New Orleans keeps its dead buried beneath three centuries of wards, jazz funerals, and Spanish moss — until someone starts cutting the locks. When a detective who senses supernatural murders meets the fallen angel protecting the city alone, their first touch makes him visible to every predator in the French Quarter. Mardi Gras is coming, a necromancer is tearing open dimensional rifts, and the bond pulling them together is rewriting everything they are.
A fever dream of wings and neon — Maynard writes the kind of book you finish at 3 a.m. and then stare at the ceiling.
If Anne Rice wrote a police procedural, it would look something like this. Gorgeous, brutal, tender.
Smut with teeth. Lore with weight. The best urban fantasy I’ve read in a decade.