That was just the way the witchbillies were, Laura supposed.
When her part of the ceremony was over, Laura walked over to the rows of chairs and found Clara waiting for her. Clara had put on a gorgeous vintage sundress, the color of cool spring grass. Her eyes were red with crying and she was dabbing at her makeup with a tissue.
“I still don’t get this no-reception thing,” Clara said, jumping up from her chair. “You mean we don’t get any cake?”
“Nope. They don’t really go in for special occasions. There’s a big communal dinner next week if you want to come back, but it’s not for celebrating the wedding. It’s just what they do once a month, on the day of the full moon.”
“Um, no offense, but I don’t think I want to come back here that soon,” Clara said. She glanced over at the far ridge, at the place where the cave had been. It was sealed off for good now, with Malvern’s body still inside. Nobody—not even the cops— had wanted to touch the thing, so they’d just left it to rot.
“Believe me, I understand,” Laura said.
“No dancing, though!” Clara said, to break the mood. “How can you have a wedding without dancing!”
“Oh, they never dance. That would be intemperate or something,” Laura explained. “Except, of course, when they get naked and dance in the woods. But that’s different. That’s religious.”
“Uh-huh.” Clara shrugged and turned to go. “Alright. It’s a long ride back to Harrisburg, and it’ll be dark soon.”
Laura nodded. Then she stopped and grabbed Clara’s arm. There was something she had to say.
The other woman turned and looked at her with expectant eyes.
“I love you,” Laura said.
“You should,” Clara replied.
Laura smiled. This time, she thought, Clara was just joking. There had been a time when she would have been serious. But time had a funny effect on people. It definitely had had an effect on her. “There’s a place in Mechanicsburg,” she said, “where they have an eighties dance night every Friday.”
“Tonight’s Friday,” Clara pointed out.
Laura nodded. “They’ve got good margaritas, too.”
“Oh, boy,” Clara said. “I think you’ve got a date.”
Laughing, they headed back to the car. Not, unfortunately, the old Miata—that had been totaled years ago. These days they drove a Prius. Clara drove, steering the car north, toward their lives. The sun set while they were driving, but there was no reason to be afraid of the dark.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
This is going to get a little soppy. You have been warned.
When I started work on 13 Bullets, it was going to be a four-thousand-word short story. I had just read some forgettable book about vampires falling in love with human women because they were … I don’t know. Special or something. I threw the book across the room and said, “Dracula would kick this guy’s ass. And then eat his girlfriend for dessert.” I sat down to write a quick scene of a hard-core vampire fight, featuring the nastiest, most brutal vampire I could think of. Laura Caxton and Justinia Malvern came later—at the beginning it was just Arkeley sitting in a car, wishing he was ready for what was to come. Knowing he wasn’t. I wasn’t ready, either. Monster Island hadn’t even come out at that point. I was a professional author, but I had yet to see a published book; and I could not predict what the future would hold.
Five books later, here we are. It’s been one hell of a ride.
I wish I had room to thank every single person who helped me out along the way. That would require an additional volume. So if you don’t see your name here, please don’t think I forgot. Let’s start at the beginning with Alex Lencicki, who is no Johnny Halfways. The man single-handedly got me to a place where I could do this. Then Byrd Leavell came along and made sure this wasn’t just a trilogy. Jason Pinter loved the first book. He believed in it, on pure faith. Carrie Thornton took over and taught me more about writing with her red pen than all the workshops I’ve ever taken. Jay Sones sold the hell out of the books for years, while remaining one of the nicest guys I’ve ever met. Russell Galen (about whom little need be said—far better writers than I owe him big-time) helped me pay the rent and buy new laptops as I wore out the old ones. And Julian Pavia brought us home. Every single one of them a class act.
Then there’s the small army of copy editors, publishers, marketing folks, publicity people, sales reps (some of the most important and most criminally neglected people in the business), bookstore owners (chain and indie—Del Howison is a hero out of a mythic age), bookstore grunts (those staff recommendations made my day, every single time), cover artists, advertising designers, bloggers, book critics, reviewers (Curt Purcell, of The Groovy Age of Horror, I’m looking at you), Amazon reviewers, eBook packagers, audiobook voice artists, all the people who put books together, who print them, who sell them, all the people who just simply love books, love them so much they put up with the frustrations, the discouragements, the prophecies of doom, the big failures and the little triumphs. Every single person who ever worked on behalf of creating the book in your hands (or on your Kindle, or wherever you’re reading this) deserves my utter and heartfelt thanks.
And then there’s you. This book is dedicated to you, the person who read it. The person who read all five of them, and let me know you enjoyed them, or told me I got the guns wrong, or asked when the next one was coming out. The person who read them and recommended them to your friends, or read them with your family, or who just, you know, enjoyed them. I wrote them to entertain you. Maybe to scare you a little, too. How’d that work out? You, my friend, have made it possible for me to do the thing I love. You have kept me going through a divorce, health problems, economic downturns, family crises, and existential dread. Because I knew you were out there waiting for the next one, and that was all the spur I needed to keep going. To write again.
Thank you. I cannot say it enough. Thank you.
Sincerely,
David Wellington
New York, 2011
Watch out for the other novels by David Wellington
Available now from Piatkus
CURSED
Revenge in the face of bloodlust is seldom sweet …
There’s one sound a woman doesn’t want to hear when she’s lost and alone in the Arctic wilderness: a howl. For Cheyenne Clark, there’s a bad moon on the rise. When a strange wolf ‘s teeth slash her ankle to the bone, her old life ends, and she becomes the very monster that has haunted her nightmares for years. Worse, the only one who can understand what Chey has become is the man – and wolf – who’s doomed her to this fate. He also wants her dead.
Yet, as the line between human and beast blurs, so too does the distinction between hunter and hunted … for Chey is more than just the victim she appears to be. But once she’s within killing range, she may find that – even for a werewolf – it’s not always easy to go for the jugular.
978-0-7499-5238-9
RAVAGED
Be careful what you search for. You just might find it …
When a strange wolf ‘s teeth slashed Cheyenne Clark’s ankle to the bone, her old life ended, and she became the very monster that haunted her nightmares for years. Worse, the only one who can understand what Chey has become is Powell, the man – or wolf – who’s doomed her to this fate.
They vow to find the release to the curse, yet as the line between human and beast blurs, so too does the distinction between hunter and hunted. Because someone is on the trail of Powell and Chey, determined to get revenge – someone as deadly and as fierce as they are …
978-0-7499-5243-3
And in case you missed it, check out the first novel in the Laura
Caxton Vampire series …
13 BULLEST
All the official reports say they are dead – extinct since the late ‘80s, when a fed named Jameson Arkeley nailed the last vampire in a fight that nearly killed him. But the evidence proves otherwise. When a state trooper named Caxton calls
the FBI looking for help in the middle of the night, it is Arkeley who gets the assignment – who else? He’s been expecting such a call. Sure, it’s been years since any signs of an attack, but Arkeley knows what most people don’t: there is one left. In an abandoned asylum she is rotting, plotting and biding her time in a way that only the undead can.
But the worst thing is the feeling that the vampires want more than just Caxton’s blood. They want her for a reason, one she can’t guess; a reason her sphinxlike partner knows but won’t say; a reason she has to find out or die trying. Now there are only 13 bullets between Caxton and Arkeley and the vampires. There are only 13 bullets between us, the living, and them, the damned.
978-0-7499-5426-0
Do you love fiction with a supernatural twist?
Want the chance to hear news about your favourite
authors (and the chance to win free books)?
Keri Arthur
S. G. Browne
P.C. Cast
Christine Feehan
Jacquelyn Frank
Larissa Ione
Darynda Jones
Sherrilyn Kenyon
Jackie Kessler
Jayne Ann Krentz and Jayne Castle
Martin Millar
Kat Richardson
J.R. Ward
David Wellington
Laura Wright
Then visit the Piatkus website and blog
www.piatkus.co.uk | www.piatkusbooks.net
And follow us on Facebook and Twitter
www.facebook.com/piatkusfiction | www.twitter.com/piatkusbooks
32 Fangs: Laura Caxton Vampire Series: Book 5 Page 34