Category: Quotations Page 20 of 28

The Friday 56 for 2/19/21: The Incredibly Dead Pets of Rex Dexter by Aaron Reynolds

The Friday 56This is a weekly bloghop hosted by Freda’s Voice

RULES:
The Friday 56 Grab a book, any book.
The Friday 56 Turn to Page 56 or 56% on your ereader. If you have to improvise, that is okay.
The Friday 56 Find a snippet, short and sweet.
The Friday 56 Post it

from page 56 of:
The Incredibly Dead Pets of Rex Dexter

The Incredibly Dead Pets of Rex Dexter by Aaron Reynolds

…we now know I’m not imagining things.

Which means my deepest darkest fear has come true. Next to falling into a pit of snakes. And global takeover by evil robots. And paper cuts. These are the things that haunt my nightmares.

My fourth deepest darkest fear has come true.

I have been cursed by a rogue carnival game.

The Friday 56 for 2/12/21: Phantom Song by Kate Sheeran Swed

The Friday 56This is a weekly bloghop hosted by Freda’s Voice

RULES:
The Friday 56 Grab a book, any book.
The Friday 56 Turn to Page 56 or 56% on your ereader. If you have to improvise, that is okay.
The Friday 56 Find a snippet, short and sweet.
The Friday 56 Post it

from page 56 of:
Phantom Song

Phantom Song by Kate Sheeran Swed

“The new ballet dancer entered from the wrong wing tonight,” she said-slash-sang, switching on the apartment’s news holo as she passed through the living room. She loved to fill her home with layers of background noise, constant streams of chatter over music over more chatter. She had no trouble flitting around or holding conversations without paying attention to any of it.

Sam, on the other hand, could never fully tune out the babble of voices. He tended to get pulled in. But Aunt C had given him a place to stay, and he didn’t feel right complaining.

She bustled into the kitchen and set her bags on the counter without glancing at him, removing containers that smelled like chicken and peanut sauce, with a tang of something peppery.

The Friday 56 for 2/5/21: Parting Shadows by Kate Sheeran Swed

The Friday 56This is a weekly bloghop hosted by Freda’s Voice

RULES:
The Friday 56 Grab a book, any book.
The Friday 56 Turn to Page 56 or 56% on your ereader. If you have to improvise, that is okay.
The Friday 56 Find a snippet, short and sweet.
The Friday 56 Post it

from page 56 of:
Parting Shadows

Parting Shadows by Kate Sheeran Swed

Astra would never be a hero. Heroes had hearts.

She wrenched her hand away from Henry’s. “Stay away from me, and you’ll be fine,” she said, straightening away from the glass wall. Someone passing brushed by her shoulder and murmured an apology. She was vaguely aware that the braided guard had returned to Conor’s door. She could feel the woman’s eyes locked on her, as though Astra might pull a battering ram out of her pocket and attempt to rush the fortress.

She ignored them. She ignored everyone.

“I’m not worried about me,” Henry said.

Astra forced herself to turn away, nearly forgetting the cactus and swiping it off the wall at the last moment. “Then you’re even more of a fool than I thought.”

The Friday 56 for 1/29/21: Blacktop Wasteland by S. A. Cosby

The Friday 56This is a weekly bloghop hosted by Freda’s Voice

RULES:
The Friday 56 Grab a book, any book.
The Friday 56 Turn to Page 56 or 56% on your ereader. If you have to improvise, that is okay.
The Friday 56 Find a snippet, short and sweet.
The Friday 56 Post it

from page 56 of:
Blacktop Wasteland

Blacktop Wasteland by S. A. Cosby

“What’s wrong?”

Ariel shrugged her shoulders. “Nothing. Just getting ready for graduation. Me and the other five dummies who couldn’t graduate with the rest of the class.”

“You ain’t no dummy. You had a lot going on,” he said.

“Yeah. Like Mama getting her third DUI and wrecking my car. Of course, that ain’t no excuse, according to her and grandma,” Ariel said. She shook her bottle of juice lackadaisically in her left hand.

“Don’t worry about them. You just concentrate on college and getting that accounting degree,” Beauregard said.

Ariel blew air over her bottom lip.

“What?” Beauregard said.

“Since I won’t be eighteen until January, Mama has to co-sign for my student loans. She says she don’t want to put her name down on nothing like that. She says I should just take classes at J. Sargeant Reynolds and get a job until January,” Ariel said.

The Friday 56 for 1/15/21: Across the Green Grass Fields by Seanan McGuire

The Friday 56This is a weekly bloghop hosted by Freda’s Voice

RULES:
The Friday 56 Grab a book, any book.
The Friday 56 Turn to Page 56 or 56% on your ereader. If you have to improvise, that is okay.
The Friday 56 Find a snippet, short and sweet.
The Friday 56 Post it

from page 56 of:
Across the Green Grass Fields

Across the Green Grass Fields by Seanan McGuire

“You’ve just arrived, haven’t you?” asked the centaur “Bright and beautiful and brand-new, and I found you! Me, Pansy, found a human before someone else had a claim to chase. That’s even better than bringing back a lost unicorn! A real human-you are a human, aren’t you, not satyr or silene playing games with poor Pansy?”

“I’m human,” whispered Regan. Her voice sounded dull, almost deadened. Still, now that she’d found it, it was willing to let her keep going, which she considered very sporting of it. “You’re not real. None of this is real. Unicorns don’t exist.”

“But here I am, and here’s a unicorn, and there you are.” The centaur beamed. “Come on, human, let’s go see the others. They’re going to be even happier about this than I am.”

Regan shook her head. “No. This isn’t real. Centaurs are characters from Greek mythology. They’re not named ‘Pansy,’ and they don’t take lost human girls to see their friends. I’m dreaming.”

“You must be a lot of fun at parties, if you always argue with your dreams,” said Pansy, cocking her massive head.

The Friday 56 for 1/1/21: Dead Perfect by Noelle Holten

The Friday 56This is a weekly bloghop hosted by Freda’s Voice

RULES:
The Friday 56 Grab a book, any book.
The Friday 56 Turn to Page 56 or 56% on your ereader. If you have to improvise, that is okay.
The Friday 56 Find a snippet, short and sweet.
The Friday 56 Post it

from 56% of:
Dead Perfect

Dead Perfect by Noelle Holten

…I apologize if this is slightly repetitive. Remember when we were talking about strange people you may have come across or who’ve made you uncomfortable? Can you just remind me of them again and maybe what made you feel weird around them?’

‘Erm … All right. Is this one of those times I have to just give you what you ask and trust that you have your reasons?’

‘I’m afraid it is.’

The Friday 56 for 12/18/20

The Friday 56This is a weekly bloghop hosted by Freda’s Voice

RULES:
The Friday 56 Grab a book, any book.
The Friday 56 Turn to Page 56 or 56% on your ereader. If you have to improvise, that is okay.
The Friday 56 Find a snippet, short and sweet.
The Friday 56 Post it

from page 56 of:
Olive, Mabel & Me

Olive, Mabel & Me: Life and Adventures with Two Very Good Dogs by Andrew Cotter

She just wouldn’t leave Olive alone. And Olive, having enjoyed four years of peace and solitude, was clearly rather put out by the visitor—asking, with those Labrador eyes that tell all, “Is this thing going to be staying long?”

I’m pretty sure that from the start Mabel saw Olive as some sort of replacement mother. They are, in fact, related in that curious mixed-up dog dynamic, where romantic liaisons are free and easy and they don’t feel tied down by human constraints or propriety. Olive’s father Henry was also the father of another litter, which contained Mabel’s mother Izzy. Working it out, that makes Olive a half-aunt to Mabel, if there can be such a thing. One of these days we’ll get everyone together on a Jerry Springer-style program and Henry will be confronted by his numerous partners and offspring. Child support will finally catch up with him and it will all get messy.

One thing that was more simple and obvious was Mabel’s love for Olive, and within just a few weeks, some—if not all—of that love was reciprocated. Neither would now want to be without the other, but Olive could probably spend more time without Mabel than vice versa.

The Friday 56 for 12/4/20

The Friday 56This is a weekly bloghop hosted by Freda’s Voice

RULES:
The Friday 56 Grab a book, any book.
The Friday 56 Turn to Page 56 or 56% on your ereader. If you have to improvise, that is okay.
The Friday 56 Find a snippet, short and sweet.
The Friday 56 Post it

from page 56 of:
Next to Last Stand

The Silver Arrow by Lev Grossman

“Kate. Tom. Good to see you. You made it this far.”

“Uncle Herbert!”

“Uncle Herbert!” Tom said. “We went through the woods and didn’t crash and then we saw a station and it was full of animals and they talked and then the train talked!”

Tom said this as one long continuous word. Uncle Herbert didn’t look particularly surprised at any of it.

EXCERPT from The Man in Milan by Vito Racanelli

Earlier this morning, I talked about the book, and now I get to give you a little taste—the opening paragraphs, I hope it hooks you the way it did me.


from Chapter 1 of The Man in Milan by Vito Racanelli (available from Polis Books)

Friday

In the gutter lay a man, face up, between two parked SUVs on Sutton Street. He wore a pale gray suit with impossibly thin pinstripes. It was Zegna, because I’d seen one on my partner, Detective Hamilton P. Turner. The suit was still in good shape, a testament to its workmanship, but the man was not.

I squatted and looked at him in the evening of an April day. I put on my latex and turned him gently. Our fashionable boy wore no tie and his pink shirt had a large red-brown blotch right where his heart used to beat. His suit was ruined in the back, an exit hole right through the trapezius. That’s what the coroner’s report would probably say.

He was about six feet, one inch. Skinny, with fine brown hair, blue- gray eyes. glauco, they say in Italian, which is what the body turned out to be. My grandfather was called Glauco for his eyes. This guy was good looking. Once. No sign of a struggle. Two wounds: a dime-sized hole punched through the back of the head and one more straight into the chest—probably the second shot as he lay prone—to make sure he stayed all the way dead. Below, burrowed halfway into the asphalt, was a slug.

The blues who’d found him already radioed for the NYPD photogs and CSU.

I walked back to my car to call my partner, who’d hadn’t told me why he couldn’t come along to the party. “I’m good,” I said to Turner. “You’re missing a beautiful spring evening in New York City, marred only by one dead body.”

His voice crackled over the radio: “Just the one? Gonna rain later. Meet you back at the precinct, Paolino,” Turner said.

I tossed the receiver back into our Crown Vic’s front seat and walked back to the body. Turner liked to call me little Paul because I was taller than him.

 

The photogs showed up and cordoned off the area around the body.

“Any other bodies, Detective Rossi?” the photographer asked me.

“I told you, one. Why does everyone think there’s more than one?” I said.

“Yeah, but you know, sometimes you think there’s one and then other bodies just start showing up when you look around. They’re like rabbits.”

I smiled at our photographer, Joe Rinn. He had a nice sideline doing weddings. “You never tell those brides what you do, do you? That you flash dead bodies all day. That your work graces medical school books about fatal wounds?”

“Nah,” he said, smiling back at me, then turning to the job at hand. “I tell ’em I’m an artist.”

I stood back and let the artist work. I tugged my right ear, tilted my head to get another look at this guy, and wondered what this poor fucker had done to deserve a dog’s death.

Rinn circled the body like a vulture. “The geeks’ll be here in a minute. And hey, a Post guy is comin’, too. He asked me to keep the bodies fresh.”

“A body. One body. We’ll try to oblige, but if the fourth estate doesn’t show in time, tough,” I said.

After they took the first set of photos, the CSU geeks began. Hair, blood, and nail samples. They scraped his jacket, pants, and shirts with tape to pick up foreign elements, like someone else’s hair or blood.

I looked around to figure some possible MOs. There was a small service alcove down a few steps and a few feet away. Our hunter knew his rabbit’s habits. Maybe tailed him for a few days. He waited in the alcove and calmly skipped up to the victim as he walked between a Range Rover and an Escalade. That gave the shooter some tall cover, and then he did him. Bang. Bang. Or rather Ping, Ping, with a silencer. The killer had probably taken care after the first shot to lay the body down, so that they were partially obscured, on Sutton near 51st. And that’s when he—or they—popped him a second time. His head, inches from the curb, was near enough that his blood had drained into the sewer nearby. Just when you think you’ve seen it all.

The body came conveniently with docs, a small black address book and an Italian identity card wrapped in a soft, dark brown leather case— Gaitano Muro, forty-six years old and a Milan address, so immediately I thought Mafia. Even the stupidest perp knows not to leave docs in a fixit job. The killer must have been spooked immediately and had to run. This was a botched execution. Two kill shots to rob someone? Not likely.

The address book had names and phone numbers but little else. No addresses. The ID was diplomatic, Capo Servizio something or other, Consolato Generale della Repubblica Italiana, it said, with an embossed little star inside an olive branch and a mechanical gear wheel. My Italian wasn’t bad thanks to my grandfather. Muro was a diplo and Signore Muro from Milan came all the way to New York City and found unexpectedly that this late April evening would be the least lucky night he was ever to have, and he was dropped in the gutter on Sutton St. I suppose there are worse streets to die on.

I’d bet it wasn’t the way he thought it would go. Nobody ever does.

.

Excerpted The Man in Milan Copyright © 2020 by Vito Racanelli Reprinted with permission from the author. All rights reserved


Read the rest in The Man in Milan by Vito Racanelli to see what happens from here.

Thanks to Polis Books, Vito Racanelli and Saichek Publicity for this excerpt!

EXCERPT from Venators: Legends Rise by Devri Walls


For the next part of my stop on The Write Reads Blog Tour for Venators: Legends Rise by Devri Walls, I have this nifty excerpt provided by the author. Enjoy!


from Venators: Legends Rise by Devri Walls (available from Brown Books Publishing Group)

After such a long day and a full meal, Rune and Grey were both yawning. Beltran was feeling the exhaustion himself, but he needed Rune to be at least partially awake for the conversation he had planned for tonight. He got to his feet and brushed off his pants.

     Verida eyed him from across the fire. “Where are you going?”

     “I tried to explain before we left but was rudely interrupted.” He crossed to the packs and started pulling out shimmering pieces of fabric, grinning at Verida’s silent glower. “I have gifts from Arwin.”

     Grey leaned back on the palms of his hands, craning his neck. “What is that?”

     “Your tents.” Beltran strolled behind Grey, separating one from the rest and dropping it in his lap.

     “This is my tent?” The fabric whispered through his hand, sliding away like liquid silk and pooling in his lap. Grey’s face fell. “We’re going to freeze.”

     “On the contrary.” Beltran handed one each to Verida and Rune. “Tonight you will be warm, comfortable, and most importantly, unnoticeable to anything passing through the area.”

     Given his ability to shift, Beltran didn’t actually need a tent—he could sleep just about anywhere in a well insulated form. But he was endlessly fascinated with Arwin’s abilities and wasn’t about to pass up the opportunity to experience the wonder of magic by volunteering to turn himself into a bear.

     Besides, with Rune so nearby, he was particularly attached to this human form, and would rather not be covered in fur in the middle of the night. Although, considering the cold shoulder she’d given him since the incident, an unexpected tent visit from Rune was probably a touch optimistic.

     “How are we supposed to use this?” Grey asked. “Are there stakes or ropes or—”

     “Grey.” Beltran tsked. “We’re dealing with a wizard. Arwin would be offended. Observe.” He flipped the fabric outward, the way Arwin had shown him. It snapped in the air. He gave it a sharp yank, pulled it over his head, and released. The fabric fluttered down around him and caught, puckering as if suspended by something, and then draping to the ground.

     At first Beltran could only see the brightness of the fabric, but then a translucent circle appeared at the center point above his head. The effect grew larger, flowing down like rain water until it appeared that he was surrounded by nothing at all. The only tell-tale sign of the tent’s presence was the occasional shimmer that rippled across the inside.

     Beltran saw everything, but to an outsider, he’d just become invisible.

    Verida looked at the fabric in her hand like it was a viper, and Beltran stifled a laugh. She hated magic. The lack of control, understanding, and predictability ate her alive.

   “Go ahead,” he called. “Try it.”

   Rune’s nose crinkled. “Not very soundproof, is it?”

   “Intentional. I asked Arwin to leave it that way.”

   “Why would you have done that?” Verida took out her nervousness on the first thing she found, gesturing wildly. The delicate fabric clenched in her hand, flipped, and rolled. “What if Grey snores?”

   Grey’s head snapped up, his brow furrowed. “But…I don’t.”

  Well, Verida darling, that way, when you try to kill me in the middle of night, Rune and Grey will hear my screams and come running to my aid.” He poked his head between the flaps and would’ve winked—he wanted to—but the look on Verida’s face said she’d probably remove the offending eyeball.

   “I’ll speak to Arwin about the glaring flaw in his design when we return.”

   “I’ll let him know to expect you.”

  “Hey,” Rune said. “Why didn’t we use something like this instead of nixie bubbles?”

  Verida whirled, shouting, and shaking the tent in the air. “Because I didn’t know Arwin could do this, and we weren’t walking around the council house openly asking for help to disobey the council!”

   “All right, all right,” she held up a hand. “Sorry I asked.”

  Don’t worry Rune, it’s not you,” Beltran said, stepping out from the tent. “Verida hates magic.”

  “Stop. Talking!”

  He shoved his hands in his pockets, and shrugged at Rune as if to say…see?

  “I don’t think I’m understanding,” Grey interjected. “Did you really choose not to soundproof this because you were afraid she’d murder you in your sleep?”

  “Would you blame me?” Beltran mimicked Verida’s earlier flailing and grinned. “But no. Arwin said I could have invisibility or sound protection. I chose what I thought would be the most beneficial.”

   “It would’ve been nice to know you brought tents before I packed the regular ones,” Verida snapped. “We could’ve done without the additional weight.”

   “We’ll need both. Arwin gave me a very long speech loaded with copious amounts of wizardly terms that I wasn’t completely familiar with, but basically meant that fabric doesn’t hold magic as well as earth. He infused a stone—and proceeded to instruct me no less than fourteen times not to lose it—and then connected the rock to the fabric via another spell. It was very convoluted but amounted to the simple fact that the fabric can only hold so many hours of magic before needing to be placed back in the pack with the stone. These should last until morning, but once the tents are depleted, they’ll need to rest for at least a full day before they can be used again.”

   He smiled at Verida, who asked, “then why are we using them tonight?”

    “I thought it best to test out their capabilities.”

“I see.” She pulled in a tight breath through her nose. “And hope we don’t need them tomorrow? Excellent.”

    “A better option than pulling them out when we desperately need them and discovering they don’t work.”

   “Hold up,” Rune interrupted. “Let me get this straight. Our tents have to… charge?”

   Beltran looked at her blankly. “I have no idea what that means.”

   Rune rolled her lips in.

   Grey burst into laughter, holding up the tent like he’d found the prize of an era. “Rune! Look! It’s the new upgraded iTent! The Bluetooth connection is non-existent but it’s new, improved, and doubles as a shelter.”

   “But,” she snickered. “How’s the screen size?”

   The two Venators continued, laughing hysterically, and dropping one joke after the next.

   “I have absolutely no idea what they’re talking about,” he said dryly, glancing to Verida. “And I’m really starting to dislike how often that’s happening.”

   “Agreed.”

   At least they agreed on something.


Read the rest in Venators: Legends Rise by Devri Walls.

Thanks to Devri Walls for this excerpt! Also, thanks to The Write Reads for the invitation to participate in this tour and the materials they provided.

Page 20 of 28

Powered by WordPress & Theme by Anders Norén