Review: Eighth Grave After Dark (Charley Davidson, #8) by Darynda Jones



St. Martin’s Press | 2015

Filed Under: Pregnant Mirror Sex

It physically hurts to say this, like I have bad gas, but I must tell the truth: I did not like this book.

I really do love this series and the characters have a special place in my heart, but WHAT IN THE HOLY-HELL IS GOING ON?

This can be my problem with long-running series: at some point, the author wants to take things to a new, unexpected level, but because the story has been going on for so long the only place left to take readers is right off the fucking rails.

And this is the book in Charley Davidson’s adventures that dropped off the tracks and decided to go careening off a bridge.

First of all, this book read more like a romance erotica novel than a true Charley Davidson instalment and I was just not fucking into it.

In case anyone forgot over the previous seven novels, Reyes is hot. Reyes is sexy. Reyes is the hottest, sexiest Son of Satan that ever did exist. Also, he’s Charley’s husband. They are married. They got married. Charley married the Son of Satan and he’s hot and sexy and beautiful and they are so so SO in love and have amazing, mind-altering, orgasmic sex. Reyes is more beautiful than any human male could hope to be…

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Honestly, this book might as well have been titled An Ode to Reyes Farrow’s Muscles and Beauty.

Right before I started this, my mom asked me if the series was any good because she wanted something on audio to listen to during her walks. I said: YES definitely listen to this! It’s so funny and kills the time perfectly!


Within the first hour of her listening to book one, she texted me to ask: “Are they all full of sex like this? Because if this is just going to be Fifty Shades, it’s not for me.”

Fifty Shades? No! I would never read such puke! How dare she compare Charley to Anastasia!

I should have told her to find something else (but I didn’t and I find that hilarious) because now that I’m done with this book with all its pregnant mirror sex, I’m legit uncomfortable and things might as well be Fifty Shades around here.

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I honestly believe that babies ruin everything, so I’ve never had one nor plan to (put down your pitchforks, moms. My personal choices are not a judgement on your own.) But I have lots of friends and family, around my age, with children so I’ve been there to experience their pregnancies as an outsider. And from these experiences, there is not a single part of my soul that believes a 9-months-pregnant woman is going to be sexily slinking all over the place, barely able to contain her lady erection and having sex at every possible interlude, including once in front of a mirror while she’s forced to watch herself.

I wouldn’t even want to do that un-pregnant.


Most pregnant women I have known barely wanted to bend over to put on shoes, forget bending over for their husbands.

“Sometimes I crave pickles. Other times I crave the blood of my enemy. Weird.”

Plot-wise, there are not a lot of places this novel can go what with a heavily pregnant Charley stuck inside a convent. So there’s Cookie’s wedding, lots of gross sex, and a heavy dose of evil stepmother realness that requires family therapy sessions. There are literally almost none of the things that made me love this series in the first place: Charley Davidson, the P.I. with strange ghosts hanging around and mysteries to solve. Save for one missing persons case that felt flat and uninspired.

It seems, for a little while, that we’re building up to a big ending, with a showdown between Charley and Satan, who has escaped hell, but all we really get is 20 pages or so of this excitement and the rest is the other stuff I mentioned.

Hold on though, because there’s nothing about this giant mess of a book that can’t be fixed with a classic case of amnesia!🙄

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If the next book doesn’t immediately start with an amnesiac Charley wondering why her vag is sore and looking like ground beef because she just has a baby, I’m gonna be calling bullshit on this.

Super disappointed with this one.


With twelve hellhounds after her, pregnant Charley Davidson takes refuge at the only place she thinks they can’t get to her: the grounds of an abandoned convent. But after months of being cooped up there, Charley is ready to pop. Both metaphorically and literally since she is now roughly the size of a beached whale. Fortunately, a new case has captured her attention, one that involves a murder on the very grounds the team has taken shelter upon. A decades-old murder of the newly-vowed nun she keeps seeing in the shadows is almost enough to pull her out of her doldrums.

Charley’s been forbidden to step foot off the sacred grounds. While the angry hellhounds can’t traverse the consecrated soil, they can lurk just beyond its borders. They have the entire team on edge, especially Reyes. And if Charley didn’t know better, she would swear Reyes is getting sick. He grows hotter with every moment that passes, his heat scorching across her skin every time he’s near, but naturally he swears he’s fine.

While the team searches for clues on the Twelve, Charley just wants answers and is powerless to get them. But the mass of friends they’ve accrued helps. They convince her even more that everyone in her recent life has somehow been drawn to her, as though they were a part of a bigger picture all along. But the good feelings don’t last for long because Charley is about to get the surprise of her crazy, mixed-up, supernatural life….

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