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Chloe Neill

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“PAPER TOWERS The library was on the second floor of the House, not far from my room. It had two floors—the first held the majority of the books and a balcony wrapped in a wrought-iron railing held another set. It was a cavalcade of tomes, all in immaculate rows, and with study carrels and tables thrown in for good measure. It was my home away from home(away from home. I walked inside and paused for a moment to breathe in the scent of paper and dust—the perfumes of knowledge. The library was empty of patrons as far as I could tell, but I could hear the rhythmic squeal of a library cart somewhere in the rows. I followed them down until I found the dark-haired vampire shelving books with mechanical precision. I knew him only as “the librarian.” He was a fount of information, and he had a penchant for leaving books outside my door.”

“Have you ever noticed that however uncomfortable you might have been when you first went to bed—the room too hot or too cold; the pillows not quite right; the mattress lumpy; the sheets scratchy by the time you should get up, your bed has transformed itself into the Platonic ideal of beds? The room is cool, the bed is soft, and the pillow may as well have been God’s Own Headrest. The transformation inevitably happens, of course, when you’re obligated to get up and out, when nothing sounds better than hunkering down in a pile of cool cotton.”

“Jeff opened blue eyes, grinned at me. “If you’re feeling left out . . .” I almost threw out an instinctive no, but I decided to throw him a bone. “Oh, Jeff. It’d be too good—you and me. Too powerful, too much emotion, too much heat. We’d come together and boom”—I clapped my hands together—“like a moth to a flame, there’d be nothing left.” His eyes glazed over. “Combustion?” “Totally.” He was quiet for a moment, his index finger tracing a pattern on the knee of his jeans. Then he nodded. “Too powerful. It’d destroy us both.” I nodded solemnly. “Probably so.” But I leaned over, pressed my lips to his forehead. “We’ll always have Chicago.” “Chicago,” he dreamily repeated. “Yeah. Definitely.” He cleared his throat, seemed to regain a little composure. “When I tell this story later, you kissed me on the mouth. With tongue. And you were handsy.” I chuckled. “Fair enough.”

“Yeni dönüştürülenler tek bir isim kullanırlar. Merit, eğer bunu kullanıyorsan, adını değiştirmemiz gerekmez. Sadece evlerin lliderleri soyadlarını koruyabilirler. Bu, hatırlaman gereken kurallardan sadece biri." Bana doğru eğilerek suratında pıs bir ifadeyle konuşmasına devam etti. " Ve kuralları çiğnemek düşkünlere yaraşır bir harelettir." Onun bu yumuşak ikazı karanlıkta yanan bir işaret feneri gibi zihnimde bir şeyleri ateşledi. Gözlerimi kırpıştırarak ona baktım. "Bir insanı rızası olmadan dnüştürmek de bazılarınca düşkünlere yaraşır hareket olarak görülebilir, Helen”

“Çok yaklaştın." dedi nefes nefese. "Yeterince yakın değil." Ama bunu söylerken sırıttım, hareketi yapmayı başarabildiğim için heyecanlanmıştım. Bu hareketim kalabalığı da memnun ettiş ve takdir eder şekilde ıslık çaldılar. "Dikkatli olun Hükümdar'ım" diye bapırdı birileri. "Kız güzel yüzünüzü yaralayabilir." Ethaniçten bir şekilde güldü. " Tanrı korusun." dedi balkondakilere. "O zaman sadece inanılmaz servetim ve harika içgüdülerim kalır güvenebileceğim.”

“Although security and warfare had never been my gig, vampire security was highly contextual and thus incredibly interesting. There were links to history (Vampires were screwed over yesterday!) and politics (House X screwed us over yesterday!), philosophy (Why do you think they screwed us over yesterday?) and ethics (If we didn’t bite, would they have screwed us over yesterday?), and, of course, strategy (How did they screw us over? How can we keep them from screwing us over again or, better yet, screw them over first?).”

“Who’s Baumgartner?” I asked. President of the 155.” At my blank stare, Catcher clarified, “My former union, Local 155 of the Union of Amalgamated Sorcerers and Spellcasters.” I nearly choked on chicken, and when I was done with the coughing fit, asked, “The acronym for the Order of sorcerers is ‘U-ASS’?” A, seriously appropriate,” Mallory commented, giving Catcher a sideways grin. “B, explains why they call it ‘the Order.”