Steven C. Brown. Used. Good condition, middle pages are loosening.
Dear mortal, join we who have gone beyond death, for every night is Samhain and our dark celebrations begin anew. This night is young and there is much mortal pain left for our pleasure . . . and not all of our victims are as willing as you.
Ghuls have emerged from their graveyard catacombs. Whirling widdershin around bonfires, their yowls and moans lament the blackest form of immortality. Solomari alchemists hawk elixirs, while Ghaddar fleshmongers trade living bodies to dead souls seeking undeath. Human-looking Faitour are feasting on recent burials and talk of the last pilgrimage to the Underworld through the Labyrinth of Iblis. Other ghuls are rounding up the most uncontrollable of their own mindless kin for slaughter.
The revenants are gathering in an antebellum mansion, playing at byzantine imbroglios. All see the shades of long dead confederate soldiers and bloodstains on the walls that no mortal's eyes could. It is All Soul's Midnight and some of the fleshbound ghosts are dancing waltzes and minuets while others feast upon the lifeforce of duped mortal lovers. An abaddon -- grim reaper and agent of death -- moves among them as one of their own, ready to take any one of them kicking and screaming back to the Underworld.