By K. A. Tucker
Evangeline has spent her teenage years in obscurity. Her foster mom and dad have the emotional flair of robots and her classmates slightly recognize her lifestyles. approximately to show eighteen and feeling like a social pariah, she is wanting to hook up with an individual. a person. whilst Evangeline meets Sofie after actually stumbling upon her café, she believes she’s discovered that connection. keen to do whatever to maintain it, she accepts a role as Sofie’s assistant and drops every thing to fly to ny, the place she is thrust right into a sumptuous global of Prada, diamonds, and unlimited funds. With such generosity and kindness, it’s effortless for Evangeline to brush aside yes oddities . . . like Sofie’s erratic and occasionally violent habit, and the colossal protect canine. She’s even keen to brush aside her bright goals of mob-style murders, attractive homeless humans dwelling in caves, and white-eyed demons that hang-out her each one evening as figments of her imagination—especially whilst a kind of figments is the beautiful Caden. whilst she wakes up with chunk marks on her neck, the fairy story speedy becomes a nightmare. She slowly unravels the secret surrounding Sofie and acquaintances, and the truth of the bites and the “dreams.” What she discovers is way extra mysterious and poor than something she may have imagined. In an international the place each person has rationale to lie for private achieve, Evangeline needs to make a decision which deception is least prone to get her killed.
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Extra info for Anathema (Causal Enchantment, Book 1)
Good black suit, a little too small, clutched briefcase, freckles of gray in the hair. No rings. He did not seem startled or doubled over with desire as they sometimes were. He was calm, his answering smile measured and almost sweet, like a photograph of a soldier lost in a long-ago war. Coolly, without taking his dark eyes from hers, he turned over his left palm and rested it on the creamy brown edge of his briefcase. His hand was covered in a mark she first thought horrible—it snaked and snarled, black and swollen, where fortune-teller’s lines ought to have been.
At the end of each day they tell her all they have learned of living. It is necessary work. No family has been so often formally thanked by the city as hers. _______ On the other side of the street: a fortune-teller’s shop. Palm fronds cross before the door. Inside are four red chairs with four lustral basins before them, filled with ink, swirling and black. Orlande lumbers in, a woman wrapped in ragged fox fur. Her head amid heaps of scarves is that of a frog, mottled green and bulbous-eyed. A licking pink tongue keeps its place in her wide mouth.
It folds itself, origami-exact, in midair: it has papery eyes, inky feathers, vellum claws. It stares down the long avenues, searching for mice. This is the life cycle of Palimpsest fauna. Yumiko leans against the door post, holding her arms out like a sister who had never hoped to see her dear one again. She is not wearing her schoolgirl’s dress any longer, but a red scrap that clings to her waist like a spool of yarn pulled tighter than breathing. With a local girl’s surety she guides Sei inside—a little scalloped bell chimes, and Imogen looks up from her parchments with a stern face, her black hair soft around a neck just slightly too long for a woman to wear in company.