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Zusatztext Praise for the Morganville Vampires series: "Fans of Twilight really should check this out." -Word Nerd "A fast-moving series where there's always a surprise just around every dark corner." - Darque Reviews "[ Glass Houses ] left me emotionally spent! in a good way. The intensity is cubed in [ The Dead Girls' Dance ]." - Eternal Night Informationen zum Autor Rachel Caine is the author of more than twenty novels, including the "Weather Warden" series. She was born at White Sands Missile Range, which people who know her say explains a lot. She has been an accountant, a professional musician, and an insurance investigator, and still carries on a secret identity in the corporate world. She and her husband, fantasy artist R. Cat Conrad, live in Texas with their iguanas, Popeye and Darwin; a mali uromastyx named (appropriately) O’Malley; and a leopard tortoise named Shelley (for the poet, of course). Klappentext The first two novels in the New York Times bestselling Morganville Vampires series together for the first time in a new trade paperback edition. Morganville is a small college town in the heart of Texas-not a place that exactly screams "hotbed of creatures of the night". But college freshman Claire Danvers is about to discover why, in Morganville, you should never, ever stay out after dark... Glass Houses College freshman Claire Danvers moves off campus and into an old house in the small town of Morganville. Her new roommates have her back when the town's deepest secrets come crawling out, hungry for fresh blood... The Dead Girls' Dance Claire may have a great roommate and a new boyfriend, but when she's invited to the Dead Girls' Dance all hell breaks loose-literally. Because this time, the living and the dead are ready to tear up the night... 1 On the day Claire became a member of the Glass House, somebody stole her laundry. When she reached into the crappy, beat-up washing machine, she found nothing but the wet slick sides of the drum, and—like a bad joke—the worst pair of underwear she owned, plus one sock. She was in a hurry, of course—there were only a couple of machines on this top floor of Howard Hall, the least valued and most run-down rooms in the least valued, most run-down dorm. Two washing machines, two dryers, and you were lucky if one of them was working on any given day and didn't eat your quarters. Forget about the dollar-bill slot. She'd never seen it work, not in the last six weeks since she'd arrived at school. "No," she said out loud, and balanced herself on the edge of the washer to look down into the dark, partly rusted interior. It smelled like mold and cheap detergent. Getting a closer look didn't help. One crappy pair of underwear, fraying at the seams. One sock. She was missing every piece of clothing that she'd worn in the last two weeks. Every piece that she actually wanted to wear. "No!" She yelled it into the washer, where it echoed back at her, and slumped back down, then kicked the washer violently in the dent made by all the other disappointed students before her. She couldn't breathe. She had some other clothes—a few—but they were last-choice clothes, oh-my-God-wouldn't-be-caught-dead clothes. Pants that were too short and made her look like a hick, shirts that were too big and too stupid, and made her look like her mom had picked them out. And she had. Claire had about three hundred dollars left to last her for, well, months, after the latest round of calling out for pizza and buying yet another book for Professor Clueless Euliss, who didn't seem to have figured out yet what subject he was teaching. She supposed she could find some clothes, if she looked around, that wouldn't totally blow her entire budget. After all, downtown Morganville, Texa...
