Well, I’m only two thirds of a Pet these days, but you might as well call me Pet anyway. Everyone does: everyone but the vampire, that is.
Life is more unbalanced these days—cases are cutting closer to home than usual. I thought I was the only one, but there are others like me: kids whose parents were murdered just like mine. Stuff that never fit into place before is beginning fall into place.
And my psychos are getting really weird. I mean, they’ve always been weird, but now they’re getting weirder.
Why would a fae lord decide to collaborate with humans?
Why has the fae steward started sneaking out at night?
And why is the vampire reading romance novels?
W.R. Gingell is a Tasmanian author of urban fantasy, fairy-tale retellings, and madcap science fiction who doesn’t seem to be able to write a book without a body suddenly turning up. She solemnly swears that all such bodies are strictly fictional in nature.
W.R. spends her time reading, drinking a truly ridiculous amount of tea, and slouching in front of the fire to write. Like Peter Pan, she never really grew up, and is still occasionally to be found climbing trees.