Or maybe because the rustling sounded like a big bird's wings. The result is a wholly unsatisfying novel in what might have been a very promising series. I was almost getting used to seeing apparitions in the tall hall mirror, but not in thin air. Bela was waiting, polite, his caped back to me, bare gray hand still extended. I think you can guess her size. I was almost getting used to seeing apparitions in the tall hall mirror, but not in thin air. He is not so civil…and dashing as Dracula.
Rumor had it he was an albino vampire, the obverse of my current partner. A minor, a very minor player. I felt like Lilith on the autopsy table, mock-dead, or dead, what did it matter in the face of a fatal violation of the flesh? My feet and hands never seem to get warm enough at night. Post-Millennium Revelation Las Vegas is teeming with supernaturals and run by a werewolf mob, but even the unhumans can't conceive of what Delilah discovers hidden under its damnable desert sands: unspeakably powerful evil rooted in ancient Egypt. I curled my toes to keep my mules from falling off and braining some unlucky tourist below. The night has always been mine. I seldom saw the kitchen witch who came with the property, along with the yard troll and the garden pixies and who knew what else, but she could bake fragrant loaves of crusty bread in the wood stove as readily as she could nuke a frozen Weight Watchers entree in the microwave.
Howard Hughes, I said, scrambling off the high hospital bed and its stiff white linens. I eyed the gorgeous glitter of Las Vegas a hundred and fifty stories below. Pages still clean and tight. Then I heard the rustling. At least Drac and I were once more on solid ground. We're all on to you.
Only cruel, slanting dark eyebrows and a gray grinning mouth were fully visible. How would your master, whoever he is, know that? I put my own pale hand into that dead, ashen flesh. Ugarte seems conflicted about his service to Kepherati she and Kephron he when he sends a cryptic warning to the Invisible Man. All my kind know Hector Nightwine and his Sunset Road estate. Only an idiot would ignore that kind of indoor tempest. I'm not sure what changed so much from the first book, Dancing with Werewolves, to this one, but I didn't like Brimstone Kiss at all. I sure hadn't liked the variety I fought off in the group homes.
The last time I had been here, I had ducked out without any introductions. The sunglasses studied me from head to foot. Dracula slowly loosened his custody, but kept his hands on me, now both gloved-how did he do that? Any worry or withholding will have dire consequences. Fruit trees and blossom-bearing vines grow around my Enchanted Cottage as thick as Sleeping Beauty's thorny forest. Nun-like lace-up oxfords would have been better.
I wondered if the chicken garlic on my breath was slapping him in the undead kisser. That line was almost worse than his classic I do not drrrink…vine. Disclaimer:A copy that has been read, but remains in clean condition. Second in the Delilah Street, Paranormal Investigator urban fantasy series about a reporter-turned-investigator based in Las Vegas. A little paranormal passion by proxy had not hurt one bit.
I had to live up to my new business card: Delilah Street, P. Still, it'd be fun to slink around in fangs and furbelows. I just wanted us to be together again, the same as we were. Not all right, baby girl, whispered my internal invisible friend since childhood, Irma. Surely, a young kitten-but why wasn't it mewing up a storm as cats do when trapped up so high? I wasn't crazy about the garlic odor from that night's homemade dish, but I was comforted to hear my awesomely large wolfhound-wolf-cross dog wheezing in sleep from one of the downstairs rooms.
The figure had no color at all, not even red around the eye whites. I recalled a few pre-adolescent longings to someday meet a classic vampire: suave, smooth and deliriously sinister. May contain limited notes, underlining or highlighting that does affect the text. Obviously, a lot was going on here in Vegas in the 1940s and 1950s that no one had a clue about until after the Millennium Revelation. The usual answer to that in an uncaring world was, To Hell! He leaned in and down, showed only the tips of his pointed canine teeth, and lowered his gaze to drink in the sight of my bare neck. Had a cat climbed the vines and was now trying to get in? My master occasionally needs me mobile.
I reminded myself that bats were enormously useful consumers of insects and other pests and returned to bed, shuddering as my floor-cooled feet found the sheets already chilly. Why is Douglas having Caressa Teagarden tell Delilah about La Gargouille and then having Snow raise him? I pulled the covers farther over my head. He's had time to discover your name and profession. Only an idiot would ignore that kind of indoor tempest. I sat up, turning the covers half down, and faced the windows. I don't want a historical fiction, if i did I would read that. I crawled right into another grille, my nose flat against the metal.