My wards shivered and died, leaving my home stripped of its defenses. The TV flared into life, unnaturally loud in the empty house. I raised my eyebrow at the bottle and bet it that another urgent bulletin was on. The bottle lost.
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Especially if there are rolling tumble weeds around. More or less. Kate Daniels is IT. Kate Daniels cannot be rated. Now that would be intergalactically EPIC. Well maybe I would. If I rererererereread it over and over and over and over again. Forever after. And stuff. It would be glorious. Feel like punching His Furiness in the face.
Where did that thought come from? Good doggy. I curse your eyeballs to explode. I curse your feet to swell until blue. I curse you. A guy in a cloak did it. Good to know. Consider praying to Miss Marple. Now who could that be? Cholera on magic steroids. What did you ever do to anybody? Consider dancing a jig in celebration the minute it happens.
Find out he prefers throats to anuses. Thank the gods for small favors. Find a guy pinned to the elevator shaft by a spear through his throat. Stay cool. No punching in the face. Punching would not be Zen. A friendly conversation ensues.
Consider throwing in some whistling. And rolling thumbleweed. Go home, resurrect a head in the kitchen. Your deadly attack poodle barfs a little. Things are looking up. Hot tub. SIG-Sauer P Diving for clams. Weld the bimbo room shut. Decorate with catnip. Fun times. Have a short phone conversation with His Furiness. Realize your butt is glued to your chair. She came all the way from Babylon too.
Coolest aunt ever. This is one happy little squirrel. Curran homicidal. The Universe just exploded. Lose all sense. Oh boy. Think it might give Jim an aneurysm. Realize she recently developed a fetish for spandex. Why you? No problem. No biggie. Got a toothpick.
Especially if there are rolling tumble weeds around. More or less. Kate Daniels is IT. Kate Daniels cannot be rated. Now that would be intergalactically EPIC.
It needed multiple drafts and a lot of patience from everyone involved. I would like to thank my agent, Nancy Yost, for holding my hand through it, and my editor, Anne Sowards, who worked on the manuscript as hard as I did. When I was writing the book, the dog had no name, so I ran a contest on my website, asking the readers for suggestions, and the following people offered entries that made it into the book: B. Finally, thank you very much to Jeaniene Frost and Jill Myles. This book does have sex in it. Please dont hit me anymore.