Mehr lesen
Informationen zum Autor Stacey Jay has published in the genres of erotica, paranormal romance, middle grade, and YA, using a variety of pseudonyms. She’s been a full-time mom/writer since 2005 and can't think of anything she'd rather be doing. Her former careers include theater performer, professional dancer, poorly paid C-movie actress, bartender, waiter, math tutor, and yoga instructor. She lives in California with her husband and children. Klappentext The second book in a new urban fantasy series featuring mosquito-sized fairies with poisonous bites that drive humans insane.It's only been three weeks since Annabelle helped solve the murder of Grace Beauchamp, and in the process, she discovered a secret world of invisible, magic-working people who have decided she might have what it takes to join their ranks. As best as she can determine, Annabelle's attack by a group of fairies has infected her with paranormal ability she did not previously possess, including being able to mentally move objects and heal wounds. Her new abilities appear to have few negative side effects, aside from creepy dreams. But would that change if she stopped injecting herself with the mystery drug delivered to her by the even more mysterious Tucker, one of the Invisibles? Leery of trusting criminals with her health, Annabelle wishes she had someone she could talk to about the changes in her life. Enter Hitch, FBI agent and Annabelle's ex, who's back in Donaldsonville on an off-the-books investigation. Hitch suspects that there's a government-funded illegal lab that's developing a controversial fairy-killing spray that could adversely affect the existence of every living thing in the delta?including humans. And Hitch and Annabelle will have to find a way to work together if they're going to find a way to shut it down. Nightmares suck. Not being able to wake up from one sucks even more. But that’s what happens when you double up on sleep aids the night after an unexpected murder-investigation-inspired visit from your ex-boyfriend. But maybe I’d be okay right now if I’d had a nice, calm sandwich before bed instead of a few beers and extra-cheesy nachos, topped off with extra-strength Benadryl, in the hopes that Alcohol and Antihistamine would heroically join forces and fight back the evil duo of Jalapeño Sauce and Stupidity, allowing me to snag a few hours of REM sleep. Maybe I’d still be okay, if I hadn’t popped a Restalin an hour later, on the off chance that Alcohol and Antihistamine needed some insomnia-crime-fighting help. All things considered, I earned this. I deserve it. And I know it’s just a dream. But that doesn’t make the solo trudge through the menacing darkness any easier. I’m walking barefoot through the swamp, mud oozing between my toes, an unseasonably cold wind reminding me with every step that a T-shirt and bikini panties aren’t the best choice for a walk outside the iron gates. I shouldn’t be out here after dark without some serious protective outerwear. I’m immune and the fairies will probably leave me alone, but the gators and snakes don’t care if my blood kills the Fey. Ugh. Snakes. Shudder. On cue, the mud beneath my feet spits forth a legion of snakes that slither between my legs, hissing and twitching, baring their glistening fangs, but refusing to go ahead and bite me already. Because biting would take the edge off the fear of being bitten—the jaw-locking, bone-shuddering, skin-crawling fear inspired by all those hard, reptilian bodies squirming around my ankles. The fear that swells even larger when the moon slips from behind a cloud and I get a good look at the shoreline spreading out in front of me. Nothing but snakes and snakes and more snakes as far as the eye can see, an undulating carpet of horror that, for a moment, I’m stupid enough to believe is as scary as this dream ...
