- EUR 7,06Kostenloser Versand
- Artikelzustand: Neu
- Verkauft von mecodu
- Lieferung siehe Details
- EUR 2,21+ EUR 2,50 Versand
- Artikelzustand: Sehr gut
- Verkauft von medimops
- Lieferung siehe Details
Alle Angebote für dieses Produkt
Meistverkauft in Junge Leser
Hier sparen: Junge Leser
- EUR 8,99Preistendenz: EUR 9,50
- EUR 9,95Preistendenz: EUR 10,51
- EUR 8,99Preistendenz: EUR 9,29
- EUR 5,00Preistendenz: EUR 5,29
- EUR 9,99Preistendenz: EUR 10,56
- EUR 12,95Preistendenz: EUR 13,17
- EUR 12,90Preistendenz: EUR 13,64
Über dieses Produkt
Dreamily dark and spellbinding with a hint of horror, "New York Times "bestselling author Lili St. Crow stuns with this toothsome retelling of "Little Red Riding Hood." "Full moon. Glowing eyes. Red lips. And such sharp, sharp teeth.".. In the kin world, girls Ruby de Varre's age are expected to play nice, get betrothed, and start a family--especially if they're rootkin, and the fate of the clan is riding on them. But after a childhood of running wild in the woods, it's hard to turn completely around and be demure. Even if your Gran is expecting it. Then Conrad, handsome and charming, from a clan across the Waste, comes to New Haven to seal alliance between their two families. The sparks fly immediately. Conrad is smart, dominant, and downright gorgeous. Yet as Ruby gets to know him more, she starts to realize something's...off. Then, the murders start. A killer stalks the city streets, and just when Ruby starts to suspect the unimaginable, she becomes the next target. Now Ruby's about to find out that Conrad's secrets go deeper than she ever could have guessed--and it's up to Ruby to save her Gran, her clan, and maybe even herself.... Prepare to become thrillingly lost in the third, final, and simply mesmerizing installment of Lili St. Crow's Tales of Beauty and Madness series.
- AutorLili St. Crow
- Seiten320 Seiten
- Gewicht300 g
T WO DARK-HAIRED YOUNG MEN, LEANING ON EACH other as if drunk. One of them reels, retching and coughing, the other makes soft soothing noises. There is a faint gleam-something silver, plucked from the drunkard's pocket. He grabs for it, almost topples, and his helper speaks softly.
This is a small town, and the train is waiting. The two have twenty minutes before the train is resealed and plunges through the Waste, flora and fauna both Twisted from stagnant and wild Potential. Sometimes a train derails, other times, things attack the metal intrusion. So far, though, this journey has been uneventful.
There is an alley close to the station. Its shadowed mouth swallows both young men. The darkness is complete, except for a few faint gleams-silver, again. A swaying, a sharp arc of brilliance. A meaty, thudding sound.
When a young man boards the train later, he looks faintly troubled. But he has plenty of time to reach his sleeper compartment, and is settled on a wide, comfortable seat folded down into a bed when the whistle blows, a high piercing demand. Layers of charm seal the train again, and anyone left behind for any reason has to stay in this small town. To leave anywhere, you must pay for a fresh ticket. And a new indemnity, in case the Waste eats the train.
Steam billows. Cinders fall, dirty snow, and the metal beast heaves forward.
Afterward, the station is deserted. The town slumbers, too small for its sleep to be troubled by the problems of cities-urban cores full of slopping-over Potential, a Waste of its own. There was always the small, remote chance that the Waste might move in, and swallow the town whole. The next train to come through could well encounter a wilderness, its walls shattered and its buildings jumbled, its inhabitants no longer draining off Potential to restore their surroundings to normality.
Around the station, unTwisted trees planted beside ruler-straight sidewalks rustle, their thin branches shaken by a hot wind from the Waste as a maggot-cheese moon rises higher in an uncaring sky.
The train's whistle, in the distance, is a lonely, mournful song.
INTO THE WOODS
NEW HAVEN RECLINED UNDER THICK SUNSHINE AND fluffy cotton-wool clouds, isolated trees turning to autumn flames early this year. The rest were still that peculiar darkening green they wore right before dressing up for Dead Harvest.
Less than a week of freedom between the end of summer classes and the beginning of the last year at St. Juno's, which meant that if you wanted to have some fun you had to grab it with both hands. It was even better when you had friends to help with the grabbing and pulling