Squeal: The Squeakquel (Squeakverse, #2)

by Vera Valentine

A big ol’ helium tank of love goes to the balloonatics out there that loved, shared, and recommended Squeak, if only to horrify their friends and loved ones with the depth of weird, smutty depravity that the literary soul can reach.

THERE IS A CLOWN IN HERE, YOU HAVE BEEN DULY WARNED, COULROPHOBES.

I’d always known that Seb and I were tulpas, creations brought into being by specific thoughts, feelings, and rituals. However, our balloon-like bodies were a product of Zina’s half-baked mish-mash of borrowed magic and control sigils, ensuring we’d never be fully human, but at least giving us the ability to shift back and forth in the process.

The entire nest smelled like the circus’ funnel cake kiosk on a busy Saturday night, and I felt more peaceful than I ever had before.

The twisting in my gut could have made one hell of a balloon sculpture if I’d been fully shifted.

I had no idea what birds or bees had to do with husbands and wives, and it was all confusing me and putting me in a bad mood.

Same.

Sure, great. Everything was totally normal. This was definitely super normal.

Me this entire series. How did I get here.