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316 pages, Mass Market Paperback
First published June 30, 2015


Malcolm snapped, “It isn’t some “It isn’t some unfortunate waif. And it isn’t a little doll to be played with. That is a murdering beast. It’s deceiving you until you drop your guard.”
“You can manhandle that werewolf now because it’s a juvenile. It’s inexperienced or it would have been long gone already, leaving a trail of bodies in its wake. With time, though, it will develop its single skill: killing. It’s as inevitable as death.”
It was hairless and its skin almost translucent. Veins and pulsing organs could be seen even in the dim gaslight. One of the figure’s arms was more machine than flesh and bristled with fierce filamentous quills from wrist to shoulder that rippled like a field of wheat. A dress that had been peach-colored was tattered and soiled.
An inhuman eye, guided by gears and wires, shifted every so often as if in fear. Its other eye, more human though. An inhuman eye, guided by gears and wires, shifted every so often as if in fear. Its other eye, more human though utterly colorless, remained focused on what it held with long, boneless fingers. It clutched a nearly human skull, the skull of a monster, of a homunculus, half bone and half construct. The white object dripped with useless wires and in the empty cranium was an apparatus for recording and playing back sounds.