By Seanan McGuire
Now comes the second one within the series-from a dynamic new myth talent!
Toby Daye-a half-human, half-fae changeling-has been an intruder from delivery. once you have burned via either side of her historical past, Toby has denied the fae international, chickening out to a "normal" existence. regrettably for her, the Faerie international had different ideas...
Now her liege, the Duke of the Shadowed Hills, has requested Toby to visit the rustic of Tamed Lightening to ensure all is easily together with his niece, Countess January O'Leary. it kind of feels like an easy sufficient assignment-until Toby discovers that somebody has started murdering humans with regards to January, and that if the killer isn't stopped, January could be the subsequent sufferer.
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Extra info for A Local Habitation (October Daye, Book 2)
In a pinch I could shoot Enzo. But somehow I knew that if the thing rattling the door got out, Enzo would be in as much danger as I was. “We must go on, now,” he said. I couldn’t tell anything from his face. We might have been walking down the street to the corner store. He seemed impervious, and I hated him for it. If I’m terriﬁed, by God, everyone else should be, too. I eyed the supposedly unlocked door to my left. I had to know. I yanked it open. The room was maybe eight by four, like a cell.
Raising a murderous zombie was just one of many things she could do, if she wanted to. Frankly, there were things worse than zombies that could come crawling through your window some dark night. I knew as little about that side of the business as I could get away with. The Sen˜ora had invented most of it. No, I did not want Dominga Salvador angry with me. So it looked like I was going to have to talk with her tomorrow. It was sort of like getting an appointment to see the godfather of voodoo. Or in this case the godmother.
When you have a motif, I guess you stick with it. On the white paint was one small, perfect handprint. I crawled towards it and held up my hand near it comparing size. My hands aren’t big, small even for a woman’s, but this handprint was tiny. Two, three, maybe four. Blue walls, probably a boy. ” “Benjamin,” I whispered it, and stared at the bloody handprint. “There’s no body in this room. ” I looked up at him, still kneeling. ” 24 LAURELL K. ” “Me, too,” he said. I stood, resisting the urge to smooth my skirt down in back.
A Local Habitation (October Daye, Book 2) by Seanan McGuire