t born with powers, but thanks to her Uncanny Ink—arcane tattoos that transform her body into a magic-fuelled killing machine—she’s more than a match for anyone dumb enough to stand between her and getting paid. Fresh out of prison, Erin wastes no time getting back to what she does best: running down wanted men and claiming their bounties. But when a powerful demon lurking in a black cathedral hires her to round up an errant soul, the creature offers a reward far more valuable than money… He offers Erin the key to unlocking her tragic past. The key to the mystery surrounding her long-lost brother. Magic, scares, and acid-tongued snark collide in this thrilling urban fantasy series set in the Uncanny Kingdom. Buried secrets and whiplash twists will keep you riding the edge of your seat. Read Bad Soul now for a pulse-pounding tale you won’t be able to put down. Praise for Bad Soul: “Bussell and Stott deliver a dark and gripping read in Bad Soul, marking Uncanny Ink as a must-read series for urban fantasy fans.” ~ Readers’ Favorite “The writing is very colorful with lots of British slang and strange and seedy characters. The plot is fast and furious with unexpected developments and exciting scenes. A nice piece of gritty urban fantasy.” ~ Kasey’s Book Nook “Hits the ground running and doesn’t stop.” ~ Sean Cunningham, Author of the Hawthorn House series “Bussell and Stott deliver a dark and gripping read in Bad Soul, marking Uncanny Ink as a must read series for Urban Fantasy fans.” ~ Inspired Chaos “Smart, funny, irreverent with tons of action… [Bad Soul] has it all in spades.” ~ K. Bird Lincoln **On sale for only .99 cents April 1st – 13th!!**Goodreads * Amazon

Bad Blood: An Uncanny Kingdom Urban Fantasy (The Uncanny Ink Series Book 2) Goodreads * AmazonBad Justice: An Uncanny Kingdom Urban Fantasy (The Uncanny Ink Series Book 3)Goodreads * AmazonBad Intention: An Uncanny Kingdom Urban Fantasy (Uncanny Ink Book 4) Goodreads * AmazonBad Thoughts: An Uncanny Kingdom Urban Fantasy (The Uncanny Ink Series Book 5)Goodreads * AmazonBad Memories: An Uncanny Kingdom Urban Fantasy (The Uncanny Ink Series Book 6) Goodreads * AmazonSeries Trailer https://youtu.be/NzBhjtQ9VPI

About David David Bussell is a winner of the P.G. Wodehouse New Comic Writer Award. David is an avid fencer, and a committed comic book fan. Rumours that David was conceived on an Indian burial ground remain unfounded Website * Facebook * Twitter * Instagram * Bookbub * Amazon * Goodreads

About Matthew Matthew Stott writes strange stories. Influenced by the likes of seminal TV show ‘Doctor Who’, and writers Neil Gaiman and Stephen King, he crafts stories full of creep, wonder, and adventure. Matthew is not a murderer. Website * Facebook * Twitter * Instagram * Bookbub * Amazon * Goodreads

As it turned out, the giant of a man—whose name was Gerald—didn’t want to stab me.
Which was a bit of a relief. I’d yet to have my tattoos reapplied, and I didn’t fancy my
chances against a bloke his size without them. By the looks of him, he could’ve gripped me
in a bear hug and squeezed my insides outside like the contents of a tube of toothpaste.
‘The Long Man is waiting for you,’ said Gerald.
The Long Man? That rang a bell. We hadn’t crossed paths before, but I’d heard all
sorts of whispers about things like him in the darkened corners of pubs at three in the
morning. About demons.
‘Okay. Where’s he at? Maybe we could do lunch.’
‘He is inside of me,’ he replied.
‘Ah. Oh. Christ.’
Demons tend to occupy little realms of their own, separate from the everyday world
but connected to it via hidden portals. Well, hidden unless you know where to look. It might
be a crack in reality at the bottom of an ancient well, or a hollow in a tree that leads to
another place. Or the door might be a living thing, in this case a really tall, wide man named
Gerald.

‘You’re sure he wouldn’t just like to do this over the phone?’ I asked as I followed
him across the pebble beach and into a small hut.
‘Face-to-face,’ said Gerald as he began to undress, carefully folding each item of
clothing and placing it aside as he did so.
Then came the horrible bit.
Well, the sight of Gerald stark bollock naked wasn’t exactly a delight, but what he
did next was grimmer still.
He took the knife he was holding, turned it upon himself, and jabbed it into his
throat. He didn’t flinch, didn’t scream, he barely even blinked. He dragged the knife down his
neck, down his chest and stomach, until he reached his groin. The whole time he cut away
at himself, not a drop of blood was spilt. Finally, when he was done, he kneeled down and
used his fingers to dig into the long gash he’d fashioned, then he began to peel himself open
until there was a gap large enough for me to crawl through.
‘You know, you’d go down a storm on Britain’s Got Talent,’ I said.
He didn’t laugh, which was fair enough. Crap joke.
‘The Long Man is waiting,’ he said.
‘Right. Just gonna crawl inside you now, Gerald. Nothing weird about that.’
I got down on my hands and knees and began to creep into the opening. I wasn’t
sure what I was expecting, exactly. Would I be fighting my way through organs? Apparently
not. Instead, it was like I was making my way through a gap in a fence, and I found myself
crawling across a carpet of brown, fallen leaves and twigs. I turned to see a gap in reality. A
hole through which I could still see the beach hut I was in just moments ago.
‘Okay. Right. Cool.’
I stood, brushed the clinging sticks and leaves from my jeans, and took in my
surroundings. They were, in a word, bleak. The colour scheme was shades of grey and
black, the surrounding landscape mostly barren rock. A light breeze toyed with loose stones
and twigs, stirring up the parched earth. It wasn’t the kind of place tourists go mad for, put it
that way.
There was a single building a little way in the distance, an ancient, crumbling
cathedral, made from large blocks of stone blacker than Hitler’s heart. Its spire was broken
in two, most of it laid out on the ground like a fallen tree. A twin pair of stained glass
windows looked down at me depicting jagged flames licking at the bodies of anguished
sinners. A wide-open set of wooden double doors formed the mouth of the building.
‘Time to stick my head into the lion’s gob,’ I said to myself, and walked towards the
entrance.