Don't Kill the Messenger (A Messenger Novel)
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View our feature on Eileen Rendahl’s Don't Kill the Messenger. The first in a fantastic new paranormal series about a messenger from the supernatural underworld.
Melina Markowitz is a Messenger, a go-between for paranormal forces and supernatural creatures. Problem is, when a girl's a go-between, it's hard not to get caught in the middle...
When ninjas steal an envelope from Melina, her search leads her to a Taoist temple in Old Sacramento, where the priests seem to practice Zen and the art of mayhem. Melina learns from the handsome ER doctor (and vampire) who gave her the envelope that it contained talismans created by the priests to control Chinese vampires, who are attacking gang members to spark a street war.
Although he may look more like a surfer than a cop, Ted Goodnight is dead serious about investigating the surge in gang violence. At every turn he runs into Melina, a very attractive-and very mysterious-young woman. Can Melina enlist his help to battle something he doesn't even believe in without blowing her cover?
night with that baby.” I was seriously confused. “But I didn’t do anything.” It was Alex that had rushed Maricela into the OR. It was Dr. Perry from pediatrics who had done the surgery. I’d filed an insurance claim with California’s Healthy Families. I didn’t think it warranted applause. “That’s not what Dr. Bledsoe says,” Arlene, the front desk volunteer, said. “Dr. Bledsoe says that if it wasn’t for you, that little baby would have probably died in our waiting room and the hospital would be
that your friend sold in Elk Grove?” “I found out a little. To be honest, Melina, I’m not sure what’s going on. I have a funny feeling about it.” That was hardly a surprise. There had to be something hinky going on. Whatever was happening at those houses wasn’t a typical real estate deal. “What kind of funny feeling?” “The kind of funny feeling that tells me there’s something not quite kosher going on with my buddy Winston. He hasn’t done more than a deal or two every few months for several
with “a problem” was picked up by the police when she ran down our street naked screaming that the Israelis were out to get her, exposing her drinking problem, her lily white ass and an extremely unattractive anti-Semitic streak all at the same time. You would never have known if you’d met her at bridge club. Well, you would have known about the drinking problem because she generally smelled of booze by ten in the morning and you could probably have guessed about the lily white ass, but she kept
wind play across my face and whip my hair across my eyes. There was nothing to see out there anyway. He parked in front of my apartment building. I was surprised when he got out of the car with me. “You don’t need to come in. I’m fine,” I said. “Right,” he said. “You’re peachy. Is your roommate home?” “You mean Norah?” “Whoever. The limber blond.” I shot him a look, and he held up his hands in a gesture of truce. “Probably,” I said. “I don’t know where else she would be.” “Good.” “Why?
or not you’re willing to come and work for me.” “Not only no, but hell no,” I said. “Don’t be so hasty. Think of the benefits. This is a very lucrative business. You wouldn’t have to share a rundown apartment. You could buy a house. Forget the filing job at the hospital. It wouldn’t be necessary. You could be free to pursue other interests.” He stood and walked around his desk, stopping directly in front of me to lean against it. It did sound nice. “And what exactly would I have to do to get