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Urban Fantasy

Mr. Hartley (Alternate Places, Book 1) by P. S. Power

By P. S. Power

Zack must locate paintings, fast.

That's no longer a brand new factor, given that jobs are not easy to return via in those difficult monetary instances. So, determining to attempt anything new, he is taking a shortcut via a tree, to an interspatial nexus throughout city. It isn't this sort of factor that almost all humans do, yet this time it really works out pretty much, and he reveals employment. At a mystery embassy, masquerading as a slightly humble candle shop.

Mr. Hartley isn't simply a standard shop clerk, even if, and extremely quickly unusual issues develop into obvious to him that few could realize. just like the vampires operating where around the method, or the horny giantess that retains staring at him greater than slightly too closely.

As issues turn into extra transparent secrets and techniques are exposed, and Zack's previous, particularly secure, lifestyles is going away with out warning.

Now, thrown into the thick of a global that he'd consistently been advised didn't exist, he needs to live on and face the worst factor imaginable.

His personal memories.

* those books comprise intercourse, violence and grownup topics. no longer advised for kids lower than 14 years outdated, or individuals with gentle sensibilities.

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Additional info for Mr. Hartley (Alternate Places, Book 1)

Sample text

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.

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