Life was a whole lot easier when the dead stayed dead.



I thought I was human. Apparently, I was wrong.



I didn't even know there were non-humans. Others, they're called. Fairies, vampires, even the bogeyman—they're all real. At least, that's what the werewolf told me when I saved her from the cops.



Did I mention that I saved a werewolf? And those weren't just cops trying to kill her. They're a deadly cult with the sole purpose of capturing and torturing Others . . . especially me. Because it turns out I'm not just any Other. I can talk to the dead—and this cult has questions only I can answer. Answers they want to use to wipe out every non-human on the planet.



My name is Gideon Black, and I'm not human. I am the DeathSpeaker.



And I am so screwed.