A Lady in Pieces (The Eidola Project Series Book 4)

A Lady in Pieces – Victorian Horror in the Shadow of Christmas

New York City, Christmas 1885. As the streets glow with holiday celebration, something far older and darker moves through the snow. A member of the Eidola Project—an elite team of nineteenth-century investigators of the supernatural—has been kidnapped by a powerful witch whose ambitions stretch beyond death itself.

While the city rejoices, a demonic blood ritual is set in motion. The remaining members of the Eidola Project race through gaslit streets and shadowed alleys in search of their friend, only to discover they are being hunted by an ancient force that will not be denied. Their pursuit leads them to Bedloe’s Island, where the Statue of Liberty is still under construction and a secret conclave of witches prepares a ceremony that could change the balance of power forever.

A Lady in Pieces is a chilling tale of Victorian horror, blending occult mystery, historical detail, and relentless suspense. This fourth installment in the award-winning Eidola Project series by Robert Herold delivers a dark, atmospheric story of loyalty, sacrifice, and terror beneath the falling snow.

Step into the haunted winter of 1885 and discover whether the Eidola Project can stop a ritual born in blood.

Excerpt from the book

Christmas Eve, 1885

The cold struck Nigel like a slap on his face as he exited the crowded, noisy, smoke-filled Snug Coffeehouse, above which he rented a room. He shivered beneath his topcoat and wrapped the red scarf Annabelle gave him for Christmas around his neck instead of letting the ends dangle without purpose. He pulled his black derby further down over his dark hair, then picked his way through the compacted snow and ice to the lamppost by the curb.

The snapping and grinding of ice beneath his feet sounded like the breaking of brittle bones—crunch, crunch, crunch.

Someone from the city of Cambridge, or perhaps the proprietors of the Snug hung a holly Christmas wreath from the black cast-iron lamppost. The loose pieces of festive ribbon hanging from the wreath’s bow did a spastic dance in the frigid breeze.

Nigel was headed for Professor William James’s Christmas party. The Harvard professor of psychology invited all the members of his Eidola Project—Nigel, Annabelle, Sarah, and Edgar—to join his family for the evening’s festivities. The professor formed the group two years ago to scientifically investigate the possibility of life after death—in other words, ghosts, haunted houses, purported mediums, and the like. Nigel joined the group six months ago.

A lot happened since then, with the group encountering all sorts of supernatural phenomena—many of them deadly. After numerous brushes with death, the group became close. So close, in fact, Annabelle now shared Nigel’s bed at the Snug. Sarah, the petite redhead medium, knew about the liaison (not only did she live in the same rooming house as Annabelle, but nothing could be kept from Sarah for long), but the professor would disapprove were he to find out. Given this, Annabelle left for the party a half hour earlier, before nightfall.

Nigel raised a gloved hand to hail a cab, and a shiny black carriage stopped before him. A wide runner was strapped to the bottom of its wheels on either side to facilitate moving in the snow. Being from the South, he’d never seen this done before and marveled at it.

He noticed the enclosed sitting compartment, and Nigel mumbled, “Thank God.” He had figured he would be riding in an open sleigh or carriage. Nigel looked up at the cabbie, who braved the elements from where he sat on top. Nigel resolved to tip him well. “Merry Christmas!” he said with his Virginian accent. “Headed to 95 Irving Street.”

The cabbie nodded and repeated the address in a gruff voice, probably made harsh by the weather, thought Nigel. Then the cabbie added, “Merry Christmas to you.”

Nigel didn’t see the woman cloaked in black fur already in the cab until he clambered aboard. “I beg your pardon.” Her strong perfume, however, smelled familiar: a rich, leathery musk mixed with cloves and flowers. It caused his head to spin. He made to go.

“No, no,” said the woman, whose voice Nigel recognized as Monique’s. “Sit.”