In honor of the February 10, 2026, release of Whisperer Rising, H.R. Boldwood thought readers might like to get to know her zombie-hunting protagonist. The following is H.R.’s interview with Allie Nighthawk.

H.R.: Nighthawk, since not everyone knows you as well as I do, why don’t you share a bit about yourself?

Allie: Seriously? I should be out saving the world, not covering Corpse Whispering 101. You created me. Isn’t that your job?

H.R.: Frankly, after the kerfuffle at Elysian Fields Cemetery, you could use some good press. This is your time to shine, Nighthawk. Why not tell the people who you are and what you do for a living?

Allie: Back the truck up. The Elysian Fields fiasco was not my fault. I was—

H.R.: Is anything ever your fault? Can we just get on with it, please?

Allie: Fine. Who am I? I’m the best of the bad-ass zombie hunters, that’s who. With the Z-Virus spreading and the rotter population exploding, someone had to ante up to save the world. I won the lotto. Imagine my delight. I subcontract my services to the city of Cincinnati. Newsflash: Rico De Palma, my Paranormal Crimes Unit partner, is as hot as they come. Is he my partner in any other capacity? You’ll have to read the series to find out.

Being a subcontractor isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. A simple thank you, 60K a year, and health insurance would be nice. Not that anyone cares, but we’re five books in and I’m still living on dog biscuits and ketchup soup. Something has to give.

H.R.: Got it. You’re an under-paid, under-appreciated zombie hunter. But you’re also a corpse whisperer. What is that and how does it work?

Allie: I can raise the dead. It’s an inherited the ‘gift’ from my mother’s side. There aren’t many of us whisperers around, and some don’t play for the good guys. (Hint: An evil necromancer and his minions are responsible for mutations in the Z-Virus.)

Raising the dead is a risky business, and trust me, the deceased never come back the way you remember them. I need to have a damn good reason to raise them, and any corpse I raise, I have to put back down. Letting them wander is a sin. Besides, the local wine moms don’ t want their children watching me chase deadheads through the streets with a flamethrower.

The police find raising the dead a useful tool when it comes to solving crimes that have no witnesses or forensic evidence. I wake the corpse in question, get the info we need, then put it back down, no muss, no fuss. At least, that’s the way it’s supposed to work. But every risen corpse is a biter, and biters are unpredictable. You have to break a few eggs to make a zombie omelet, if you get my drift. Shit happens…

H.R.: Like the Elysian Fields incident?

Allie: I’d rather not discuss that.

H.R.: Or the backhoe incident at Rose Hill Cemetery…

Allie: Or maybe I should stop feeding you storylines, Ms. High-and-Mighty Author. How about that?

H.R.: Moving on. Since you’ve fallen on such hard times, have you considered supplementing your income?

Allie: My side hustle, American Corpse Management Enterprises, (ACME, Inc). It’s a niche company geared toward private citizens who need help with zombie remediation or raising dead relatives for a variety of reasons, although that presents some morally gray issues on occasion. Raising the dead for greed is against my personal code.

So far, ACME has two employees, Nonnie Nussbaum and Vinny Abruzzi. I wouldn’t call ACME an income source. It’s more like a charitable contribution, especially when it comes to Vinny.

H.R.: And what do Nonnie and Vinny do for ACME?

Allie: Nonnie, the widow who lives next door to me on Pitty Pat Lane, is my office manager. She’s a tiny, blue-haired fossil who bakes the world’s best rugelach and speaks English with an Italian-Yiddish accent. She also swings a mean skillet when biters attack. Nonnie’s got some mad computer skills and has been known to come through in a pinch. Don’t tell her, but I couldn’t keep my head on straight without her.

Vinny, my field investigator, is the son of an old friend, Leo Abruzzi, a zombie-bitten mob accountant who turned state’s evidence. Leo drove me crazy, but he taught me a lot about life during the short time I was assigned to protect him. He took medicine to keep from turning into a biter, but eventually, I had to put him down. I promised that I’d watch over his son, and that’s a promise I’d die to keep—even if Vinny makes my head explode daily. He’s so much like his old man it’s scary.

H.R.: Anything else you’d like to share before you get back to saving the world?

Allie: Only that I’m not sure exactly how it happened, but over the course of the series, I’ve accumulated a kinetically challenged, rotter-wrangling bulldog named Headbutt, a slutty African Grey Parrot named Kulu, and her two loudmouthed birdie-bastard babies, Hyrum and Gertie. (Nonnie tried to float the notion of the immaculate birdception, but I’m not buying it.)

H.R.: That seems like a great place to finish. Thanks for your time, Nighthawk. Now, here’s some information about me:

H.R. Boldwood, an Imadjinn Award finalist, is the author of the Corpse Whisperer series, urban fantasy, mystery/thriller novels, and countless short stories. In another incarnation, Boldwood is a Pushcart Prize nominee and winner of the Thomas More College Bilbo Award for Creative Writing. Boldwood’s characters are often disreputable and not to be trusted. They are kicked to the publication curb at every conceivable opportunity. This author takes no responsibility for the dastardly and sometimes criminal acts committed by this ragtag group of miscreants.

Boldwood’s works are available in Kindle and in print wherever quality books are sold.

To contact H.R. or to learn more about her work, visit:

www.hrboldwood.com

hrboldwood@gmail.com

https://www.facebook.com/HRBold/

https://twitter.com/BoldwoodH

https://www.bookbub.com/profile/h-r-boldwood

https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/15625304.H_R_Boldwood

https://www.instagram.com/hrboldwood

https://www.amazon.com/H.-R.-Boldwood/e/B01LWY22MD

Want to know more about Whisperer Rising?

When the dead don’t stay buried, neither do secrets.

Zombies are kind of my thing—but when demons, deadheads, and villains all crash the party at once, even I might be in over my head. A synthetic virus is creating super-zombies with no cure, the body count is climbing, and the city’s circling the drain. Guess who’s on cleanup duty? Yours truly.

As if saving the world from the walking dead wasn’t enough, someone’s set up shop inside my skull. My thoughts aren’t my own, my instincts are scrambled, and trusting anyone feels like betting on a three-legged racehorse.

Between political backstabbing, straight-up murder, and my very real fear of losing my mind, I’m running out of time. If I can unmask the jerk pulling the strings, maybe I’ll save the day. But if I do, there’s still one ugly question left—do I have what it takes to put him down for good?