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A collection of all-new Sookie Stackhouse stories written by authors handpicked by Charlaine Harris herself--now in paperback.
- AutorJonathan Maberry,Mary Janice Davidson,Rachel Caine
- HerausgaberCharlaine Harris,Toni L. P. Kelner
- SerieAce Books
- VerlagPenguin LCC US
- Seiten400 Seiten
- Gewicht335 g
I have to admit I was dubious about this project when Steve Feldberg at Audible first proposed it. I thought it would be strange to see my characters from someone else's viewpoint, and I thought it would be embarrassing to invite other writers to jump into my characters. But as I mulled the idea over for a few weeks, it occurred to me that I had already seen my characters from another viewpoint, on True Blood . Maybe seeing them through another prism would be just as interesting.
Gradually, I began to see how much fun this project might be, especially with Toni L. P. Kelner, friend and coeditor on so many anthologies, riding shotgun. We made up a list of writers who had let me know they'd enjoyed the books. To my pleasure, they all seemed excited at the idea.
I have been delighted with the stories we received. Each one has provided me with a sort of affectionate good-bye to the world where I lived for so long, and the people I created to populate that world.
Rachel Caine was enthralled by Kevin and Kenya, the Bon Temps police officers who appear in most of the Sookie books. She wanted to see more of their personal lives and to find out exactly how they came to realize they were really made for each other. Here's Rachel's version of their vampire-imperiled courtship, which also involves swamp water, addicts, and other assorted romantic shenanigans.
Hoo boy, it was hot. Though saying it was hot in Bon Temps, Louisiana, was a little like saying water was wet; even this late in the season, well into what probably felt like fall in other parts of the country, it was a sticky, steamy day. Like most other days.
Kevin Pryor reached for the controls of the air-conditioning on the police cruiser, but before he could get to them, his partner, Kenya Jones, was already there, expertly adjusting the knobs to get just the right mix of dry and cold. She also got out a thermos full of cold water, wetted a small washcloth, and handed it to him.
"Are you saying I stink?" he asked her, and made quick use of it, swabbing his filthy, sweaty face, neck, and hands. Not much he could do about the shirt; it was going to be one of those challenges that might be too big for regular laundry, and his mother would give him a lecture about taking better care of his things even though he was a grown-ass man.
Kenya didn't quite smile. "I wouldn't say that." Which was her way of saying that she was too polite. In fact, he smelled like rot and swamp, because he'd had to bend over and fish out the rotting suitcase from the green, stagnant pond and open it up to be sure there wasn't anything unpleasant in it, like body parts
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