Blood Machines is the award-winning first novel in J.K. Gravier’s VBI trilogy. Writer’s Digest called Blood Machines “tight, tense and emotional,” “hard to put down,” and “the kind of read where you just need to strap yourself in and hold on for a tense, plot twisting story that has it all—horror, thriller, conspiracies and murder.”
Allison Drew is a smart and ambitious government agent whose career is stagnating. Then she is surprisingly assigned a high-profile case that could get her attention. But she isn’t prepared for the web of intrigue and corruption that confronts her when she tries to disentangle a wide-spread string of crimes involving too much murder and more than a little blood.
As her investigation hits dead ends and questions proliferate, Allie is forced to face the possibility that the organization to which she has pledged herself may have a secret agenda. To survive, she needs to question everything she believes and revisit some demons of her own.
If you just want a good procedural, thriller or horror story, this novel does that. But if you are also dissatisfied with the way that bureaucracy works, feel undermined by increasingly illogical administration, and are frustrated with your place in North America’s late-capitalist economy, you might identify with the challenges Allie faces as she just tries to do her job.
Don’t hesitate–buy the book on Amazon now!
If you still aren’t sure, check out these reviews:
Blood Machines is a fascinating mix of conspiracy thriller, social realism, and a wild and risky premise that makes the reader stay alert for every new twist. . . . A compelling thriller which, of course, also has an echo of the situation today when the FBI is in the news week after week, with talk of the ‘deep state’ and officials accusing the Bureau of going after the president.
–someone I know
Blood Machines is a truly brilliant thriller set in a fantastical world where vampires have their own FBI bureau called the VBI. The strong and ambitious protagonist, Allison Drew, is a VBI agent and uncovers truths and conspiracies in her new case that make her question her commitments and morals. A great beginning to what I know will be riveting trilogy.
–someone else I know
The real strength of the novel is Allison Drew of the Vampire Bureau of Investigation. Assigned to look into a series of murders, she discovers that institutional politics and profit motive are as much the real villains as the actual perpetrators. Blood Machines moves at a crisp pace with smart, sharp, dialogue propelling you to the unexpected conclusion.
–a third person I know
This riveting thriller is an intelligent, page-turner of a thriller that combines murder, government coverups and betrayal. Oh yeah, the protagonist and suspects are all happen to be vampires. It’s smartly written and will keep you guessing until the final page (and then anxiously awaiting the next installment). . . . Filled with twists and turns, the story had me questioning everything and everyone in it. And – bonus – it also made me think. You see how easy it is for people to sacrifice freedom for security and how bureaucracy protects organizations even at the expense of the organization’s purpose.
–I actually don’t know this person
Read an excerpt:
Hitting an animal with your car pulls you out of your head.
I was driving home along Richfield Road: work had ended, I’d been to the 24-Hour Fitness in Edina, and the rest of the night was mine. My muscles were burning, the stereo was blasting garage music, and I had almost forgotten how much everyone at the office irritated me, especially after today’s meeting.
For the last four months, I had been part of a committee tasked with making hiring recommendations. This was in spite of the fact that our budget had been frozen for the last three years, and there was no chance whatsoever that we were going to get approval from Washington for a new appointment. Okay, I understood that we needed to keep asking for expanded staff—that’s just the way the business works, how we try to signal our importance to a head office inclined to forget that we exist. What I couldn’t understand was how everyone else continued to take this process seriously. Last year I was on the same committee, and we wrote a request for additional personnel, which was rejected just like we knew it would be. We could have just used the request again and moved on to something useful. But no, when the interminable meetings began, I was informed very earnestly that our needs had evolved over the last year, and the focus now should be on technology.
This meant that for three months I had spent hours poring over a series of highly technical articles about on-line biometrics and how it could contribute to crime prevention. Then today, after making my presentation, I was told that we would be, as someone delightfully phrased it, “going another way” with the recommendation.
Of course, ultimately it made no difference: we weren’t going anywhere, but the fact that all the work I had done wouldn’t even make it as far as the official request was galling. These were hours of my life that I wasn’t getting back. It was like the office had a special mission to waste my time.
I was so busy trying not to fantasize about who I would like to murder first that I didn’t see the dog dart in front of my Subaru. I hit the brakes hard, but still heard a sickening muffled thump.
The road was empty, which wasn’t surprising at one-thirty in the morning. I pulled over and grabbed my flashlight from the glove compartment. I turned it on and walked towards the dog. It was a German Shepherd. Judging by his twisted position, his back had been broken. I could see a dark red pool spreading out from under him and winced. I held my breath—I didn’t want to smell it.
As I got closer, I could see the dog was twitching slightly, and his whine was audible.
Domestic animals trust humans to look after them: rather than trying to satisfy their own needs, they turn to some person to do it for them. When they are hurt, however, the wildness returns. As I approached the dog, it began to growl at me. I knelt close to it, looked into its eyes, and saw nothing there but fear and savagery. The dog was dying, but had no concept of this. The reaction was desperate rage.
I couldn’t see a collar or tag—at least I would be spared having to tell some family I had killed their beloved pet.
The easiest way would be a blow to the head, but what did I have for that? Maybe a jack for changing a flat would work, but my car didn’t come equipped with one. With cell phones and AAA cards no one needed jacks any more.
My job required a lot of physical training. I didn’t have many opportunities to use it since I mostly did desk work, but I never felt out of my depth when athleticism was needed. I moved behind the dog. Before it could drag itself around, I grabbed the head from behind and twisted hard, holding it against my chest for a few moments. Once it was still I could see what a fine animal he had been—red and black coat, and at least ninety pounds of bone and muscle. I picked it up and carried it to the shoulder of the road.
Tomorrow I would call Animal Control.
When I got back in my car the music was still playing. After a long day in the office the songs had seemed like a revelation, but now they just sounded alien, jittery. When I turned the stereo off, I noticed that my hands were covered in blood and fur. I switched on the interior light, and my blouse and slacks were also filthy. The frustrating part was that I had been tempted to just drive home in my exercise clothes, but had forced myself to shower and dress. I cleaned my hands on my slacks as best I could—everything would have to go to the cleaners anyway.
Ten minutes of silent darkness later, and I was in my parking garage.
The condo was a tasteful one bedroom, with lots of stainless steel, granite and shades of coordinating beige—just the sort ofplace a talented, ambitious professional woman like me should live. At least that’s what everyone seemed to think. Right now though, it reminded me of a line I’d read somewhere: this was the kind of place you were sent when you’d done something wrong, and you couldn’t leave until you figured out what it was. The trouble was, when I went over my life, I couldn’t find where I’d made a mistake. And most people wouldn’t think a shiny new condo in Calhoun Square was punishment, nor steady work in a government office, with occasional raises.
I had already eaten, but the experience with the dog left me shaky. I washed up and poured myself a tumbler of cold lamb’s blood, topping it with a healthy dollop of vodka, and sipped it while staring at the mostly empty glass shelves of my restaurant-grade refrigerator.
The fridge was too big for my needs, and I could probably cut my energy bills if I found a smaller one. But then, I would also have to consider the cost of buying a new fridge, and what would happen to this one when I did, and so on. Besides, I liked the way its impenetrable metal doors looked in my kitchen.
Work was over and exercise was done. What next,a movie? First, though, I needed to check my messages. I pulled my phone from my gym bag and saw that someone had called while I was dealing with the dog. A voice mail from the Washington office instructed me to report to National Headquarters at once. No other details.
After this, my life wouldn’t be the same. The voice on the phone had neglected to mention that fact, however.
Travel Only By Night 