Read Online A Field Guide to Vampires by Craig Batty Alyxandra Harvey - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Craig Batty Alyxandra Harvey
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candles, even though they flickered with a faintly blue glow, ghostly and cold.
The train cut through swarms of them, like giant fireflies, but not a single passenger noticed. I was the only one gaping at the scene outside. I’d read about corpse candles before, but I’d thought them idle superstition. A quaint folk tradition.
I did not credit them to be the terrifying unearthly light that now fell on my face and made me feel wretched and ill and shiver as if I were up to my neck in a snowdrift. I understood the warning not to follow will-o-the-wisps, to cast your eyes downward when you walked at night.
I thought I saw flashes of pale faces, pale hands, pale teeth.
And then, a face was suddenly there on the other side of the window.
Long translucent hair drifted as if the girl were underwater. There was a cloying scent in the still air, like lilies wilting by green water. She dripped as if it were raining, floated as if she were made of dandelion fluff. She wore a white dress layered with flounces.
Her eyes met mine, cold as starlight. I jerked backward, yelping.
My mother opened one eye crossly. “Violet, really.”
The girl faded, tattering like mist under a spear of strong sunlight.
The ghostly candles guttered and went out.
Love the Drakes?
Prepare to have your heart stolen, as Alyxandra
Harvey’s enchanting new novel transports you
to Faery, where nothing is as it seems …
Prologue
Eloise
Thursday evening
“I hate this town,” Jo complained. “There isn’t a single hot guy anywhere.”
“Hey,” Devin protested mildly, out of habit. We weren’t really listening; we’d heard Jo give this same speech about a hundred times, and frankly, my mint chocolate chip ice cream was more interesting. It was too hot to worry about guys. Only Jo could muster the energy to multitask a tantrum while sweating through her T-shirt and eyeing the carful of perfectly droolworthy guys currently ignoring her. Mind you, I’d seen her flirt with a photograph of Ian Somerhalder in a magazine once. A little drought wouldn’t stop her.
“I’m hot,” Devin added, wiping his forehead. “Literally.”
We were at the ice cream parlor where everyone hung out because there was nothing else to do in the bustling metropolis of Rowan, population 8,011. In winter we drove up and down Main Street, and in nicer weather we stood around the parking lot. It was October, and even though the sun had just set, the pavement was still warm and slightly soft under our shoes. I’d already eaten more ice cream during this drought than in the last ten years put together.
“You don’t count,” Jo told him. “You know what I mean,” she added, patting his shoulder comfortingly. “You’d be hot if I didn’t know you. And if I hadn’t seen you stuff eight Ping-Pong balls in your mouth when you were ten and then spit all over me when you choked.”
He just leaned back against the picnic table, his dark skin gleaming. “Halloween dance last year,” was all he said.
Jo narrowed her eyes at him. “Shut up.”
The stunning and epic failure of her costume was still talked about. I turned red just thinking about it. I’d have died on the spot if the whole gym had turned to stare at me like that.
Something I was considering doing right now, actually.
“Dishy.” Jo smoothed back her waist-length hair as a guy I didn’t recognize crossed the parking lot toward us. People staring at her never fazed Jo; she got more upset when they ignored her. I much,
much
preferred being ignored.
“I’d snog that.” Jo loved anything British, especially slang, which she used incessantly but incorrectly about half the time. Mostly, she used the swear words.
“Do you even know what that means?” Devin asked.
“It means kissing.”
“Then
say
kissing.”
The guy was still coming toward us as they bickered. He ignored the girls preening in his wake, and the guys snickering. His eyes were the color of moss, an eerie pale green that I could
The train cut through swarms of them, like giant fireflies, but not a single passenger noticed. I was the only one gaping at the scene outside. I’d read about corpse candles before, but I’d thought them idle superstition. A quaint folk tradition.
I did not credit them to be the terrifying unearthly light that now fell on my face and made me feel wretched and ill and shiver as if I were up to my neck in a snowdrift. I understood the warning not to follow will-o-the-wisps, to cast your eyes downward when you walked at night.
I thought I saw flashes of pale faces, pale hands, pale teeth.
And then, a face was suddenly there on the other side of the window.
Long translucent hair drifted as if the girl were underwater. There was a cloying scent in the still air, like lilies wilting by green water. She dripped as if it were raining, floated as if she were made of dandelion fluff. She wore a white dress layered with flounces.
Her eyes met mine, cold as starlight. I jerked backward, yelping.
My mother opened one eye crossly. “Violet, really.”
The girl faded, tattering like mist under a spear of strong sunlight.
The ghostly candles guttered and went out.
Love the Drakes?
Prepare to have your heart stolen, as Alyxandra
Harvey’s enchanting new novel transports you
to Faery, where nothing is as it seems …
Prologue
Eloise
Thursday evening
“I hate this town,” Jo complained. “There isn’t a single hot guy anywhere.”
“Hey,” Devin protested mildly, out of habit. We weren’t really listening; we’d heard Jo give this same speech about a hundred times, and frankly, my mint chocolate chip ice cream was more interesting. It was too hot to worry about guys. Only Jo could muster the energy to multitask a tantrum while sweating through her T-shirt and eyeing the carful of perfectly droolworthy guys currently ignoring her. Mind you, I’d seen her flirt with a photograph of Ian Somerhalder in a magazine once. A little drought wouldn’t stop her.
“I’m hot,” Devin added, wiping his forehead. “Literally.”
We were at the ice cream parlor where everyone hung out because there was nothing else to do in the bustling metropolis of Rowan, population 8,011. In winter we drove up and down Main Street, and in nicer weather we stood around the parking lot. It was October, and even though the sun had just set, the pavement was still warm and slightly soft under our shoes. I’d already eaten more ice cream during this drought than in the last ten years put together.
“You don’t count,” Jo told him. “You know what I mean,” she added, patting his shoulder comfortingly. “You’d be hot if I didn’t know you. And if I hadn’t seen you stuff eight Ping-Pong balls in your mouth when you were ten and then spit all over me when you choked.”
He just leaned back against the picnic table, his dark skin gleaming. “Halloween dance last year,” was all he said.
Jo narrowed her eyes at him. “Shut up.”
The stunning and epic failure of her costume was still talked about. I turned red just thinking about it. I’d have died on the spot if the whole gym had turned to stare at me like that.
Something I was considering doing right now, actually.
“Dishy.” Jo smoothed back her waist-length hair as a guy I didn’t recognize crossed the parking lot toward us. People staring at her never fazed Jo; she got more upset when they ignored her. I much,
much
preferred being ignored.
“I’d snog that.” Jo loved anything British, especially slang, which she used incessantly but incorrectly about half the time. Mostly, she used the swear words.
“Do you even know what that means?” Devin asked.
“It means kissing.”
“Then
say
kissing.”
The guy was still coming toward us as they bickered. He ignored the girls preening in his wake, and the guys snickering. His eyes were the color of moss, an eerie pale green that I could
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