Shadow Man
Authors: James D. Doss
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Shadow Man
“Doss likes to toss a little Native American spiritualism and a lot of local color into his mysteries. Fans of the series will be well pleased.”
—Booklist
“Fans of Daisy Perika, the 80-something shaman who brings much of the charm and supernatural thrill to James D. Doss’s mystery series, should like
Shadow Man
…nice reading.”
—Rocky Mountain News
The Witch’s Tongue
“With all the skill and timing of a master magician, Doss unfolds a meticulous plot laced with a delicious sense of humor and set against a vivid southern Colorado.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Doss’s ear for Western voices is remarkable, his tone whimsical…. If you don’t have time for the seven-hour drive from Denver to Pagosa, try
Witch’s Tongue
for a taste of southern Colorado.”
—Rocky Mountain News
“A classy bit of storytelling that combines myth, dreams, and plot complications so wily they’ll rattle your synapses and tweak your sense of humor.”
—Kirkus Reviews
Dead Soul
“Hillerman gets the most press, but Doss mixes an equally potent brew of crime and Native American spirituality.”
—Booklist
“Lyrical and he gets the sardonic, macho patter between men down cold. The finale is heartfelt and unexpected, and a final confrontation stuns with its violent and confessional precision.”
—Providence Journal Bulletin
The Night Visitor
“The author is indeed a treasure…. A hybrid of Tony Hillerman and Carl Hiaasen, but with an overall sensibility that is uniquely Doss.”
—Denver Post
“The dialogue crackles, and the Southern Colorado atmosphere astonishes, especially at night.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Fans won’t be disappointed…. Doss pulls together an archeological dig, abandoned children, and a good, old-fashioned murder to pull off his latest success.”
—Chicago Tribune
The Shaman’s Game
“Suspenseful and satisfying…. Doss has reproduced the land of the Southern Colorado Utes with vivid affection.”
—Dallas Morning News
“Doss could be accused of poaching in Tony Hillerman territory…but Doss mixes mysticism and murder with his own unmistakable touch.”
—Orlando Sentinel
“Deft storytelling…compelling…ingenious…intense…a richness of prose and plot that lifts it out of the expected ranks of mystery fiction.”
—Arizona Daily Star
Grandmother Spider
“Propelled by fast-paced action and intriguing characters…like something out of Stephen King…with snippets from Dave Barry.”
—Chicago Tribune
“Humor crackles through pages packed with surprises.”
—Albuquerque Journal
The Shaman’s Bones
“Fans of Tony Hillerman’s Navajo mysteries will find a new home here.”
—Denver Post
“A worthy addition to a richly rewarding series…Doss again creates a fascinating mix of gritty police work, the spiritual traditions of Southwestern Indians and irresistible characters.”
—Publishers Weekly
The Shaman Laughs
“This is Hillerman country…but Doss is gaining…I hope these shaman activities go on for a long time.”
—Boston Globe
The Shaman Sings
“Magical…Tantalizing…Doss grounds otherworldly elements in a realistic murder plot.”
—New York Times Book Review
“Gripping…Fast-paced…Doss successfully blends the cutting edge of modern physics with centuries-old mysticism.”
—Rocky Mountain News
White Shell Woman
“Although less well-known than other Native American-based mystery series, the Charlie Moon novels are quickly rising to the top of the pack. Doss has a fine comic touch—playing off Moon’s laconic wit against Daisy’s flamboyant personality—and he just may be the best of the bunch at seamlessly integrating anthropological and spiritual material into his stories.”
—Booklist
For
Thomas A. Lopez
White Rock, New Mexico,
and
Bill McCabe
Alma, New Mexico
I wish to offer my thanks to
Bret Doss
and
Dr. Joseph D. Matthews
Los Alamos, New Mexico
Though knowing this is merely a dream—an afternoon nap’s delusion—you marvel at the intricately crafted illusion. Behold the panoramic canvas of earth and sky, with each line so finely drawn, every feature so infinitely detailed. Is the immensely gifted artist some hidden portion of yourself, or is the maestro someone else—someone altogether Other? Turning away from this cosmic question, you take another direction—along an alluring footpath that meanders between towering canyon walls. Feeling the soft crunch of sand and pebbles under your bare feet, you stroll alongside a shallow stream, in the cool shade of trembling willows—until a spray of sunlight warms your face. Now you proceed more carefully, avoiding pointy clusters of yucca spears—only to encounter a surly congregation of curiously sculpted, lichen-encrusted boulders. Are these artful stones pretending to be petrified souls—or might it be the other way around? As you ponder this conundrum, delectable scents of sage and wild roses waft past your nose. You reach out to pick a pink blossom, are startled by the rattling croak of a raven on yonder ponderosa. At your glance, Lady Darkwing takes to flight, soars over the mesa. She goes to console a spirit who sighs and moans over a few moldering bones.
Though the atmosphere is charged with an eerie anticipation of catastrophe, never has experience been so physically authentic, so concretely real. The single exception is Time, who slips past, stealing precious minutes and heartbeats and memories—the old thief moves far more swiftly here. Look to the heavens—see the flower-clouds wilt, only to blossom again, billow like ghostly schooner’s sails, then fade into diaphanous bridal veils.
Down here, black shadows slip across the sands like spilled ink—soon they will wet your feet! You move on—a little faster now.
Nearing the mouth of the chasm, you hear someone approaching from behind. It is the old hag who conceals dreadful secrets in the wraps of her dusky garments. Attempting to flee the rustling skirts of night, you take long, heavy-footed strides. In a growing panic, you sense another presence, but in your twilight flight you pass within a few paces—only dimly aware they are there.
The still sentries can hardly be distinguished from the drought-stunted trees.
Indeed, they seem to be rooted here.
The warrior’s spine is lodgepole pine, his lean limbs are corded like the bloodberry vine. But a spindly perception would be a misconception—this one does not bend in the wind.
Auntie is a hard, knotty old stump, twisted and bent from crown to trunk. She is known by her flinty, caustic bark—but it is her bite that leaves the toothy mark.
She has seen you! Hurry, hurry, hurry—
Wake up.
If you can.
