“Romantic and delectable, Evocation is an entrancing start to a new series by S. T. Gibson. If anyone can make you root for three intricately crafted characters, it is Gibson. David, Rhys and Moria have ensnared me, I will be making a deal with the devil, just to get book two in my hands.”
– Ben Alderson, author of Lord of Eternal Night

“Gibson has crafted a meditation on abuse, grief, and the shadows of past lives which delves into the liminal space between what we desire and what we deserve, and interrogates the trust between those who have hurt each other more deeply than can ever be erased—all as it offers characters who will be indelibly inked on your memory, bound together by secrets and bargains stronger than death itself.”
– Laura R. Samotin, author of The Sins On Their Bones

“A story as intimate as it is decadent, A delightful romp through occult society, grounded by all-too-human characters, the power of love is a real and vibrant force in this story and its effects are profound. Sincerity is scary and Gibson aims to thrill.”
– Elizabeth Kilcoyne, Morris Award finalist for Wake the Bones

David pulled up to the haunted house ten minutes before he was expected, because arriving late was for amateurs and getting there too early was for interns. He used three of those minutes to sit in the Audi and review case notes for an upcoming deposition on his phone. Technically, it wasn’t six yet, which meant he was technically still on the clock for his day job. Not that he ever really clocked out of working as a prosecutor for the city of Boston. He just spent his nights expanding his vocational horizons.

He had been juggling full-time work and a thriving private occult practice ever since graduating law school, not to mention weekly secret Society meetings, and he would rather donate his entire fortune to charity than walk away from any of it. David was like a diamond, forged under pressure and bound entirely in hard, cutting edges.

At two till, David straightened his collar in the rearview mirror, ran a hand through his wavy bronze hair, and locked up his car. Tonight’s client was an eccentric heiress with a penchant for the occult and a recently dead husband, which was right up David’s alley. He could be in and out before eight, with time for a workout and an hour or so answering work emails before bed. It was his ideal type of day: packed to the brim with meaningful, lucrative work and centered entirely around himself. The only thing that could possibly make it better was a round of athletic sex…