Hello there and welcome to my blog on my day of the David Mogo Godhunter blog tour, where I have been provided with a juicy book extract just for you… shh don’t tell anyone! I’d like to thank Tracy for having me on-board and to Abaddon for making me add another book to my TBR.
David Mogo Godhunter by Suyi Davies Okungbowa iis a contemporary fantasy read that was published in paperback and kindle format by Abaddon on the 11th of July. You can treat yourself to a copy in time for the summer holidays here. Check out the blurb!
Since the Orisha War that rained thousands of deities down on the streets of Lagos, David Mogo, demigod, scours Eko’s dank underbelly for a living wage as a freelance Godhunter. Despite pulling his biggest feat yet by capturing a high god for a renowned Eko wizard, David knows his job’s bad luck. He’s proved right when the wizard conjures a legion of Taboos—feral godling-child hybrids—to seize Lagos for himself. To fix his mistake and keep Lagos standing, David teams up with his foster wizard, the high god’s twin sister and a speech-impaired Muslim teenage girl to defeat the wizard.
Now *drumroll* this is the extract Ii have been given to share with you all:
This is going to be a bad job.
I know it from the angular smile of the wizard-ruler seated before me. I know it because I should sense the icy heat of his godessence on my collarbone, but feel absolutely nothing. I know it because right outside this handcrafted palace, the rest of Lagos mainland is a dank, brooding, perilous hog pen; yet this foyer smells like orange air freshener, and you can only ignore the stink of your own shit for so long.
Let’s start with how my new client remains the Baálẹ̀ of the long-abandoned Agbado
community, retaining his palace right past the slum’s railway crossing. From the outside looking in, you’d never picture such a sophisticated interior. I’m seated in a soft couch under ceiling lights. Ceiling lights oh, not hanging bulbs. D’you know when last anyone was able to get ordinary power in Lagos? Papa Udi and I haven’t seen a blink of power in our house since The Falling over a decade ago. We run a 650VA Yamaha generator for three hours every day; just enough to charge our phones and watch the evening news. But here, Lukmon Ajala has everything. There’s a minibar and coffee-maker in the far end of the reception where I’m sitting. The floor-to-ceiling glass windows show halogen lamps piercing the night outside. But it’s the silent thrum of a large 30KVA generator that really tells me this guy is mad wadded and true royalty.
The white babariga he wears is layered with exquisite gold embroidery. I almost burst into laughter when I first saw it. Anyone who lives in nowadays Lagos knows he can’t step outside this compound in that shit; the streets out there are grimier than a mechanic’s workshop. This babariga belongs in Upper Island. Little wonder he has this many aides and guards. It’s not just his clothes. His perfume is exquisite too, the kind that invites you to inhale rather than makes you sneeze. He wears a fìlà that’s half embroidered headpiece, half regular cap, and a tiny smattering of greying hair peeks out from underneath, even though he’s young—fiftyish. His eyes are white and piercing. He watches me with them now, smooth hands folded over each other in astute calm.
Now please form an orderly queue and go and grab yourself a copy.