Abigail Barnette's Blog, page 16

Jealous Haters Book Club: Crave, chapter 12, “It’s All Fun and Games Until Someone Loses Their Life”

That chapter title makes it sound like something exciting is going to happen here.

Nothing exciting happens here.

In fact, there’s no reason that this chapter and chapter thirteen shouldn’t have been the same chapter. I looked at the table of contents and there are like sixty-five chapters in this book. And that, my friends, immediately got me thinking that this was meant to be serialized fiction. After some frustrating googling (there are approximately nine hundred billion stories titled Crave on Wattpad), I didn’t find any evidence that it’s ever been a serial. Still, I do wonder if it was initially written with the thought of, hey, let’s put this on Wattpad, get a big audience for it, and bill it as this enormous viral hit like After, and then act like it’s some kind of coup that Entangled got their hands on it. That’s just speculation, of course, but it might explain why the chapters are so short and end so abruptly, only to pick up exactly where the last one ended.

Plus, I think at this point, everyone knows that Entangled is usually trying to force The Next Big Thing long after the previous “big thing” that inspired them has lost its momentum.

We left Grace in the library, having interrupted a girl chanting and looking spooky.

I fumble for an apology—or at least an excuse—but before I can come up with one, the rage in her eyes is gone. In fact, it dissipates so quickly, I can’t be sure I didn’t imagine it. Especially since the anger, or whatever it was, turns to welcome as she walks toward me.

Right away, the suspense from the chapter hook is gone. The thing that made the reader continue into the next chapter was the idea of this beautiful, chanting girl using this terrifying rage on our heroine. But don’t worry! Nothing interesting happens! The rage goes away the second you turned the page! This is just a character introduction!

I’m trying not to sound too annoyed about it, but I kind of am. Like, so far, I’ve mostly enjoyed this book. But if it’s going to be a constant build-up of suspense followed by nothing actually happening, I’m going to lose enthusiasm. So far, that’s been how the last few chapters have gone and I’m not into it.

“You must be Grace,” she says in slightly accented English as she comes to a stop about a foot in front of me. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.” She extends a hand forward and I take it, bemused, as she continues. “I’m Lia, and I have a feeling we’re going to be really good friends.”

After introducing herself, Lia hustles Grace out of the room they’re in and locks it all up.

“What language was that you were speaking? Was it native to Alaska? It was beautiful,” I say as we start walking back toward the center of the library.

“Oh, no.” She laughs, a light, tinkling sound that perfectly matches the rest of her. “It’s actually a language I came across in my research. I’ve never heard it spoken out loud, so I’m not even sure I’m pronouncing it correctly.”

I think Lia is going to be a villain. She’s chanting in a language she doesn’t even know, in a secret room she doesn’t want Grace to be in. She’s also very quirky, and we’ve already got Macy. There isn’t room for more than one quirky friend in a YA novel.

I’ve thought about the comment about Native languages from the last chapter and I think I know why it was included. This was billed as the “feminist Twilight” in promotional materials. I have a feeling that because Twilight was so fucked up in its representation of the Quileute people, Wolff or Pelletier or someone was like, wait, let’s make sure we acknowledge that there are Native people from this area and make sure everyone knows our book isn’t racist like that book. It’s just painfully out of place. Well-intentioned but glaring. Like, never before in this story has Grace been interested in books or other cultures, there’s been no mention of it at all until a non-white character shows up speaking a different language. I’m not saying it’s necessarily bad for someone to think of these things while they’re writing or to include them, but it does feel pretty out-of-place for this character to suddenly be deeply interested in the Native languages of a place she never had any intention of setting foot in until her parents’ recent death.

Grace asks Lia what book she found the language in, and Lia is like, a boring one, let’s go have some tea. She points out that Grace will have plenty of time to talk about their classes when she’s actually taking them.

I decide not to mention that starting new classes is pretty much the only thing I’ve been looking forward to about the move to Alaska. I mean, my public school definitely didn’t offer Witch Hunts in the Atlantic World for a history credit. Besides, tea sounds wonderful, especially considering what just happened when I tried a Dr Pepper.

PROMOTIONAL CONSIDERATION BY

Anyway, can we just… I just want to…

Look.

Look.

We’ve given Grace a lot of leeway here with regards to whether or not she should have figured out yet that this is a magic school. She has now found a girl chanting in an unrecognizable language in the back room of a gargoyle-infested library and oh, by the by, THERE IS A CLASS AT THIS SCHOOL THAT IS ALL ABOUT WITCH HUNTS, JUST WITCH HUNTS, SPECIFICALLY BETWEEN THE 15TH AND 19TH CENTURIES.

Not World History. Not U.S. History. Not Government. Specifically just a class about witches.

In a school full of weird shit and ominous warnings.

GRACE, COME ON, YOU SHOULD HAVE THIS FIGURED OUT BY NOW.

Especially if she’s such a huge book fan, as we’ve suddenly been told out of the blue in the last chapter.

We find out that the librarian is named Ms. Royce and Lia describes her as a “hippie skirt and flower crown” person, so I’m assuming she’s a witch. Or maybe that female gargoyle noted in the last chapter. Still not ruling out the librarian being a gargoyle.

We’re on the other side of the library from where I came in and we pass through a sitting area with a bunch of black couches, each one dotted with purple throw pillows bearing different quotes from classic horror movies. My favorite is Norman Bates’s famous line from Psycho: “We all go a little mad sometimes.” Although I’m also partial to the pillow next to it: “Be afraid. Be very afraid,” from The Fly.

Those are some fresh teen references there, I’ll tell ya. What late gen z/early gen alpha isn’t familiar with the films of 1980s Jeff Goldblum?

Authors, I beg of you, please look somewhere besides Hot Topic and Facebook for your “humor.” I promise, it’s totally possible to be funny without regurgitating slogans and telling the audience how funny those slogans are.

Lia says that Ms. Royce loves Halloween and that’s why the library looks the way it does but at this point, why is anyone trying to hide what the school is from Grace? I’m shocked that so far, no one has been like, “Wow, your uncle brought a human here?” because they just assume she would already know. I was so expecting Lia to say something like that and have the big reveal in this chapter.

Alas.

If we really want to pick a nit, here’s one: Grace notes that Halloween was three days earlier. Denali doesn’t get intense amount of snow in October that we’ve heard about Grace suffering through upon arrival. And Denali park services record something like three inches of snow on the ground in October, with the caveat that yeah, it’s probably colder at the summit of the mountain.

Honestly, Alaska isn’t as snowy as people think it is. It was second in the running last year, right between Colorado at first and Michigan in third. And there have actually been years that Michigan got more snow than Alaska. It’s the cold in Alaska that’s the killer, I guess?

Why am I hung up on weather? We have a boring character introduction chapter to get through.

They leave the library and Lia asks about how Grace is doing with the transition:

“So I’m assuming, since you aren’t at the party Macy organized for you, that your first full day at our illustrious school hasn’t been as smooth as your cousin hoped it’d be?”

Grace refuses to engage in making it sound like Macy is the problem, which I like and which also makes me kinda suspicious of Lia. Why is she trying to get Grace to be critical of Macy right away in this conversation? What’s the point of that?

Lia is too friend. Red flags all the way for me on this one.

Instead, Grace says that she’s still recovering from the travel and Lia is like, yeah, getting here is hard unless you’re coming from Vancouver.

“Yeah, I’m definitely not from Vancouver.” I shiver a little as an unexpected wind whips through the hallway.

Welcome to your new school, where you just found someone randomly rage-chanting in the spooky library after you ran from a school party brought to you by the creators of HBO’s True Blood, a school which features classes on the persecution of witches and also has random wind blowing around inside. Oh, also, you watch a show about a magic school that’s very similar to this one in concept but you haven’t connected a single one of these dots yet.

Lia mentions that Alaska is “a long way from California” and Grace is like:

“How did you know I’m from California?” Maybe that’s why everyone is staring at me—I must be wearing my not-from-here vibe like a parka.

My first thought was, well, your uncle told everyone that you’re coming here from California. Obviously, we don’t know that happened, but it makes sense, right?

But then Lia says oh, yeah, your uncle must have mentioned it, and goes on to talk about San Diego and I’m like, HA HA! I got your number, Lia! I know you’re a villain now! When someone in a book or a movie or a show says something, and the main character is like, how did you know that, and the person who said it is like, oh, I must have heard it somewhere, SOMETHING IS UP.

Here’s my thought: later, that’ll be a clue of some kind. Grace will be like, wait, Lia did know details about me that I hadn’t told her, and I’ll be like, wait, your uncle apparently wouldn’t shut up about you coming to the school and if he never mentioned it, Macy sure has.

Lia’s room is on the same floor as Grace’s, and as they walk, Lia points out where some stuff is. This makes Grace feel a little better, because one of her main concerns has been getting lost in the school.

I’m a little surprised when she stops in front of the one door on the hallway, maybe on the whole floor, that doesn’t have some kind of decoration on it.

My surprise must show, because she says, “It’s been a rough year. I just wasn’t up to decorating when I got back here.”

Red flag number two. Maybe we’re going to find out that Lia isn’t even a student there, and she left the door not decorated because she’s not supposed to be in there.

Maybe she’s a ghost.

I don’t know, at this point I just need something to happen that’s not Jaxon-related. Some larger plot that isn’t focused solely on whether or not Grace will end up with the aloof and toxic badboy vampire.

Lia is grieving someone, too; her boyfriend she’s been with for “a really long time,” which also raises a red flag for me in the “maybe Lia is a ghost” department because how long is “a really long time” when they’re teenagers? I’m not saying teenage relationships aren’t important or she can’t be grieving or anything like that, but the idea of “a long time” interests me solely because this is a paranormal novel and could be an indicator of how long Lia has been alive (or not alive).

I need Lia to be interesting somehow beyond chanting. I need her to bring some kind of conflict to this story. Please, Lia, I beg of you. Turn into a werewolf. Eat a baby’s heart. Do something other than being another side character Grace meets in between weird interactions with Jaxon.

Because the thing is, I feel like if Lia does turn out to be a bad guy, the groundwork is laid really solidly. Like, the trying to get Grace to talk shit about Macy, the being in the library instead of at the party, the instant friendliness, the whole “we’re both grieving” thing… I feel like all of these are clues that will later make sense.

If they’re not… IDK, yous all.

Lia and I just kind of stand there in the middle of her dorm room for a second, two people who look fine on the outside but who are destroyed on the inside. We don’t talk, don’t say anything at all. Just stay where we are and absorb the fact that someone else hurts as much as we do.

It’s a bizarre feeling. And an oddly comforting one.

I really like this. Here’s Grace getting a friend who is coming from a similar circumstance and who can really understand what she’s going through.

So, we’re agreed, then? Lia is a villain?

I’m not trying to just gloss over a lot of stuff here, but it’s… honestly not interesting. Lia makes tea, which reminds Grace of her mother, and that’s a nice touch because we haven’t learned a lot about Grace’s relationship to her parents yet. We also learn that “back home” for Lia is Tokyo and that her mother sends her a new tea set every semester so Lia won’t get homesick.

I’m not like, a cultural attache to Japan or anything but… am I fucking weird or isn’t Lia like, a Hebrew name? Like from the Bible? Or is it coincidentally also a Japanese name that someone born to Japanese parents in Japan would have? I need to know this trivia please. Japanese people, send help?

Lia asks Grace about the party again, and Grace tries to sound upbeat and positive, but Lia says she’s a bad liar.

“You should probably work on that. At Katmere, knowing how to lie well is practically Survival 101.”

When Grace plays that totally alarming statement off as a joke, this happens:

There’s no humor in her answer this time, and I realize suddenly that there was none in her original statement, either.

“Wait,” I say, strangely discomfited by that fact. “What do you guys have to lie about that’s so important?”

That’s when Lia looks me straight in the eye and answers, “Everything.”

Hell of a chapter hook, right?

No. Because once again, the DUN DUN DUUUUUHHHNNNN moment ends up being totally undermined at the beginning of the next chapter.

Now, scroll up and look at the chapter title. Did anyone play a game? Did anyone come close to dying? Did anyone die? Did anything in this chapter happen that the chapter title remotely implies?

THEN WHAT IS THE POINT OF PERSISTING IN THESE CHAPTER TITLES?

I like chapter titles! I enjoy them! I employ them, on occasion. But they have to make some sort of sense. They can’t be just fraudulent advertisements for the chapter. This is a boring chapter. I could read the chapter before it and then go to bed and not feel compelled to read just one more page. And that’s where these false hooks and fake chapter titles come from. Oh, Lia said they have to lie about everything! This is getting good! Ooh, and the next chapter title is “Just Bite Me,” so something vampire-ish will happen!

It doesn’t, though! There’s no reason for the title to be “Just Bite Me,” just like there was no reason for this chapter to have such a dramatic title.

If you want your book to be interesting, my first suggestion would be: make it interesting. And this book already does have my interest, so step one is taken care of. I’m interested in this book. Step two is trusting the reader to be interested in it. At no point between steps one and two did it become necessary to consistently bait and switch with ominous chapter hooks and cryptic chapter titles. You can get away with that once, maybe, but now it’s happened a couple times and it’s frustrating. Someone put their hands on Grace’s shoulders! DUN DUN DUUUUHN! Phew, it was just Flint. Grace finds a spooky girl with rage face in the library! DUN DUN DUUUUUHN! Actually, she’s really nice and invites her for tea. But wait, she says they have to lie about everything and it’s really suspicious! DUN DUN DUUUUUN! Don’t worry, when you turn the page, you find out she’s just joking.

I can see why this book is popular, okay? It’s easy to read, the chapters are short so it feels like it moves fast (but we’re on chapter thirteen and it’s still her first full day at the school). But the mechanics of it are cheap and disappointing. I’m not writing this book off completely because, like I said, I’m still pretty invested in what’s happening, but I feel resentful that the author won’t just trust that I can stay interested in something without cheap tricks and gimmicks that don’t pay off.

Don’t forget to come hang out on my YouTube channel tomorrow starting at 2pm EST (or drop by any time, it’s real casual) for cake eating and a live reading of the Fifty Shades of Grey recaps. Oh, and chit-chat and such. It’ll be amazing.

10 Years of Hating, Jealously

You might not believe this. I know that I certainly don’t. But April 18th, 2022 is the TENTH BIRTHDAY OF THE JEALOUS HATERS BOOK CLUB.

Our very first installment, way back before the club had a name, 50 Shades of Grey, chapter one, or why Ana is the shittiest friend ever, debuted to what I assumed would be an extremely limited audience. My career was stalled; I had nothing left to lose and nothing else going on. But within less than twenty-four hours of that first post, the recaps were on their way to becoming viral. The second recap, posted a day after the first one, already featured a fan art contribution. By the eighth recap, I was receiving hate mail and all sort of unhinged accusations from two different authors’ fan armies. And by the time I finished the book in June of that year (remember, when my output was much faster?), my blog had received more visitors than the annual total of the Space Needle.

The Jealous Hater Book Club put me on the map and allowed me to branch out with viral essays and tv appearances about other subjects. My bone-deep hatred of Fifty Shades of Grey led to one of my biggest literary successes in The Boss, a series of erotic fiction that has sold over a million copies, was published in more languages than I kept track of, and has found a new audience—and twenty-four million views—on the Radish app. Most recently, Jealous Haters Book Club spawned a private Patreon club, Jealous Patrons Book Club, in which I continue to skewer books that are, frankly, total ass. Jealous Haters Book Club has changed my life, brought so many of you cool people into it, and I’m freaking shocked that it’s all lasted this long.

And of course, this special anniversary happens on a fucking Monday.

So, like a kid whose birthday falls on a Wednesday, the party is happening on Saturday. Drop by YouTube Live on April 23, 2:00 pm to ???? (until question marks means the party’s really gonna be rocking) for a live reading of the original recaps (full disclosure? I have not read them since ten years ago), chit-chat, gossip, and cake.

You can’t have cake, though. Because the internet hasn’t evolved to the point that I could share it with you. But Mr. Jen FOOLISHLY said, “You can’t eat a whole sheet cake by yourself.” So obviously, I’m gonna try to eat a whole sheet cake by myself live on the internet.

If you can’t stop by, then allow me to express my heartfelt thanks to you right now: if you came to the recaps late, thanks for coming. If you were here from day one, thanks for spreading the word and making my Fifty Shades of Grey recaps bigger than I ever intended them to be. And to everyone who came for those recaps and stayed to make fun of books from the problematic to the just boring, thanks for sticking around.

I honestly cannot thank Trout Nation enough. All I did was write the recaps. You all made the community. I’m just lucky to be the weirdo at the center of it.

Trout Nation Tarot Club!

Due to a change in YouTube’s mobile streaming policy…

SATURDAY NIGHT TAROT IS BACK!

You can find the link to the live stream and the question box here.

I’ve gone with “Trout Nation Tarot Club” rather than “FItshaced Fortuneteller” because I recently learned that “fortuneteller” is perjorative/appropriative to some people and it’s better safe that hurt somebody’s feelings!

It’s so much fun, so stop by!

February Goals Wrap-up/March Goals Post

Is this a goals post? Halfway through the month?

Let me tell you why.

This was my goals list for February:

4 ACOTAR posts2 chapters TBCVT2 chapters Queen of Hell2 crave posts5 “episodes” werewolves2 videos

That little star there by one of them? That’s a gold star from January that sticks over the line due to enthusiasm. Because, you see, I didn’t get too many of my goals for February.

And this time? It’s not procrastination. It’s an amazing reason, which I cannot full explain to you yet, but which has to do with one of the goals I achieved. But I won’t get ahead of myself.

First goal, the A Court of Thorns and Roses recap over on my Patreon? Yeah, I made that goal. Pretty much because I hate the book soooooo much… flames. On the sides of my face, etc. The fast I pump those recaps out, the sooner I’ll be done with that book. Honestly, if I were doing it for free? I would have abandoned it by now. It’s just. It’s so bad and I hate it so much and I feel such dread at the rise in popularity of books “inspired” (read: lazily copied from) that series. But I managed to get four chapters worth of recaps and book club discussion posts finished, so I’m a powerhouse.

Since you read this blog, you’re aware that I didn’t get two chapters of The Business Centaur’s Virgin Temp posted. I didn’t get two chapters of Queen of Hell done, either. Crave posts? I did manage to get two of those posted here. Two videos? I did film them. But an error with the sound meant I couldn’t post them.

Which brings me to “5 episodes werewolves,” and the reason some of my goals got shoved off the back burner and down the garbage disposal. And I’m not even down on myself about it. I can’t make an official announcement yet, but I can tell you that not only did I succeed at that goal, way beyond five episodes, I sold the project.

So, what does that mean?

Abigail Barnette is coming out of retirementto write high-heat urban fantasyabout werewolvesfor the Radish Fiction app

Yup. Only a year after retirement, the Abigail Barnette brand is getting an overhaul. I represented myself for a Nice Deal with Radish, in a three “season” deal (they do episodes instead of chapters and seasons instead of books), and that’s about all I can say at this time. However, that means I’ve been writing my butt off on a project that I’m so enthusiastic about, in a way I haven’t been gripped by a project in a while.

Oh, and the turn-around is absolutely bonkers, so that deadline is a huge motivator.

So, what are my goals for March, you might be asking?

Due to the aforementioned deal, my goals for March are:

4 ACOTAR posts46 episodes TBTAK (the werewolf project)2 videos

We’ll see how this goes.

How did you all do on your goals for February? Any goals for March? Talk about it in the comments!

Jealous Haters Book Club: Crave chapter 11, “In the Library, No One Can Hear You Scream”

First of all, the title of this chapter makes no sense. If I asked you one adjective to describe libraries, I think “quiet” would be one of the first that came to your mind. Quiet places aren’t exactly known for their ability to muffle sounds. Wear really, really squeaky boots to an uncarpeted courtroom and see.

It’s more like… at hockey games, no one can hear you scream.

But that’s not the only “Have you ever been in a library?” moment I had during this chapter.

Anyway, Grace is running away from the party, and she doesn’t care where she’s going.

I have no idea what I did to make Jaxon so mad, have no idea why he blows so hot and cold with me. I’ve run into him four times since I got to this frozen hellhole, and each time has been a different experience.

And only two of them weren’t terrible, going by Grace’s description:

Douchey the first time, blank the second, intense the third, and furious the fourth.

“Blank” and “intense” are neutral words, but “douchey” and “furious” are definitely negatives.

Hey, teens! Would you like to talk with some of the latest slang?

His moods change more quickly than my bestie’s Insta feed.

This book came out in 2020. That sentence was dated when the book came out. I understand the challenges of writing contemporary stories, because using contemporary words is inevitable. And I get how hard it is to write about teenagers when one is two decades past that time in their lives. But this line just screams, “How do you do, fellow kids?” Here’s a Writing Tip from a mom with two teenagers of her own: they talk exactly the way adults do, and don’t intentionally seek out words that are “on-trend.”

Unless they’re trying to mock me.

Not to mention that people’s Instagrams don’t “change,” they update. Also, not loving “more quickly” when “faster” exists.

Sorry to seem so picky when thus far I haven’t really found much I don’t like about this book. I just happened to read this chapter and it feels like it’s taking a turn and I’m disappointed and cranky. But I’m not giving up hope.

Grace is wondering why she ran off the way she did, just because Jaxon ate a strawberry.

Deep inside, I know it’s more than that. It’s the look on his face, the indolence of his body language, the very obvious fuck you in his eyes as he stared directly at me. But still, fleeing the way I did seems absurd now.

I guess I don’t have to worry about anybody gaslighting Grace in this book. She’ll just do it herself. She’s describing this guy as having hostile body language and giving her “fuck you” vibes, but she’s going, no, I am the one who is absurd. No! Absurd is having your own like, velvet throne in the middle of a party and biting a strawberry as a threat! That is absurd behavior, even in a vampire novel! That is some True Blood level absurdity!

While she’s wandering and mentally abusing herself, she finds herself standing outside of the school library. She’s another bookish YA heroine, so she goes inside.

Look, I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with bookish people, or bookish heroines, or bookish YA heroines in particular. They’re just not that fresh or unusual and this is the least interesting thing we’ve learned about Grace, so far. Also, we’ve had zero indication that Grace is particularly bookish, at all. When she’s arriving in chapter one, she doesn’t think about all the books she left behind. She thinks about her art supplies and her drum kit. The only other times books have been mentioned at all have been as part of descriptions of a room or what people are doing. Grace has never been like, I wish they would leave me alone so I could just read, or anything like that. Book lovers would have those thoughts.

But let’s get back to it. Grace goes into the library and it’s not a friendly-feeling place.

The moment I do, I get hit with the oddest feeling. Dread pools in my stomach, and everything inside tells me to turn around, to go back the way I came.

She ignores it and stays in the library long enough that the feeling goes away.

It only takes a second for the feeling of dread to dissipate and for absolute wonder to take its place. Because whoever runs this library is my kind of people. Part of it is the sheer number of books—tens of thousands of them at least, lined up in bookcase after bookcase. But there are other things, too.

Gargoyles perched on random bookshelves, looking down as if guarding the books.

A few dozen shimmering crystals, interspersed with sparkling ribbons, hanging from the ceiling in what appears to be randomly spaced intervals.

There are tons of spots to sit and read, too.

But the pièce de résistance, the thing that has me dying to meet the librarian, is the stickers plastered everywhere. On the walls, on the bookshelves, on the desks and chairs and computers. Everywhere. Big stickers, little stickers, funny stickers, encouraging stickers, brand-name stickers, emoji stickers, sarcastic stickers… The list goes on and on, and there’s a part of me that wants to wander the library until I read or look at every single one.

But there are too many for one tour—too many for a dozen tours, if I’m honest—so I decide to start this one by checking out the stickers I run across when following the gargoyles.

I have read enough urban fantasy to know that these gargoyles will prove to be sentient and sticker-obsessed and pretty much every line out of their mouths will be easily imagined as an ’00s Hot Topic t-shirt slogan.

Grace realizes that the gargoyles aren’t placed randomly, and she wonders if the librarian is trying to direct people to something specific.

Once again, I’m gonna point out that, upon reaching the vast, eccentrically decorated, gargoyle-filled library with crystals hanging all over the place in a boarding school full of mysterious and intense students, this fan of Legacies, a show about a boarding school full of mysterious, intense students, has not figured out that she’s in a magical school yet.

But let’s meet the gargoyles that I guarantee will end up being sentient and/or the librarians.

The first gargoyle—a fierce-looking thing with bat wings and a furious snarl—stands guard over a shelf of horror novels. The bookshelf itself is decorated with Ghostbusters stickers, and I can’t help but laugh as I trace the spines of everyone from John Webster to Mary Shelley, from Edgar Allan Poe to Joe Hill. The fact that there’s a special homage to Victor Hugo only makes it better, especially the tongue-in-cheek placement of three copies of The Hunchback of Notre-Dame right in the gargoyle’s line of sight.

Wait. From John Webster (W) to Marry Shelley (S)? From Edgar Allen Poe (P) to Joe Hill (H)? And The Hunchback of Notre-Dame is in the horror section and not just general fiction like other classic gothic novels generally are? I appreciate that this is telegraphing the fact that these gargoyles are almost certainly going to be sentient comic relief exactly like the Disney version but the joke is not funny enough for all the problems it creates. We’ve just been told that Grace loves libraries and she just can’t resist them… so why didn’t she immediately notice that the alphabet is out of order? That books are in sections they usually aren’t?

Anyway, back to the gargoyles. There’s the fierce one, then a fat one sitting on a pile of skulls on top of a bookshelf with human anatomy books––wait. Wait a second. Why is human anatomy mixed in with fiction? This place is a mess. Then there’s a girl gargoyle reading on top of a shelf of fantasy books.

I decide instantly that she’s my favorite and pick out a book from her shelf to read tonight in case I can’t sleep. Then nearly laugh out loud as I trace my finger around the edges of a sticker that reads, “I’m not a damsel in distress; I’m a dragon in a dress.”

The groan I just let out, yous all. Brace yourself for “normal is just a setting on a dryer,” or “reality is nice to visit but I wouldn’t want to live there.”

I swear, I’m not hating this book. It is still the least bad book we’ve read here. To the point that I’m like, does this even belong here (especially since the hype plummeted shortly after these recaps started)? But this chapter is just so much cringe. It’s another example of that uneven writing I’ve mentioned before.

On and on it goes, and the longer I’m here, the more convinced I am that the head librarian here is the coolest person ever––and has fantastic taste in books.

*extreme Morbo voice* LIBRARIANS DO NOT WORK THAT WAY.

No, but seriously, they don’t. Librarians aren’t tasked with amassing a collection of books they enjoy. They’re supposed to fill the library with materials their patrons enjoy. This being a school library, there are also going to have to be books that are used to teach the curriculum, right? And one assumes that the librarian isn’t focusing on being “cool” but enriching the students’ lives with crucial literature for their development. I’m not disputing that librarians are cool, I just don’t think Grace (who is an avid library fan?) knows how libraries work or like, kind of what they even are?

Grace is still following the shelves with the gargoyles on them (apparently, there are more than three? I had to reread this library scene several times to understand that the “final gargoyle” mentioned at one point is not the third gargoyle grace described, but another gargoyle entirely and there are several more. At least, I think that’s what’s happening? Like I said, this is one of those chapters where the writing is just so completely uneven that it’s impossible to believe it was written by the same person who wrote the rest of the book. But anyway, she ends up at a sign restricting access to a room that’s clearly in use, but the sign makes Grace want to check it out even more.

Especially since the light is on and there’s some weird kind of music playing.

I’m noting the “weird” part because we’re gonna discuss it.

Just like we’re gonna discuss this:

I try to place it, but as I get closer, I realize it’s not so much music as it is chanting in a language I don’t recognize and certainly can’t understand.

Like, am I drunk? Is chanting not music? I thought we settled that pretty definitively back when everyone was losing their virginities to CDs of Latin masses back in the early 1990’s.

The fact that it’s not a language she knows makes Grace super hype because:

When I was researching Alaska, I learned that there are twenty different languages spoken here by the state’s native peoples, and I can’t help but wonder if that’s what I’m hearing. I hope so—I’ve totally been wanting a chance to listen to one of the native languages spoken. Especially since so many of them are threatened, including a couple that have less than four thousand speakers in the entire world. That these native languages are dying out is one of the saddest things I’ve ever heard.

Grace came to Alaska without appropriate winter gear, but she researched the local tribes?

There’s so much about that paragraph that makes the left corner of my mouth pull sharply down and my eyebrows wince together as I slowly back from the proverbial room. Grace hears “weird” music that isn’t “music” because it’s in a native language and…like, idk how to break this to you, Ms. Wolff, but natives have music. And while this is preferable to the “natives are werewolves” angle Twilight took, this is getting a big yikes from me because there haven’t been any native characters introduced at all.

Maybe if I’m lucky, I can kill two birds with one stone here. I can meet the very cool librarian responsible for this library and get a lesson from her (because the voice is definitely female) on one of those native languages.

Soooooo much happening here. I need to go to bullet points.

the door has a sign saying students aren’t allowed in the roomyou cannot tell someone is “definitely” a certain gender based on voiceespecially if you’re listening to singing in a musical style and language you’ve never heardaccess to the room might be restricted for reasons related to that singing, i.e., this could be someone praying or somethingaccess to the language might restricted from Grace owing to not being a part of the culture

Grace plans to interrupt this person, whom she assumes is native, to barge into what they’re doing in private so they can teach her about their culture.

But when I step up to the door, ready to introduce myself, I find that the person doing the chanting isn’t the librarian at all. She’s a girl about my age, with long, silky dark hair and one of the most beautiful faces I’ve ever seen. Maybe the most beautiful.

you cannot always reliably tell a person’s age from their appearancelibrarians can be beautiful

Here’s an assumption I’m going to make. “long, silky dark hair” is going to either mean that she is, in fact, Native, or she’s going to end up being descended from an East Asian ethnic group.

Which makes the rest of her description real, real uncomfy:

Whoever she is, she looks fierce, cheeks flushed, mouth open wide to let out the unique sounds of whatever language she is speaking. She stops mid-word, with what looks an awful lot like fury burning in her swirling black eyes.

Whether this character turns out to be Asian or Native, that description is not gonna look great in hindsight. Major Apolonia “beautiful savage” vibes going on there that I’m not a fan of.

So, again, I have to wonder: how was this written by one author? Because this chapter is so full of groan-worthy crap, from the Hot Topic t-shirt slogan-style joke to the “teen” slang and Grace suddenly being passionate about researching Native languages. In fact, this chapter doesn’t even feel like it belongs in the same book at all. We’re told early on that Grace has lost interest in things because her parents died and her whole life has been this numb whirlwind of change, but suddenly she was like, hang on, lemme take a second out of my grief coma to research not “will I need a wooly hat in Alaska’s famously frigid climate” but the languages of the local Native tribes. And the thing about suddenly being so into libraries and books just randomly popping up in chapter eleven with no previous mention of the possibility at all just floors me.

I don’t know, I’m just reeling at the sudden change between the book we were reading and the book we’re now reading. The writing is uneven, the characterization is uneven, the 2013-level white savior moment is bizarre… I don’t know what’s happening here and at this point, the failed hype is transparently the work of a publisher desperate to have the “next” Twilight and not concerned with the actual content of the book they were doling out cash to publicize.

Jealous Haters Book Club: Crave chapter 9 “Even Hell Has its Factions”

Sorry for skipping this one. My brain hasn’t been right lately. My original intention was to do chapters nine and ten together because chapter ten was so short. But I guess I only followed through with half that plan. And not in the right order.

Anyway, you know the party we just read about in chapter ten? Chapter nine starts before that, when Grace is getting ready. Macy has loaned Grace a dress to wear, but it’s a little more daring than Grace is used to.

“The dress is gorgeous,” I agree. Because it is. And it probably looks perfectly respectable on Macy’s tall, willowy figure. My big boobs make things a little trickier, though.

Interesting…heroines aimed toward female audiences usually don’t get big boobs. We associate big boobs with sluts, and the heroine can never be slutty. It’s more common for big boobs to be a quality the evil slutty slut rival has. And the weird thing is, no evil slutty slut rival has appeared in the story yet.

Oh my gosh. Is there not going to be one?

Ugh, that would be my dream.

“Look, maybe you should wear the jeans you originally planned.” Macy crosses to my bed and holds them up. “I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

It’s tempting, so tempting. But… “Are any of the other girls going to be in jeans?”

“Who cares what the other girls are wearing?”

There’s another subversion of expectations. Usually, the heroine’s friend pressures her into wearing something sexy so she has an excuse to wear the sexy thing without being responsible for making a sex-positive (or even sex-neutral) choice. And the pressure usually comes from something like, “you don’t want to be the only one there dressed like a nerd, do you?” or whatever. Instead, Macy is like, hey, don’t do anything that makes you uncomfortable.

I mean, she’s still pressuring Grace into going to a party that’s going to make her uncomfortable.

But overall, Macy is still fantastic and she tells Grace she looks beautiful.

And then the book decides, hey, at least one genre convention can’t hurt, right?

I roll my eyes at her a second time, because “beautiful” is a bit more than a stretch—with my curly auburn hair, plain brown eyes, and the random groupings of freckles on my nose and cheeks, I’m pretty much the opposite of beautiful.

Excuse me, bitch? You did not just describe yourself as ugly and use two of my physical characteristics in your list of three things that make you ugly.

I’m going to fight a fictional child.

But as I started to weave my way through the crystal beads outside our door, Macy says, “Here, let me hold those for you. Don’t want them to shock you. Sorry I didn’t think about it yesterday.”

“Shock me? What do you mean?”

Macy explains that the beads shock everyone and she’s surprised Grace can’t feel it. But Grace can grab a fistful of them and nothing happens. Grace just figures her shoes are preventing it.

She closes the door, then brushes her hands through the beads several times, like she’s trying to get shocked. Which, I know, makes absolutely no sense, but that’s definitely what it looks like.

Finally, a clue about magic that isn’t so obvious it makes Grace look catastrophically unobservant. Of course, you’d think Macy means the beaded curtain will shock you with static electricity. And of course, we’ll probably later find out it’s magic and that Grace is somehow magic, too, and that’s why she doesn’t get shocked. But for now, it makes total sense for Grace to not think anything of it. She just finds it a little kooky that her cousin would keep a decoration that shocks everybody with static electricity.

In my premature chapter ten recap, I complained about Grace being mopey about people intentionally ignoring her because her goal was ultimately to not be noticed at all, by anyone. Except without chapter nine, that part isn’t like…in there?

I know Macy says this is supposed to be a welcome party, but I’m kind of hoping the tea just goes on as usual. My goal is to be as invisible as possible this year, and a party where I’m the main attraction kind of messes with that plan. Or, you know, totally obliterates it.

So, she goes into this party hoping everyone ignores her, and then in chapter ten she’s like, wait, everybody is ignoring me, that’s unacceptable.

But Uncle Finn is apparently not in on Grace’s “please ignore me” plan because Macy warns Grace that he’ll probably do a little speech.

Of course he is. I mean, why wouldn’t he? After all, who doesn’t think painting a target on the new girl’s back is a good idea? FML.

Right? Like, as headmaster of a boarding school for high schoolers, you’d think he would have met a teenager before. But Macy keeps saying not to worry, this is all going to be fine, and they go into the party.

At least until I realize my worst nightmares have come true and they’re all looking at me. And none of them seem impressed.

But that’s a good thing, right? If they were impressed, you’d be interesting enough that they wouldn’t ignore you.

You know how I keep saying that Grace should have figured out there’s magic going on here long, long before now, and that there are apparently no paranormal romance YAs in the world that exists in this paranormal YA? Well, this is what the room where the tea party is happening looks like:

I don’t know where to look first, so I look everywhere, taking in the crimson and black velvet baroque wallpaper, the three-tiered iron chandeliers with black crystals dripping from each elaborately carved arm, the fancy red chairs and black cloth-covered tables that take up the back half of the large room.

Like, this sounds so extra it’s like Mariah went goth. And it gets worse.

Every five feet or so, there are dark wall sconces with what look like actual lit candles in them. I step closer to check them out and find myself completely charmed by the fact that each wall sconce is carved into the shape of a different dragon. One with its wings spread wide in front of a fancy Celtic cross, another curled up around the top of a castle, a third obviously in mid-flight. In all the dragons, the candle flame is lined up to flicker in their wide-open mouths, and as I get even closer, I realize that yes, the flame is real.

Totes norms. But Grace does find it suspicious that her uncle is cleared by the fire marshal to have open flame in a building full of students.

The ceiling is even painted red and black, and there’s a huge buffet table full of food that none of the students are eating. They’re all standing around in various cliques that look like:

Energy—and disdain—permeate the air around the students near the window as they look me over. There are about thirty-five of them, and they’re all huddled into one large group, like a team going over plays right before they take the field. The guys are all wearing jeans and the girls are in tiny little dresses, both of which show off strong, powerful bodies with some major muscle definition.

and:

Curiosity and a healthy dose of contempt cover the faces of my new classmates at the back of the room. Dressed mostly in long, flowing dresses or button-up shirts in luxurious patterns and fabrics that fit the room perfectly, they’re a lot more delicate-looking than the group near the windows, and even before Macy waves excitedly at them, I know that this is her group.

and:

On our way, we pass another large clump of students, and I swear I can feel heat radiating from them in waves. Every single person in this group is tall—even the girls are close to six feet—and the fact that they’re watching me with varying degrees of scorn and suspicion makes walking past them distinctly uncomfortable. Basketball, anyone?

Okay, I’m guessing we’re talking about werewolves, witches, and dragons here. I would guess demons instead of dragons but there’s all that dragon stuff on the walls. Which can only be explained away if Uncle Finn enters wearing one of those three-wolves-howling-at-the-moon monochrome tie-dye t-shirts.

The “basketball, anyone,” comment is a little suspicious when the next paragraph is like, oh, hey, this is Flint’s group. You know, Flint? The Black guy? Yeah, he’s in the group of the super-tall kids who should play basketball.

Flint makes goofy faces at Grace and Macy is like, you have no idea how long it took me to get him to notice me and he’s into you? But she also tacks on that since they’re cousins and “destined to be best friends,” there are no hard feelings.

“Pretty sure Flint and I are destined to be friends, too,” I tell her as I hustle to keep up with her ridiculously long stride. “I don’t think guys cross their eyes like that at girls they’re interested in.”

“Yeah, well, you never know. Dra—” She breaks off on a violent cough, like she’s just choked on her own saliva or something.

Okay, so yeah, he’s a dragon.

“In case you were wondering.” She shoots me an assessing look. “Before. I was going to say drastic. Like, sometimes guys go to drastic measures to get girls they like to notice them. That’s what I was going to say. Drastic.”

Great recovery, Macy. Not that it matters because again, no paranormal romance YA exists in the world of this book, so there’s no reason for Grace to assume that the kids in this mountainside castle who literally generate heat in this room full of dragon paraphernalia could be dragons just because Macy says half the word and blows the save.

That said, Grace figures it’s just because Macy has a crush on Flint and is awkward in his proximity. Okay, fair.

And there’s another clique…

Dressed entirely in monochromatic shades of black or white—designer shirts, dresses, trousers, shoes, jewelry—they all but drip money…along with a careless kind of power that it’s impossible to miss. Though they are as obvious a clique as any of the others in the room, there’s a kind of formality among them that the other groups lack, a sense that they have one another’s backs against anyone else in the room but the alliance ends there.

How is Grace this perceptive and yet hasn’t figured out this is a magic school with magic shit going on? It’s a literal castle on the side of a treacherous mountain, decorated like a haunted house and full of Twilight extras.

And it’s a good thing Twilight doesn’t exist in this book, either, because dripping money and power sounds a lot like the Cullens.

Grace is grateful that at least this group doesn’t look at her at all because she’s overwhelmed by the number of students around her. She notes that no one from the individual groups mingles with the other groups at all, so I assume that’s why Flint doesn’t notice Macy. They’re not in the same monster faction.

No, everyone here at Katmere Academy seems to be staying firmly in their own lanes. And judging by the looks on their faces, it’s not fear keeping them there. It’s disdain for everyone else in the room.

So, is this prejudice that they learned at home? If so, why are they being sent to a boarding school with all these different types of monsters they disdain?

Only pride keeps me from fleeing as we get close to her friends. Well, that and the fact that acting like prey right now seems like a particularly bad idea. I mean, if I don’t want to spend the rest of my senior year dodging every mean girl in the place.

“I can’t wait for you to meet my friends,” Macy tells me as we finally reach the group in the back. Up close, they’re even more spectacular, different gemstones gleaming in their hair and against their skin. Earrings, pendants, hair clips, plus eyebrow, lip, and nose rings, all bedecked with colorful stones.

Witches! I was right!

I’m pleasantly surprised to find that there are different kinds of magical beings at this school. I really thought Katmere Academy was going to be only vampires.

“Grace!” a beautiful redhead with a giant amethyst pendant interrupts. “Welcome to Katmere! We’ve heard soooo much about you.” Her voice is enthusiastic to the point of being mocking, but I’m not sure who she’s making fun of—Macy or me. At least until I look into her eyes, which are viciously cold—and focused entirely on me.

Big surprise.

A mean girl approaches. My dream of a book without a horrible girl character who’s mean to the main girl character is dashed once more.

Macy’s group has another Black student in it, and her name is Lily and not like, Atlanta or Baltimore so maybe I jumped the gun with the suspicion over Flint’s name.

One of the other girls in the group says:

“Don’t pay any attention to Simone,” she says, all but hissing the redhead’s name. “She’s just bitter because all the guys are looking at you. She doesn’t like the competition.”

Damnit, Crave. I was rooting for you. We were all rooting for you!

“Yeah, that’s totally why I’m bitter. I’m worried about the competition. It has nothing to do with the fact that Foster brought a—”

And Macy interrupts her and pulls Grace away. This tells us that Grace is the only human there, and some people aren’t going to like her for that.

On their way to get a drink (which you know is gonna be Dr Pepper, if you read the out-of-order chapter), Grace notices that in the middle of all this elegant bullshit, there are those orange insulated dispensers like you see on the sidelines at sports games or such. Macy tells her that they’re water, in case the pipes freeze but come on. You know they’re blood. They’re blood, everybody.  They probably usually put the blood in fancy containers or those things from Orange Julius where you can see the juice constantly on the move, but they’re trying to hide the monster thing from Grace.

Look, if that’s the case, it better be because they’re trying not to freak her out on top of all her trauma. Like, it better be that they’re just planning to ease her into it, not lie about it indefinitely.

The author really wanted a Dr Pepper while writing chapters nine and ten, I have to bring that up again because there’s a whole paragraph dedicated to how it’s Grace’s favorite drink and Macy went out of her way to make sure it was at the party.

Grace meets Macy’s boyfriend, Cam, who has pasty hands, and his friend James, who can’t believe that Grace has never seen snow. Macy is like, how is that hard to believe if she’s from California.

“I guess not.” He shrugs and sends me a grin that I can tell is meant to be charming but grossly misses the mark. I’ve always hated guys who look at girls like they’re food meant to be gobbled up.

I don’t like them either. Anyway, if you read the chapters out of order this is the James she was avoiding. But this is another cool little wink wink, nudge nudge at the reader; when we find out that Jaxon is a vampire (because Jaxon is a fucking vampire, come on), he’s going to be looking at her like she’s food to be gobbled up, only literally.

Grace and Cam start seriously making out in the middle of all these people, which immediately knocks Macy down on my personal likeability chart. People casually groping/making out with/sitting in each other’s laps like nobody is around and there’s no way they could possibly be making anyone uncomfortable by non-consensually involving them in their foreplay was the worst part of high school and my early twenties. It just grosses me out.

In this case, it puts Grace in a really awful position:

Before I can answer, he’s got his face buried in Macy’s neck and she’s giggling, her hands threading their way through his sleek brown hair as she burrows into him.

Which is pretty much my cue to leave, as things suddenly get really awkward.

Especially since James continues to stare at me like he’s waiting to see if I’m going to plop myself down on his lap—which, for the record, I most definitely am not.

Yeah, when you’re hanging out with a couple who’s getting freaky and there’s another person in the mix who is presumed to be attracted to your gender, it’s ten times more awful to witness and be a part of.

There are two more references to Dr Pepper, since it’s an excuse for Grace to extricate herself from the situation.

Cam must do something super sexy to her, because Macy’s laugh changes, gets lower, about the same time I lose all her attention.

Dick move, Macy. You’re the only person Grace really knows and you’re gonna be like, well, my boyfriend’s here so, bye.

The chapter ends with “two very large, very warm hands” on Grace’s shoulders, so now you’re all caught up to chapter ten.

I’m not sure why the chapter breaks up here. They’re both super short, so it wouldn’t have been bonkers if they’d been left together. Someone putting their hands on her shoulders isn’t the strongest hook. But anyway, we’re back on track, so long as I don’t jump ahead to chapter twelve for the next one.

Let’s talk about goals.

And a good day to you, and you, and you.

It’s the second month of the year and, frankly, I’m pretty happy with how my relationship to goal setting and productivity developed in January. Let’s take a look at the goals I set for myself for what turned out to be one of the most brutal and unhappy months of my entire life:

4 ACOTAR posts Well, I didn’t make this goal. I made half the goal, though, and in a month where I lost my best friend and two relatives to, you know, death, I’m really proud that I got halfway and didn’t just get overwhelmed and shut down my Patreon altogether. “Wait,” you might be asking. “You have a Patreon where you’re currently shredding Sarah J. Maas’s A Court of Thorns and Roses to bits in sheer frustration, the same way you approached your classic Fifty Shades of Grey recaps?” Yes, friend. I do. And while I’m committed to producing two recaps per month, I really would rather do one per week. If I go at that pace, we’ll be done with the book in June, just in time for me to head off on my annual writing retreat to the Upper Peninsula and you’ll be able to vote on the next title while I’m gone. But that’s a larger goal. We’re thinking monthly.1 chapter TBCVT Here’s one I get a lil’ star for! I managed to post a chapter of The Business Centaur’s Virgin Temp.upload Bound in Brass I managed to accomplish this one, too! I didn’t have much of a choice, because once you put up a pre-order, retailers get real, real strict about deadlines. I put off formatting and uploading because of grief and ended up formatting and uploading while suffering from Covid-19. This has taught me an important lesson: no procrastination in times of plague. But I got it done and uploaded with time to spare, and you can buy it (if you didn’t have a chance to grab it before it went out of print for the first time) at Smashwords or Amazon.1 chapter In The Blood This is the book I meant to lightly polish and re-release. Then it turned into much darker erotic horror. Darkness didn’t fit with the theme of me surviving the month, so we can let this one slide.1 chapter Queen of Hell Slowly but surely, the follow-up to my YA novel, Nightmare Born, is getting written. I completed a new chapter and even went through and tightened up my outline.1 video Do you love Stardew Valley but wish you could see someone play it while being very, very high? Well, another installment of my Jenny Destroys the Wholesomeness of Stardew Valley series is up. I’m still trying to get to 1,000 followers so I can use mobile data to stream (and therefore do live tarot get-togethers again), so even if you’re not into my videos, hitting that subscribe button would be a huge help. I’m so close!

 

In the past, I would have looked on this past month as a failure, but as I said, my relationship to productivity is changing. January really had a lot to do with that; I was able to look at all the things I did get done despite the horrible circumstances and say, “this is enough.”

Here’s a little secret I learned: forgiving yourself for falling short of the mark makes you actually want to achieve your goals the next time around. This is what I’m trying to achieve in February:

4 ACOTAR posts2 chapters TBCVT2 chapters Queen of Hell2 Crave posts5 “episodes” of TBA serialized project2 videos

Will this be a lot of work in a month when I’m playing Sister Mary Patrick in Sister Act: The Musical (playing for four performances February 25-27, tickets available here)? Yes, it sure will be. But I’m gonna try.

How about yous all? Do you have any goals for the month of February? Put them in the comments and come back and see how everybody did in March!

(PS. a side goal is getting that second promised free steampunk short story re-released. Mea culpa, it fell by the wayside with everything else that happened.)

 

i have covid.

bear with me, i’ll be back when i no longer have covid.

Jealous Haters Book Club: Crave chapter ten, “Turns Out the Devil Wears Gucci”

Due to lowered brain power, I posted this before I finished writing/posting chapter nine. Hang in there. I’ll do chapter nine next and we can all forget this ever happened.

We did it. We made it through nine whole chapters before we hit the one where my pink-ish flags turned bright, bright red. And then turned into klaxons. And a Dr Pepper commercial.

We’re still at the party with Grace and she’s just felt someone put their hands on her shoulders. She really doesn’t want it to be sleazy James.

Do I really need some jerk trying to make me his afternoon snack as well?

If she doesn’t find out she’s at Monster High real, real soon, I’m going to get super tired of these “hints.” At least when this happened on Hannibal, the audience was already in on the gag.

But the guy who put his hands on her is Flint and he asks if she wants a piggyback ride because that’s their inside joke. He also asks if she’s having a good time.

“Absolutely.” I hold up my Dr Pepper. “Doesn’t it look like I’m having a good time?”

I mean… it’s starting to look like you’re in a commercial. I noticed that in the previous chapter, Dr Pepper was mentioned four times. That might not seem like much, but brand names stick out. I’m fine with brand names, but then I read this chapter and it happened again. Dr Pepper is name-dropped eight times total in this book, but all of them are in those same short chapters. Was there some kind of promotional consideration involved in the production of this book? It just sticks out way too much.

Flint tells Grace that he noticed James couldn’t take a hint and his instincts were correct because as soon as Grace and Flint are acting friendly toward each other, James leaves.

So does Grace’s characterization.

And that’s when I realize that half the room is still staring at me—while the other half is very deliberately not staring at me. Their disregard would be a relief if I didn’t know they were doing it to make sure I understand how insignificant I really am to them.

Grace’s attitude up until now has been that all she wants is to be left alone and not noticed. Now that people aren’t noticing her or at least pretending not to notice her, the very things she’s been desperate for, she’s sullen. Poor me, nobody thinks I’m important or special. It absolutely reeks of Feyre’s characterization in A Court of Thorns and Roses, which we’re recapping on the $5 tier over on Patreon.

Please, O Lord, hear my prayers: I cannot take a concurrent Feyre.

Flint asks if she wants something to eat.

Before I can answer, both of the room’s heavy wooden doors fly open. They slam against the wall with a bang that makes everyone in the room jump. And then turn to look.

On the plus side, that means no one is paying attention to me anymore. Because they’re all looking at him. At Jaxon. And really, who could blame them when he walks in like he owns the place—and everybody in it.

Less than a hundred words ago she was complaining that people felt she was insignificant and now she’s like, thank god they’re not looking at me, the insignificant…center…of…attention.

Now, come on. Come the fuck on. Grace, this contradictory nonsense is not you. But for some reason, cheesy, cringe-worthy grand entrances are Jaxon’s thing. So is dressing all in black. Sorry, “Gucci black,” as Grace notes:

Dressed all in Gucci black—[…]

This is one of those little details that really dings characterization. So far, we’ve heard that Grace isn’t super fashion-forward. She had to borrow this dress for the party because dressing up isn’t her thing. Clothing and makeup don’t seem to be a huge interest for her.

So, how can she recognize that he’s wearing Gucci? Unless you’re buying one of their pieces that’s designed to show off the logo, the logo is fairly inconspicuous. It’s not like Versace, where everything about every piece is super branded. And Grace describes him as wearing all black, with the exception of his pinstripe pants which, again, wouldn’t necessarily be instantly recognizable as Gucci unless someone is familiar with their particular patterns.

What I’m pretty sure happened here was that this author has written enough billionaire romance that “Gucci” crept in as a shorthand for expensive and elegant, which works fine in contemporary romance but doesn’t make sense when you’re talking about a girl who has professed disinterest in fashion previously. But let me tell you, I understand this struggle. Oh, do I bone-deep understand it.

It’s little stuff like this that makes the book feel so damn uneven and bolsters my suspicion that this was a group effort between the writer and an editor who, frankly, isn’t super concerned with any details that aren’t about “how will this sell?” and “how will this look when I finally get my dream and see one of our books become a movie?”

Grace notes that Jaxon’s gaze is “as cold as the snow-covered ground outside,” and that as a result, he shouldn’t be sexy, but she can’t help but find him so. Even when, you know:

On the negative side, all that coldness—all that darkness—is focused directly on me. And Flint, whose arm has somehow found its way around my shoulders.

I hate the way this is phrased. It sounds like Flint has done something sneaky by throwing his arm around her shoulders. Before the brooding hot white boy walked in, Flint was able to touch her and it seemed chivalrous to her; now, he’s “somehow” putting his arm around her.

This, of course, gives Jaxon a reason to be even more brooding because obviously he’s gonna be jealous and overprotective. Despite all the things I like about this book, the relationship dynamic just keeps feeling more and more 2008 young adult paranormal romance. Which is…not at all good.

There’s a moment of sustained eye contact between Jaxon and Grace and she thinks about how “captivating” and “mesmerizing” he is, something that, I’m sorry, I’m just not seeing in the text. He glowers and glooms and slams doors and backs girls over tables and walks into people like he doesn’t even see them. He’s a spoiled brat. And then:

And that’s before he starts to move, all languid grace, all rolling shoulders and leading hips and legs that go on for freaking ever.

Is this…I’m sorry, are legs for days a thing straight women are into on a dude? I don’t think about a dude’s legs at all.

Next to me, Flint chuckles a little, and I want to ask him what’s so funny when I notice Jaxon heading straight toward us, with an icy blankness in his eyes that makes a shiver run straight through me.

See what I mean about circa-2010 YA bullshit? Why is the love interest suddenly being described like he’s Dexter or something? And in a romance, it’s not hot to be afraid. It’s hot to be intimidated when you know there’s no real danger. It’s not sexy to see someone who looks cruel and detached and who makes you afraid, not if they’re a love interest in a paranormal romance novel. Erotica, have at it. Horror/Thriller/Suspense? That’s your business. Romance? It’s gross. And this YA paranormal romance. This is a fantasy being sold to an age group already vulnerable to abuse and coercive control.

Grace can’t calm herself down.

Not when all I can see is how he looked last night, sucking my blood off his thumb.

Not when all I can hear is his voice–low, wicked, wild–warning me to lock my door.

Not when all I can think about is kissing that mouth, running my tongue along the perfect bow of his upper lip, dragging his lower lip between my teeth and biting down just a little bit.

Again, a little bit uncomfortable with the whole “it was so horny when he threatened me” but the blood I’ll let slide because blood-as-sex is a convention of the vampire mythos that goes back a long, long way.

Anyway, Grace is super horny and thinking all kinds of sex thoughts about Jaxon that make her blush, and Jaxon is watching her and she’s like, oh no, it’s like he’s reading my thoughts. And then we go to commercial.

But the idea terrifies me enough that I jerk my gaze from his and lift my Dr Pepper to my mouth, trying hard to look unconcerned.

All of which leads to the carbonated drink going straight down the wrong pipe.

She’s choking and Flint tries to help by smacking her on the back, and she’s like, you know, I’d rather just slink off and die of embarrassment somewhere else.

I start to move–I think I saw a bathroom marked in the hallway a couple of doors down–but I’ve taken only a few steps when Jaxon’s suddenly right next to me. He doesn’t acknowledge me, doesn’t even look at me as he passes, but just like at the top of the stairs yesterday, our shoulders brush as he walks by.

Is it a dick move to shoulder a choking person out of your way? Sure. Except…

My choking fit disappears as quickly as it started. Fresh air floods my lungs.

This is so clever. Think back to the last time Jaxon shouldered her out of the way. It was when she was suffering from altitude sickness and Flint had to basically drag her up the stairs. Jaxon’s shoulder touches hers and suddenly, she was able to have a whole conversation and everything with Macy. She wasn’t as run-down as she had been trying to go up the stairs. This is so clever. Jaxon is healing her without her even knowing it and it was set up way, way back at the beginning of the story.

I should not be this impressed, I should not be marveling at an author being able to weave things through a story in a clever way but, again, we’re reading A Court of Thorns and Roses over on Patreon. That is a book where clever foreshadowing never happens.

Grace actually does think, weird, it’s like him bumping into me stopped me from choking, but then she’s like, nah.

Know that doesn’t keep me from turning around watching him walk away, even though it’s the worst thing I can do–for my sanity and my reputation–if the snark and giggles behind me are any indication.

He doesn’t look back.

Ah, the undeniable sexiness of a dude who publicly humiliates you. And in front of your new school, even.

The cringe that follows is…inexcusable. Like, the cringe of it all.

Jaxon goes to the food table and picks up a strawberry.

I expect him to pop it in his mouth then and there, but he doesn’t. Instead, he walks to the center of the room—and the huge red velvet wingback chair positioned under the chandelier like a throne, with several other chairs in a half circle in front of it. Once there, he slouches down into the chair, legs spread out in front of him as he says something to the five guys—all dark, all gorgeous, all stunning—sitting in the other chairs. It’s the first time I realize there’s anyone in those chairs. By now, nearly everyone in the room is watching Jaxon, trying to catch his eye. But he ignores them all, deliberately studying the strawberry he is pinching between his thumb and index finger.

What in the True Blood… Like, there’s a whole red velvet throne deal going on, arranged specifically for Jaxon so that he can be in the center of the whole room?

Eventually he lifts his gaze and looks straight at me. Then he raises the strawberry to his lips—and bites it clean in half. It’s a warning if I’ve ever seen one—and a violent one at that—as a drop of red juice hangs for a second on his bottom lip.

Really sit down and imagine this. Like, see the scene in your mind, like a movie. Imagine what it would look like if someone did this right in front of you. Just walked into a room like they were hot shit, picked up a strawberry, then dramatically sat down in a red velvet throne and dramatically bit the strawberry while making sustained eye contact. You would lose it. Totally lose it. Just hysterical, what-the-fuck-is-happening laughter. And the fact that this school function was specifically arranged so Jaxon is right in the center of the room, like this was a planned entrance and every day is Jaxon’s MTV’s My Super Sweet Sixteen episode…

But let’s talk about the VIOLENT WARNING Grace has interpreted. VIOLENT was the word chosen. For the sexy male lead. VIOLENT.

I’m out of red flags, I’m going to have to start using biohazard bags like airport runway windsocks.

Grace is mortified by the whole thing–though not for the same reasons I was as a reader–and leaves the party altogether.

Yeah, that’ll get the focus off you.

Because one thing is certain–that little show was meant to underscore just how insignificant I really am to every single person in that room. I just wish I knew why…

Me, too. But nobody bothered to interrogate why Grace feels insignificant in a room full of people who are totally focused on her.

Look, this chapter was a dud. A total fucking dud. But I haven’t lost hope entirely.

And if my hope is soon to be shattered, please, I ask only this: don’t tell me yet.

NSFW! The Business Centaur’s Virgin Temp: Chapter Ten

Need to catch up?

What is The Business Centaur’s Virgin Temp? The Business Centaur’s Virgin Temp: PrologueThe Business Centaur’s Virgin Temp: Chapter OneThe Business Centaur’s Virgin Temp: Chapter TwoThe Business Centaur’s Virgin Temp: Chapter ThreeThe Business Centaur’s Virgin Temp: Chapter FourThe Business Centaur’s Virgin Temp: Chapter Five The Business Centaur’s Virgin Temp: Chapter Six The Business Centaur’s Virgin Temp: Chapter SevenThe Business Centaur’s Virgin Temp: Chapter Eight The Business Centaur’s Virgin Temp: Chapter Nine

THIS CHAPTER IS NSFW BECAUSE TWITTER WANTED TO KNOW HOW A CENTAUR MASTURBATES

The mortal slept.

Marcaeus leaned against the doorframe. He needed to lie down in his bed and spend the night, just one night, with her to seal the pact they made before Hera. Then, he could move her into one of the guest bedrooms and be done with it. That had been only a small part of the plan he’d come up with during his sleepless night of “chastity and reflection.” He doubted most grooms spent that time reflecting on how to best avoid their brides in perpetuity.

But the Fates, cold, calculating bitches that they were, seemed to have other ideas.

When he’d lifted the veil from Fiona’s face, he’d felt the tug of a thread looping over him like a lasso—or a noose—binding him inexplicably to the mortal he wanted to be rid of as soon as possible.

His horror had been such that he’d rushed from the room, leaving Fiona confused and likely hurt after the intensity of that moment.

She had felt it, hadn’t she?

Without clothing to change into, Fiona had fallen asleep in the sheer chiton Chariclo had provided for her. The silk rippled like dark honey poured over every curve and dip. The belt of the gown had loosened and the fabric tangled around Fiona’s shockingly long legs. The smooth, taut skin of one thigh lay bared to her hip, and she shifted restlessly, murmuring something unintelligible.

He changed his form, hoping it would keep him from jostling her awake with his weight. Sinking to human knees on the mattress beside her, he pulled a sheet and down quilt over her, both to keep her warm and to protect her modesty. Though he didn’t understand the concept and its importance to mortals, he respected it.

He retreated to the other side of the sleeping area. It would be uncomfortable to spend a whole night glamoured, but not impossible. While there was plenty of room for him in in his true form, there was far more in his human guise. And the more space he could put between him and his new bride, the better.

He lay on his back, which felt so wholly unnatural that he instantly ruled the position out. His stomach wasn’t much better. No matter how he tried, a human body simply wasn’t comfortable.

Although, Fiona seemed comfortable enough. Her copper hair spilled from its braids, tendrils curling this way and that and falling over her relaxed features. If he’d been able to reach her, he would touch his thumb to her petal-pink mouth, to confirm that it was just as soft as he imagined it would be.

Ridiculous! He rolled to face away from her, not certain what to do with his now-pinned arm. How could the Fates have done this to him? Was it a punishment for Melannipe’s broken heart? If so, it wouldn’t be something Melanippe wanted done on his behalf. They’d known for a long time that they wouldn’t be together. They’d both accepted it. And it had been beyond either of their control.

Not a punishment, then. The next move in a master plan? One he was not privy to, yet?

Surely, he his fate had not truly been tied to a mortal.

A mortal who breathed a nonsensical word on a little sigh that made his hooves—no, feet—restless against the sheets.

When he’d left Fiona earlier in the evening, he’d had every intention of working. He’d called Hobb and briefed him on what had occurred in Elysia and they’d agreed to an early morning crisis meeting, to be on the same footing before involving the company publicist, corporate strategists, soothsayers, and attorneys. Then, Marcaeus had opened his holopad and stared at the same spreadsheet for six minutes without actually seeing it.

How he’d thought he’d simply give up and go to sleep, he had no idea. Especially when the closer he was to his human bride, the more insistently Fate’s thread pulled at him. It was as if it strove to convince him that the three crones knew exactly what they were doing. That he had no recourse to fight them.

Casting a glance over his shoulder to reassure himself that Fiona was still asleep, he rose and left the bedroom all together, shifting back into his normal form. If he were going to get any sleep at all—and it was crucial, to seal their union—he would need to take his mind off of the woman in his bed.

It wasn’t as easy as simply finding a nymph to relieve him, as he would have in the Astral, but…human capitalism to the rescue. The arrival of astrals on Earth had opened a new target market to “get off” with new and exciting devices designed entirely for physical pleasure. Marcaeus had, begrudgingly, found himself a part of that customer base when it had become clear that his duties as an executive would hamper his sex life.

Marcaeus’s custom machine perfectly matched the decor of the master bathroom; the cabinet housing the machinery was the same dark wood as the spa-style floor beneath the massive rainfall showerhead. The living grass planted around the perimeter was decidedly Earth-grown, but any bit of green in the city was welcome, especially in his home.

He positioned himself over the sleek, rectangular machine. When the sex-crazed humans first conceptualized sex toys for centaurs, they’d crudely assumed that their customers would prefer mounting something approximately horse-shaped. Eventually, the manufacturers had taken advice from their customers and created something less crude and embarrassing: a simple, bench-like form with an aperture in the top, which the user could stand over. Marcaeus adjusted the height with a switch on the remote control and slid his cock into the machine’s sheath while still soft. A quick, thoughtless release would take the edge of his nerves, no prior arousal necessary.

Which made him see the sense in such an item and why humans kept such things at hand.

A padded rest atop the machine allowed him to relax with somewhere to lean his upper body; he folded his arms and put his head down, then pressed the button to start the suction.

He closed his eyes let out a shuddering breath as silky lubricant poured into the sheath, more than necessary but not frustratingly, not enough to fully replicate the feeling of Melanippe beneath him. The squelch of the machine’s suction sounded far too substantial, like the sweet syrup of a dryad or—

Well, what he imagined a human cunt might sound like.

His pulse centered in the flared head of his cock as he hardened in what felt like an instant.

Better to fantasize about the dryad.

It should have been an easy image to conjure, what with the machine’s wood housing. But the memory of Fiona’s softly mumbled sleep-talk crept into his brain and made him think of her, how close she was, how he could easily change his form and sink into her. He wondered if the glamour would feel different for him, if it would intensify the grip of her impossibly small body around him.

He groaned and upped the speed and suction, determined to finish as quickly as possible. If he could only focus on the pleasure, the physical sensation, and avoid distracting thoughts of the mortal.

But again she crept into his mind, the way he wished she would creep into the bathroom and catch him. Would she be curious? He pictured her sweet mouth dropping open with shock, those fair cheeks blushing hot with desire and embarrassment.

Of course, he didn’t want her to find him. It would be mortifying.

But if it wasn’t…

The padded rest was the perfect height, he realized, for sitting Fiona atop it, her legs spread, cunt wetter than the machine currently purring and stroking along his achingly hard cock. He didn’t know what humans tasted like, but he knew she would be delicious, dripping down his chin as he lapped up every drop of her climax. Gods, what it would be like to bury his face deep between her thighs as the machine pumped him. To feel the heavy pull of his own release, the surge of agonizing bliss like white hot flame engulfing him, rendering him, for a few moments, out of control and completely at the whim of his pleasure.

He shuddered, sweat standing out on his shoulders, and thrust into the machine, raising the speed to match his own frantic motion, reaching the peak of his desire with a desperate thirst to know what Fiona tasted like, what she would sound like wailing his name in ecstasy.

The moment he returned to his senses, he hit the controls and leaned his perspiring forehead on his arms, eyes squeezed shut in shame. He didn’t even like her, and he’d fantasized about her so effectively he could swear he had the scent of her in his nostrils.

Going back to bed, even for a few restless hours, would be so much worse now.

* * * *

The rising lights of the bedroom and the gentle sound of finches piped through the hidden speakers woke Marcaeus from his light—but contract affirming—sleep. The human slumbered on; he didn’t wake her. Perhaps being in the astral had taken a toll on her mortal physiology. He would put in a call to Asclepius later.

After a quick shower—during which Marcaeus eyed the sex machine as a monument to his shame and seriously considered getting rid of it—he glamoured himself and dressed. At six o’clock on the dot, the doorbell announced Hobb’s arrival.

“What have you done?” the faun asked, his dour face somehow longer and sharper than usual. he trotted in and kicked the door closed behind him.

“Good morning,” Marcaeus greeted him placidly. “Did you bring the forms I asked for?”

“The astral marriage recognition form?” The faun took his holopad from his satchel and poked angrily at the file system hovering in the air. “Yes. All filled out. For you and Ms. Starr.”

“Thank you.” He gestured in the air to turn the display toward him. “I’m not sure about the Ms. Starr, however. Is there an advantage to playing along with this fake identity scheme?”

“It might convince her brother that his plans are still hidden from us.” The ease with which Hobb produced the answer told Marcaeus that although he’d managed to get some sleep, his assistant had not.

“No doubt you’ve run through every possible avenue of attack, like a game of chess.” Marcaeus paced to the bar. “Drink?”

“It’s six in the morning,” Hobb reminded him, his eyes narrowing as he tracked Marcaeus’s movement across the room. “And I don’t play chess.”

“You’d be good at it.”

“Being good at something isn’t a good enough excuse to do it.”

Marcaeus poured himself a glass of wine. “Tell me the truth: do I need more human-compatible furniture in here?”

“More biped-compatible spaces, yes.” Hobb nudged one of the cushions on the floor with his hoof. “Not all of us like to wallow on the ground.”

Marcaeus shook off his glamour so he could “wallow on the ground,” sinking to the lush designer cushions on the sitting room’s richly carpeted floor. “How likely is it that news could have already reached Trasket about his sister’s security breach?”

Hobb tilted is head back and forth as he considered. “Nothing is in the realm of the impossible.”

“If we go public with my marriage to Flicka Starr,” he suppressed a shudder at the name, “and Trasket knows that her cover was already blown—”

“I did think of that.” Hobb flicked the surface of his tablet and brought up an elaborate diagram. “I have fourteen difference scenarios that could take place under those conditions. The first—”

Marcaeus almost spit out his wine in his hurry to speak. “I don’t need to hear all of them. Thank you.”

“You wanted me to be here early because you wanted my help.” Hobb blinked slowly, the weight of judgment further dragging at his sleepy eyelids.

“And I do. Your projections and predictions, your charts and graphs, they’re useful to me in the same way that quality ingredients are useful to me when in the hands of a master chef. I don’t cook, Hobb. I simply trust you to serve me these facts in a simple, concise manner, and in as few courses as possible.”

“The opposite of fine dining. Also, I believe mortals refer to what you’re asking as serving it to you ‘on a silver platter,’ an idiom which means without effort on your part.” Hobb leaned against a column. “If you’d like the fast food version, however, the ingredients we have on hand say that the risk of Trasket knowing what transpired inside the building with his sister is much smaller than the advantage we have if he believes his sister has seduced you and insinuated herself into your home.”

“Whereas, if you’ve married Fiona Trasket, he’ll watch his steps much closer.”

Marcaeus looked toward the voice. The human topic of the conversation strolled down the shallow steps into the sitting room. He recognized the garment around her hips as one of his kilts, the shirt she wore one of his thin cotton undershirts.

Too thin.

She stopped at the edge of the seating area. “Mr. Hobb? Fiona Trasket.” She put her hand out. “We didn’t have much of a chance to speak at the office.”

Hobb hesitated, but finally offered his hand. “Ms. Starr.”

“I agree.” She folded her arms over her chest, concealing her pointed nipples but pushing her breasts closer together above the scooped neck of the sleeveless shirt.

She looked like an animated holo avatar and it was impossible not to stare.

You’re allowed to stare. She’s yours. That impulse shocked and sickened him. He had no interest in taking ownership of anyone, especially not a mortal.

The Fates did their weaving quickly.

One problem at a time. He could consult with Chiron at the nearest opportunity. If necessary, he would go to Hera and ask her to negotiate for the thread’s removal.

“Did you sleep well?” he asked, taking a deep swallow of the wine.

“I was exhausted. Are you drinking at six in the morning?” She wrinkled her nose.

Did she have no questions at all about the thread that had bound them? The Fates hadn’t attempted to conceal their meddling from him; surely the mortal had felt it. Or were humans truly so oblivious to their own spirits?

He took another drink. He’d need to refill his glass soon.

“Will you be taking Mr. Johnson’s name?” Hobb spoke up, hastily erasing something from the holo form. “That is the mortal custom?”

“An old human custom,” she corrected him. “And no. Flicka Johnson is somehow worse than Flicka Starr. Flicka Johnson sounds like mid-twentieth-century British slang for jacking off.”

Marcaeus snorted and choked.

“I’m sorry,” Fiona pinched the bridge of her nose. “I think I’ve got Astral jet lag. I don’t mean to be so crude.”

“You’ve been through a lot,” Hobb sympathized. Briefly. “You caused those problems yourself, but they do exist. So I suppose that’s something.”

“Thank you. I feel very comforted.” She faced Marcaeus. “We pretend my cover was never blown. There’s no reason anyone should assume your company has ineffective security measures when screening new hires, is there?”

“We knew exactly who you were,” he reminded her.

“Well, imagine how triumphant my brother will be when he finds out that his demon-marked sister successfully conned his business rival into marrying her.”

There was something bitter about her strength, something that made Marcaeus feel strangely helpless.

“And the demon’s mark?” Hobb asked. “I see you still have it.”

“It’s not removable,” Marcaeus explained. “At least, not right now. Chiron is working on it.”

“I’ll set the security protocols to waive the alarm for this particular mark.” Hobb noted it down on his holopad. “But we won’t be able to tell if your brother will use the same demon’s magic against us.”

“I’m sure he will,” she answered without hesitation. “But maybe he’ll trust me enough to let me in on whatever he and Hell are up to.”

That brought Marcaeus to his hooves with the sudden need to pace. “I don’t want you anywhere near the demon.”

“Who, Blayde or the guy from Hell?” she quipped.

“I’m not joking.” It came out sharper than he’d intended. Her eyes widened and he didn’t want to find out if it was in anger or surprise. He softened his tone. “I don’t want to risk him working further spells on you.”

Hobb cleared his throat and looked back and forth between Marcaeus and Fiona. “I think it would be in our best interest, at present, to keep Miss Starr here in the penthouse. Until we know more about the mark and the demon. I’ll put out feelers for discreet magical investigators and researchers. It shouldn’t take more than a few weeks.”

“A few weeks!” The human’s voice became so shrill in its outraged upper register.

Hobb tried to counter her shock with a calm, “That’s a cautious estimate. It may only take a few days.”

“But I have to stay here in a stranger’s house, hiding out for a few days to several weeks?”

“I said ‘a few’—”

“I don’t care if you said an hour, you can’t keep me prisoner!”

“Enough.” Marcaeus cut in sternly. “Fiona, we have been joined on the astral plane and by the custom of my land you are bound to obey me.”

Both she and Hobb gaped at him.

That shook his confidence a bit, but he would hold fast. “You have repeatedly complained about measures that are only necessary to keep you safe because in my mercy and goodness of spirit I decided not to press charges against you for your deception!”

“You decided to keep me as a weapon in your arsenal!” she shot back.

They stood in silence, glaring at each other.

Perhaps if they’d had this argument the night before, he would have been less distracted by her presence in his bed. The last thing he wanted to do now was grab her, throw her to the carpet, and put his human glamour to good use.

“If I may,” Hobb said quietly. “If the demon tries to command her to return to him and she doesn’t—”

“Let me call him,” Fiona interrupted. “Blayde, I mean. He thinks I have no idea the mark is even on me. If I tell him I spent the weekend with you—or however long we’ve been away—and that things are going well? He’s not going to chance messing it up. He’ll call off his demon dog, at least for a little while.”

Hobb began to object.

“You can both listen in on the call, if you need to.”

Marcaeus rolled some possibilities and concerns around in his head. Fiona’s plan did seem sound, and she did know her brother much better than anyone else in the room. She’d survived two decades of his machinations. But she’d accused Marcaeus of keeping her as a weapon. This would only prove her correct.

What did it matter? He had intended to use her as a weapon. No; he intended that still. It was the only reason she was here.

And that must have been the reason for the fates to tie them together.

The relief that washed through him was ten times what any mechanical sex could provide. Of course, the fates had bound them for the protection of the astrals from demonic threat.

What other explanation could there have been?