Of Claws and Fangs: Stories from the World of Jane Yellowrock and Soulwood - Softcover

Buch 6 von 6: Jane Yellowrock

Hunter, Faith

 
9780593334348: Of Claws and Fangs: Stories from the World of Jane Yellowrock and Soulwood
Softcover
ISBN 10: 0593334345 ISBN 13: 9780593334348
Verlag: Penguin Publishing Group, 2022

Inhaltsangabe

New York Times bestselling author Faith Hunter presents a stunning collection of stories from the world of shape-shifting vampire hunter Jane Yellowrock and beyond.

Collected together for the first time, this volume contains shorter works featuring heroines Jane Yellowrock and Nell Ingram, as well as a host of other characters from the Jane Yellowrock and Soulwood series. Faith Hunter is “an expert at creating worlds filled with intriguing supernatural elements and exciting scenarios”* and her skills are on full display in this collection. From a vampire-filled Halloween evening in New Orleans to the searing tale of how a certain were-leopard first got his spots, this collection has something for everyone, and each story is sure to put the super in supernatural.
 
With eighteen stories in all, Of Claws and Fangs will enrich and entertain—it’s a must-have for Faith Hunter’s readers and all lovers of fantasy.

*RT Book Reviews

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Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Faith Hunter is the New York Times bestselling author of the Jane Yellowrock series, the Soulwood series, and the Rogue Mage series.

Auszug. © Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

Candy from a Vampire

A vignette first published online, on my blog, as a serial blog tour short for Halloween in 2017. It is from the point of view of Leo Pellissier, a view of his thoughts, for which my fans have often clamored.

Leo Pellissier stood outside the Royal Mojo Blues Company, a bucket—­a cauldron, really—­filled with individual servings of candy in front of him. Each piece was wrapped in paper, or foil, or foiled paper, with the ingredients in tiny print on the back, showing calorie content and fat content, which was significant, and nutritional value, which was negligible. He had always thought that was the point of candy, that it was to be nothing but sugar and fat and delicious. A treat, back in his day, a sweet that was earned when he had done something good, like staying on his pony through a trot, over small fences, or translated a particularly difficult Latin tale into the French or Castilian or Greek, as his tutor demanded. His hand beaten with a thin strip of wood when he failed, and his presence at dinner denied. Treats when he succeeded. It was the way of his father’s house. Carrot and stick. Or candy and stick. It had been effective then. Now children could have sweets at every meal. And on All Hallows Eve, even more.

It was scarcely past sunset and the streets were filled with adults in various stages of inebriation, accompanied by various stages of nudity, the closer to Bourbon Street one drew. Costumes that did far more than hint were everywhere, even here at the Mithran Council Chambers. But here, as tradition dictated, there were children. Many, many children.

Halloween in the French Quarter of New Orleans had been changed forever when Marilyn Monroe had attempted to turn John Kennedy in the Oval Office and been staked for her trouble. That next year, 1963, Leo had appeared for the first time, in full tuxedo and a black cloak, with scarlet silk lining, to hand out candy. Personally. The children had been bused in from all over the city at Mithran expense. And back then, a parent thought nothing of putting children on a bus and sending them off for a party, which was what he had put on for them, all along the street in front of the chambers.

There had been humans dressed as storybook witches in every doorway, some with hot cauldrons full of liquid pralines that they ladled onto waxed paper, allowed to cool and solidify, and gave away, others offering popcorn balls or caramels. Jugglers, clowns, artists of every stripe were encouraged to display their wares. Musicians stood on every street corner, with baskets or open instrument cases before them for tips. There were pony rides. The press wandered among the crowds, taking photographs for the Times-­Picayune and to show on CBS or NBC or ABC, all across the nation. The party had been a ploy to improve public opinion of the newly revealed Creatures of Darkness, as described by a young, up-­and-­coming newsman whose name he had long forgotten.

The street party had been successful at the time. Now, fewer parents allowed their children onto the chartered buses, instead throwing parties for them in the safety of their schools or in private homes. And when they did allow the children aboard, the parents came too, holding their child’s hand. These days monsters on the streets might be human, intent on much worse than stealing a little blood.

There were fewer and fewer newsmen and newswomen on the streets to photograph the decades-­old tradition. Perhaps in a few years, he would discontinue the party, or perhaps make it bigger. He could add wine tasting and beer tasting, and persuade restaurants to bring their foods to taste, in order to attract an older, more sophisticated crowd.

But there were still a few here tonight. Children and reporters both. Enough each year to brave the Quarter for the joy of taking candy from a vampire. And this year, one of the candy makers was a real witch, one he recognized from her dossier. He nodded regally to Suzanne Richardson-­White, an earth witch with a gift for making pralines that rivaled Aunt Sally’s. It was a sign of improvement between the races that she was here, in public, sharing a street with a Mithran. On All Hallows Eve. She nodded back, an amused expression on her face.

A little girl with bright red hair raced up to him, her brown paper sack held out in two tiny fists. “Twick or Tweat, Mr. Pewisir.”

“Oh, please. No tricks tonight,” Leo said, reaching down and lifting up enough candy to turn the little girl into an instant diabetic. He let them all fall in a cascade of shushing sounds into her bag. He felt the moment the cameras focused on him and the little girl, and he smiled his public smile, toothy but totally human, the smile that the whole world knew.

“Thank you, Mr. Pewisir,” the little girl said, before racing away to the next candy station.

“You’re welcome, my dear,” Leo replied, though she was no longer there to hear, and a tiny tot in a cowboy suit took her place, his father standing behind, smiling, as if remembering the time he took the bus to this section of the French Quarter to receive candy from a vampire.

The hours wore on, and the crowds thinned. The moon rose in a hazy night sky.

Suzanne dipped up the last of the candies and closed her booth. She packed her mini-­cauldron and the brazier that had kept the melted sugar hot. He watched from beneath the streetlight as she moved, her body encased in a corset, the laces holding and reshaping her curves, her breasts thrust up high and rounded. Her flowing witch’s dress was made of silk and netting, the fabric catching the night breeze as if a spell caused it to float. She wore ankle boots with tiny spike heels and the kind of old-­fashioned buttons that had to be closed with a hook. He had always loved taking such shoes off a woman. And corsets.

Leo smiled. The girl was all of thirty, a graduate of Tulane. He had learned that acting on such thoughts was considered improper for anyone, especially for an old man such as he. Jane Yellowrock had made him rethink many things that he had once taken as his due.

“Shall I pack everything away?” Del asked, interrupting his reverie.

Leo turned to her and smiled his nonpublic smile, the one he kept for retainers and blood-­servants, especially those he depended upon for security and a pleasant life. “Thank you, Del. Yes, it’s late.”

Del spoke into a headpiece, calling in the menials who would clean up and take down the candy stand. She was efficient and beautiful and far too bright and accomplished to be acting as a caterer, though as primo, that was part of her job from time to time. Perhaps too often.

“Del? . . .” She looked up at him, instantly alert for any need he might have. He studied her in the wan yellowed light that tried unsuccessfully to replicate gas streetlights of his early years in New Orleans. “You look lovely tonight. Are you happy in my employ?”

Del’s blond brows went up in surprise, wrinkling her forehead. “Thank—­Sir?”

She sounded . . . nonplussed. As if he never asked such things of her, of any of his dependents. And perhaps he had not done so, not in a long while. Had ruling made him hard and insensitive? Jane had insisted this was true, the last time he called her for some small service. Her exact words had been, “Do it yourself, your Royal Fangyness. This is my day off. And maybe it’s time to stop being such a royal ass.” She had hung up on him. And while he had raged, he had also enjoyed the exchange, her indifference, her rebellion, her refusal to bow before him.

To Del, Leo said,...

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Verlag
Penguin Publishing Group
Erscheinungsdatum
2022
Sprache
Englisch
ISBN 10 
0593334345
ISBN 13 
9780593334348
Einband
Taschenbuch
Anzahl der Seiten
352
Kontakt zum Hersteller
Nicht verfügbar
Verantwortliche Person
gpsr@libri.de
gpsr@libri.de

Friedensallee 273
Hamburg
22763
Deutschland