Today is my stop on the blog tour for deadly prospects by Clio Gray. Thank you to Kelly at LoveBooks and Urbane Books for organising it.

Synopsis: Deadly Prospects is book 1 in the Scottish Mystery series. 1869, Sutherland, Scotland. For years the people of this remote area of the Highlands have lived a hard life. Now a local Gold Rush has attracted the Pan-European Mining Company to the area, and Solveig McCleery is determined to re-open the Brora mines and give the population the riches they deserve. But when work starts on re-opening the mines, the body of a prospector is discovered, and odd inscriptions found on stones near the corpse. Before the meaning of these strange marks can be deciphered another body is discovered. Are these attacks connected to the re-opening of the mines? Will Solveig’s plan succeed in bringing peace and prosperity back to the area? Or has she put in motion something far more sinister?
Excerpt: Lilija Indridsdottir did not stop; she heard the plunking of birds hitting the ground all about her but could not see them. The sun had disappeared, and her world reduced to twilight in a moment, the only light coming from the embers that had embedded themselves into her clothes, into her skin, and from the bright halo about her head as her hair began to singe and then to burn. She could no longer see the path that led down to the village, but was pushed on by her own blind momentum headlong into a rock that broke her foot with its contact; she heard the crack of her bones even as the impact knocked her sideways, sent her off into a skid further on down the hillside, sliding into something warm and wet as cattle-shit, though she could smell nothing except the sulphur of Hekla exploding somewhere up above her, and knew now why the old folk called that mountain the gateway into hell.
Birds were falling indiscriminately all about her, all kinds, not just geese, but sparrows too, buntings, larks, thrushes, many still alive as they hit the ground, though not for long. A swan crashed down two yards to her right, neck bent and contorted like a gorse root in the hearth, tail feathers flaming, ash-blackened wings still beating, beating, as it tried in desperation to clear the ground, its white burned into black, its flight turned into immobility. Lilija reached out a futile hand towards it, but stopped mid-stretch; she could hear a kind of arrhythmic thumping and struggled to understand this new thing, the message of the beating drum, and then the sweat broke out upon her forehead, making grey rivulets through the ash there as she realised what it must be. She struggled to stand but could not, and instead flailed out with her hands, caught her wrist on a boulder and began to drag herself towards it, heaved with all her might to gain its protection, curled herself up tight against its solidity, beneath the slight overhang, an acorn trying to squeeze itself back inside its cup. And then they came, several score of steers and milkers broken free from their paddock, stampeding headlong away from the farm, down the hill towards the river. She could feel them coming, feel their movement in the ground, in the soil and in the bones that were shuddering within her skin, and then they were on her, passing over her in a chaos of tangled legs and panicked hooves, several tumbling as they hit the obstacle of the rock scree, crashing into their neighbours, tripping up the ones that came on behind. A hoof caught Lilija on the shoulder with the strength of a sledgehammer swung onto a fencepost, smashing a clavicle, breaking an elbow, and she whimpered as she tried to pull herself further inward, terrified by the burning of the ash, the thickening dust, the mud scooped up by the fleeing cattle, the snorts and bellows of those still running, the anguished screams and cries of those that had been brought down, and she felt the weight of them all around her as they crashed into the earth, felt her world breaking a little more with every fall.
Buy the book here!