Kelly Grant was a mana man who had acquired taste in wine and travel and women and cars and in dark expensive chocolate and in a lifestyle that had not been created by him

Kelly was a thief, a daylight robber who had to steal a standard of living from some 15th century aristocrat and inherit his worth in gold after his parents reached the end of their livestheir functions, their purposes. He was a farce, an unoriginal vagabond of his own soul—he may as well have been dead... Was it as simple as all that, his reason could not be only to reach the end? What would be the point of his existence, why was he more important than a wave in the ocean or the fungi in a pond? Because he could speak, eat, because he had rational thought?!

Kelly heard the maniacal sound of his own laugh roaring in the distance... He was in a strange limbo, dancing on the platform of improbability. Perhaps he should have been the religious kind... Kelly had acquired everything but meaning to this existence... Why all of this divine intervention now? And how was his Indian Banshee going to help him search for true purpose?