It starts off so simply: Jack, still feeling down after the tragic events of Infernal , is hanging in Julio's when a regular named Timmy asks him for help. His teenage niece has been missing since this morning; the police say it's too early to worry, but Timmy knows something bad has happened. Jack says he'll put the word out on the street. This innocent request triggers a chain of seemingly coincidental events that lead Jack into the darkest days of his life. As has become evident in the series, Jack has been singled out, unwillingly, as the champion of one of the two supernatural forces contending for control of all human life on Earth. Neither of these forces are good or evil, just dangerous and amoral. They value and notice individual humans about as much as we do mosquitos. Jack is desperate . . . and the last thing you want to do is make Jack desperate. That's when things begin to blow up and people begin to die. A hang-onto-your-hat-and-heart thriller of triumph and tragedy that barrels along at F. Paul Wilson's trademark breakneck pace. Repairman Jack, the fix-it guy who is the point man in a supernatural battle for world domination, reluctantly agrees to find a friend's missing niece. Naturally, he is immediately plunged into a chain of events that quickly turns darker and nastier. Although avid fans of the Repairman Jack series (this is the eighth entry) are likely to enjoy any new appearance of their hero, others will be painfully aware that Wilson has taken us down this evil road before--even Jack appears almost bored. It may be time to give the series a rest, despite its charms for those who like the blending of the crime and horror genres. David Pitt Copyright © American Library Association. All rights reserved "The plot moves briskly but never recklessly, the dialogue is salty and witty, and the characters have enough dimension to elevate them above the genre pack. Jack, introduced more than 20 years ago, is aging gracefully." - Publishers Weekly on Infernal "If you're a lover of horror fiction, vampires, and early Stephen King novels, take note: Midnight Mass is the best thing to come along in years."-- Rocky Mountain News "Repairman Jack, the fix-it man who deals in the marginally supernatural, returns in another out-of-this-world adventure. . . .Naturally, things get very weird very fast, and in no time Jack must summon all of his skills to escape certain death. A worthy addition to the Repairman Jack series." -- Booklist on Infernal "Repairman Jack is one of the most original and intriguing characters to arise out of contemporary fiction in ages."--Dean Koontz "F. Paul Wilson is a great storyteller and a thoughtful one."--David Morrell "The name is Jack, Repairman Jack, and it's a name worth looking up next time you want a great supernatural thriller." -- Fangoria "If you don't know Jack, you are missing one of the stranger, but better ongoing series in which every entry enthralls the audience, proving that Mr. Wilson is quite a storyteller."-- The Midwest Book Review on Hosts F. PAUL WILSON, the New York Times bestselling author of nine previous Repairman Jack novels, lives in Wall, New Jersey. Chapter One "Hey, Jack, can I bother you a minute?" Jack sat at his table in the rear of Julio's. He looked up from his coffee and saw Timmy O'Brien, one of Julio's regulars. A fiftyish guy, thin, hangdog face, watery eyes, and wearing a Hawaiian shirt in January. Julio's, an Upper West Side bar that had fought the good fight and succeeded in holding on to its working-class roots through the neighborhood's decades of legitimization, rehabilitation, restoration, and gentrification, had been Jack's hang for years. Julio always saved him a table where he could sit with his back to the wall. "Bother?" "Well, yeah. I mean, I know about what happened last month, and I'm really sorry for your loss. I know you've still got to be bummed, but I could really use some help, Jack." "What kind?" "Your kind." Jack sighed. He'd been on sabbatical, ignoring e-mails and voice mails from prospective customers. Didn't feel he could focus enough--or care enough--to earn his fee. That was part of it. Truth was he was having trouble caring about much of anything outside his small, immediate circle. No interest, no energy, and probably drinking too much these past three weeks. He didn't need a shrink to tell him he was depressed. But a shrink would want to give him pills, and Jack didn't want pills. He preferred beer--but not before lunch. He couldn't find the energy to get up and get out and get moving again. What was the point? Who cared? And when he got right down to it, did anything he did, anything he'd ever done, matter in the long run? Had he ever made a difference? He wondered. But Timmy looked so needy. Jack wasn't ready to venture outside his self-circumscribed world of Julio's, Abe's, Gia's, and his own place, but maybe he could make a few suggestions.