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343 pages, Mass Market Paperback
First published June 1, 2010
“Readers have the right to say whatever the fuck they want about a book. Period. They have that right. If they hate the book because the MC says the word “delicious” and the reader believes it’s the Devil’s word and only evil people use it, they can shout from the rooftops “This book is shit and don’t read it” if they want. If they want to write a review entirely about how much they hate the cover, they can if they want. If they want to make their review all about how their dog Foot Foot especially loved to pee on that particular book, they can.” - Stacia Kane
His chapped lips stretched and flaked in a gruesome semblance of a smile, like a fat worm crawling across his face, revealing broken, graying teeth.No cliches. Expect a high dialogue to exposition ratio-- some of the best dialogue in urban fantasy. The invented vernacular lends life, realism, and plasticity to the dialogue, and the script read so far from the standard on-the-nose dialogue parroting a character's internal musings, usually delivered to us point by point just prior, that I was shocked, shocked, I say! when I couldn't guess Chess' next line, although her ineffectual stammering did wear on me.
And sometime soon—shit, she hadn’t even asked when—she’d be standing around with all of them. Bump and Slobag, Terrible and Lex. Every one of whom thought she owed them something. Not to mention her mysterious friend, the one who’d left human body parts in her car outside her work and followed her through the dark streets. How the fuck had she gotten herself into this one. Did she want to be killed?
Like playing with forbidden spells early in her training, like the rush of a line of speed she wanted just a little too much, she wanted this. Wanted to take from him and give back, too. Wanted to share something.
Her mouth refused to open, to utter that one small word that was all he needed to hear. Her body was taking its revenge on her, and what a time it picked.
She wasn’t scared anymore. Being with him wouldn’t be scary. Being without him, being alone again … That made her booze-diluted blood run cold.