By Seanan McGuire
Event the fun of the search within the 3rd October Daye city myth novel.
October "Toby" Daye is a changeling-half human and part fae-and the single one that has earned knighthood. Now she needs to tackle a nightmarish new problem. a person is stealing the youngsters of the fae in addition to mortal childrens, and all symptoms element to Blind Michael. Toby has no selection yet to trace the villain down-even while there are just 3 magical roads through which to arrive Blind Michael's realm, domestic of the Wild Hunt-and no highway will be taken greater than as soon as. If Toby can't break out with the kids, she's going to fall prey to the Wild Hunt and Blind Michael's inescapable strength.
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Additional resources for An Artificial Night (October Daye, Book 3)
Golden oblongs of sunshine lay heavy on a black and white tiled ﬂoor. The ﬂoor and kitchen were old, but the appliances were new. One of those deluxe refrigerators with an ice maker and water dispenser took up a hunk of the back wall. All the appliances were done in a pale yellow: Harvest Gold, Autumn Bronze. Sitting at the kitchen table was a woman in her early sixties. Her thin brown face was seamed with a lot of smile lines. Pure white hair was done in a bun at the nape of her neck. She sat very straight in her chair, thin-boned hands folded on the tabletop.
Sometimes it’s goat blood, but more often chicken. I had compromised on the outﬁt, caught between showing respect and not melting in the heat. It would have been easy if I hadn’t planned 32 LAURELL K. HAMILTON to carry a gun with me. Call me paranoid, but I don’t leave home without it. The acid washed jeans, jogging socks, and Nikes were easy. An Uncle Mike’s inter-pants holster complete with a Firestar 9mm completed the outﬁt. The Firestar was my backup piece to the Browning Hi-Power. The Browning was far too bulky to put down an inter-pants holster, but the Firestar ﬁt nicely.
A lot of hate in old Tony. It never occurred to him to pat me down for weapons. Tsk-tsk. A second man came to the screen door. He was in his late forties, maybe. He was wearing a white undershirt with a plaid shirt unbuttoned over it. The sleeves were folded back as far as they’d go. Sweat stood out on his forehead. I was betting there was a gun at the small of his back. His black hair had a pure white streak just over the forehead. ” His voice was thick and held an accent. ” The older man nodded.