Moon Over Soho begins with the death of Cyrus Wilkinson, a part-time jazz saxophonist and full-time accountant, who apparently has a heart-attack just after a gig. From very early on it is clear that Ben Aaronovitch is completely immersed in his world, and has a firm image of his characters. The main plot, again presented in the first person, has many angles that artfully mesh with complimentary asides. Aaronovitch is sparing in his use of DCI Thomas Nightingale, Grant's immediate superior and the last fully trained wizard in the Met. We're spoon fed bits of Nightingale's fascinating back story, and intentionally left wanting more. Similarly, Grant's friend and sometime colleague, DC Lesley May, returns as a sympathetic character, still badly damaged by magic, but not beaten. Discovering that magic can't necessarily fix what magic broke is a heartbreaking touch of realism. Had it been a case of a quick solution in the style of Harry Potter or Sooty, the careful credibility the author is building would have suffered. Magic, in Peter Grant's world can be spectacular, but its often understated and always mysterious. In Lesley's tragic case, Grant sums it up with a simple explanation that a burn isn't fixed with more fire. Yet, very subtly, Aaronovitch later teases the slim possibility of salvation when he shows us how a severely wounded magical character finds a way to regenerate physical damage. The plot rambles along nicely, loaded with quirks and word play that are as distinctly English as The Kinks. The very idea of Jazz Vampires may seem absurd, but their feeding off beauty turns out to be a refreshing take on what a vampire is, and what that kind of need dictates. We also get several hints as to something darker, deeper, and much larger than the local problems Grant and Nightingale have been dealing with thus far. Add to this a magical bad guy, who in the best traditions of The Sweeney, evades the long arm of the law, and the cliffhanger ending sets us up nicely for book three, Whispers Under Ground.

At turns horrific and hilarious, the characterisation is solid as a truncheon, the humour dry, and the premise a touch of real world magic that every reader hopes to find. There are a few minor negatives. One of two of the explanations stretched credibility, and at times the plot would have benefitted from more Nightingale, despite the risk of him overshadowing DC Grant. Avoiding this potential issue by absenting Nightingale felt a little like the author cutting off his nose to spite his face. Next time around I'm hoping for a lot more back story detailing what has gone on in London's magical past. These quibbles aside, Moon Over Soho is a fine sequel, and one that I can recommend.