Red Delicious: A Siobhan Quinn Novel
Caitlin R. Kiernan
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
Siobhan Quinn is back and working a new case in the dark and satirical sequel to Blood Oranges.
Half-vampire, half-werewolf Siobhan Quinn survived her initiation into the world of demons and monsters. But staying alive as she becomes entangled in underworld politics might prove to be more difficult. When the daughter of a prominent necromancer vanishes, it's up to Quinn to find the girl. But her search will land her directly in the middle of a struggle between competing forces searching for an ancient artifact of almost unimaginable power...
stumbled backwards, out onto the narrow landing. Among my tasty assortment of vamp superpowers is the ability to pounce good and proper and fierce as any old puma or jaguar. And pounce is what I did. I easily cleared the distance between the bedroom and the ruined front door, striking Rizzo in the solar plexus, hard enough that he took out the banister behind him and tumbled down the stairwell, ass over tits. He hit the bottom like the proverbial sack of potatoes. Bam! Made almost as much
“You’re a courier. I was told you’re a courier we can trust, elsewise I never would have handed you this job.” “You didn’t hand me the job. Your boss did.” “You’re splitting hairs, Miss Beaumont.” “Yeah, well, there’s a fucking dead celestial in the room with me. It’s giving me the fidgets.” “So how about you shut up and listen, and I’ll have you out of there in a jiffy?” And that’s what I did, I shut up, either because I knew it was the path of least resistance, or because
and crushed the weapon pretty much flat. Shit like that makes me wonder if what we call reality is nothing more than a movie someone’s filming in an alternate universe Hollywood. Because . . . damn. But! Not so fast, Quinn! While I’d been distracted by the bus and my reflections on the possible existence of a cosmic screenwriter, Father Rizzo had drawn one hell of a hunting knife from his work boot (yeah, cassock, white collar, and work boots), and it whizzed past my right ear close
sign out front. Clearly whatever was inside, the swamp Yankees wanted to stay inside. Which raises the question of why they’d left the door unlocked. But that’s not a mystery germane to my weird little anecdote. Inside, it was dark, and the air was close and almost chilly, dank; it smelled like straw and animal shit and dust. At first, I had no idea how anyone who wasn’t a nasty with dark-adapted eyes could have seen their way around in there. Then I noticed a milking stool with three
“Seemed like a good idea at the time.” “And he—” “Stashed it somewhere in the Hollow Hills, or at least that’s my best guess.” B laughed again, but it wasn’t the same laugh as before. There was a note of genuine humor. “B, it’s past time to give up on whatever get-rich-quick scheme you and Dru hatched. It’s almost gotten you killed.” “Might yet,” he said, then finished his beer and reached for another. “My point exactly. Time for an exit strategy, only I’m guessing the