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Readers of Carrie Ryan and Richelle Mead will love this dark revenge fantasy.
Velveteen Monroes is dead. At sixteen, she was kidnapped and murdered by a madman named Bonesaw. But that's not the problem.
The problem is she landed in the City of the Dead. And while it's not a fiery inferno, it's certainly no heaven either. It's gray, ashen, and crumbling more and more by the day, and everyone has a job to do. Which doesn't leave Velveteen much time to do anything about what’s really on her mind.
Velveteen aches to deliver the bloody punishment he deserves. And she's figured out just how to do it. She'll haunt him for the rest of his days.
It'll be brutal...and awesome.
But crossing the divide between the living and the dead has devastating consequences. Velveteen’s obsessive haunting could actually crack the foundation of her new world, not to mention jeopardize her very soul. A risk she’s willing to take—except fate has just given her reason to stick around: an unreasonably hot and completely off-limits coworker.
Velveteen can’t help herself when it comes to breaking rules . . . or getting revenge. And she just might be angry enough to take everyone down with her.
"Dark, demented, and edgy, with just the right amount of humor and romance mixed in--Daniel Marks has written the afterlife like you've never seen it before."-Richelle Mead, New York Times bestselling author of the Vampire Academy series
"Velveteen has it all: a ghost hell-bent on revenge, a wickedly hot dead boy, and an underworld revolution--I couldn't get enough!"-Kimberly Derting, author of the Body Finder series and The Pledge
“You’re probably not going to need to go outside to find a body.” They scrambled toward the boy and into the kitchen space. On the floor, amid fallen pots of broth, piles of sticky noodles, and unknown brown sauces, lay the corpses of the diners, their arms and legs akimbo, their bodies twisted and contorted, their eyes staring into some unknown vista. “What happened to them?” Luisa knelt beside a blond woman, her pregnant belly protruding into the air. The girl straightened the woman’s shirt
the building as she strode toward the woman, steeling herself—thievery required preparation, after all, especially when one’s target was a human body. But with Velvet’s second step, the woman jumped and fanned away the cloud of smoke, glaring into the night. “Who’s there?” the nurse spat. Velvet stopped dead in her tracks. She supposed it were possible the woman had heard her, that she’d somehow, through some phantom exertion, forced a pebble to scuttle across the sidewalk. Highly unlikely, but
at least in that way—as fear was an important part of any manager-employee relationship. It kept up the status quo. She’d have to work on that. Velvet glanced up and down the street. In the distance, she could see the mist swirling around the light above the clinic door. She turned back to Madame Despot’s, rapped three times, and waited. When she didn’t hear a sound from behind the tall door—she’d never been accused of being a quitter—she hammered at it some more and harder, until she did hear
covered in flies and hatching maggots. But despite her desperate need to get away and relax, the Cellar’s dank horrors called to her. Being murdered changes a girl. It can turn the peppiest cheerleader into a bitter hissing crone and an already morose lover of art films and blue-black hair dye and combat boots into a violence junkie. Interrogations always took her mind off the maelstrom of crap she dealt with. It was the action, the hands-on quality of the work. It was a distraction, and Velvet
As traumatized as the girl was, Velvet was easily able to tuck her into the little mind-box. Velvet opened her eyes and looked out through a veil of tears. A big blurry version of Bonesaw shambled about recklessly, bumping into things. His knives fell to the floor around his ankles, clanging noisily. He stumbled toward her, tripping and very nearly falling. She braced the girl’s body as best she could as the man’s bulky frame barreled into the chair. It tipped and, try as she might, Velvet