In July 2015 infinity plus and Storybundle offered a special deal for a set of nine literary fantasy books, including Kristine Kathryn Rusch’s Facade. The deal is no longer available but Facade can still be bought separately:
“A joy of clarity and lyricism. She is a new breed of writer: a Renaissance woman.” —Charles de Lint
Now he returns, not to solve his daughter’s murder, but to see if he can live with himself and his past.
Only someone leaves mysterious notes signed Your Daughter, and birds die on his porch. Strangers report a man in a cloak who looks just like Thomas, but the fans who follow him everywhere don’t see anyone.
But Thomas knows something strange lurks in the shadows. Then more people die and Thomas realizes he holds the key to it all. He alone can solve the crisis, if he only dares…
“Rusch’s [Façade] is an exceptionally effective casebook of abnormal psychology…Rich and revelatory. The ending is perfect.” —Locus
“Like early Ray Bradbury, Rusch has the ability to switch on a universal dark.” —the Times (London)
“Kristine Kathryn Rusch is one of the best writers in the field.” —SFRevu
A personal note from bundle curator Keith Brooke
Kris Rusch is both versatile, working in a number of genres, and phenomenally productive. Neither of these things is particularly noteworthy, of course. What makes Kris stand out is that she maintains such a staggeringly high standard, repeatedly lauded by critics and fans alike, regularly hitting the bestseller lists, and gaining her top awards across the genres. Facade is a fine example of her ability to take a genre – in this case dark fantasy suspense – and proceed to dissect it, reassemble it, and make it her own.
EXT. VILLAGE STREET ALONG ROCKY SEASHORE.
OPEN with water breaking along the rocks, surf splashing over the edges of the cliff, spraying passersby on this street in a small seaside town. In the distance, a lighthouse looms. Gray clouds overhead, old gray buildings weathered by the ocean—even the passersby are gray. The entire area evokes a mood of gloomy darkness. Shoot almost FILM NOIR, gritty and shadowy, à la 1930s B movies.
ANTHONY SHORT and his cat, RUMBLES, stroll across the road. Rumbles is half Siamese, half everything else, all mouth and no substance. Short is tall, lanky, and very impressive. His rain cape billows out behind him, making him look as if he is flying.
“CUT! CUT! Dash it, Thomas, the coat is supposed to billow out behind you. You’re supposed to look important, not like the Wicked Witch of the West after she’s met with a bucket of water.”
Thomas shakes the moisture out of his black hair. Skizits, the cat, easily drops her Rumbles role and runs for a drier section of road.
“Sorry,” Thomas says.
The camera crew relaxes. One of the grips reaches beside his chair for a thermos. The assistant director checks the script as if it is at fault for the flub instead of Thomas.
“Sorry? Sorry?” Michael takes a step closer to him. “We only have the morning to do the damn opening scene, and all you can say is sorry?”
Fifteen people wait for him. The cameras and equipment hide the road. Thomas turns away from them, and gazes at the lighthouse, half lost in the morning mist. “I’m not much for grimy seascapes,” he says.
(end of extract)