My Life Next Door – Huntley Fitzpatrick

Publisher’s Summary:
“‘One thing my mother never knew, and would disapprove of most of all, was that I watched the Garretts. All the time.’

The Garretts are everything the Reeds are not. Loud, numerous, messy, affectionate. And every day from her balcony perch, seventeen-year-old Samantha Reed wishes she was one of them . . . until one summer evening, Jase Garrett climbs her terrace and changes everything. As the two fall fiercely in love, Jase’s family makes Samantha one of their own. Then in an instant, the bottom drops out of her world and she is suddenly faced with an impossible decision. Which perfect family will save her? Or is it time she saved herself?

I’ve been sitting here, transfixed by a blinking cursor, for three, four minutes, trying to figure out how to write about this book, which, all told, I thoroughly enjoyed. And, beyond that, wrestling with how to phrase the explanation that must follow, the reasons why I loved it and the minor caveats that bear mentioning. I guess this opening gambit will have to do. As for the rest…

On my radar for a good, long while, my interest in My Life Next Door jumped the fence into must-read territory after snagging on a single line in Angie’s review of the title: “this book does have a romance in possession of the kind of heat you do not want to miss.” That – and the comparisons being drawn to Perkins’ Anna and the French Kiss – made a promising story absolutely irresistible. While I believe Perkins’ novel is a bird of a different color – albeit maybe in the same family – I am oh, so glad I took heed of the comparison and listened to Angie, because any book that makes me stop reading to immediately reread is one not to be missed.

It would be absurd to claim that I responded so favorably to this novel because of the fact that, at its heart, it’s about a girl whose coming of age was stalled, pushed back by a mother with tight hands on the rope and the girl’s own inclination to be towed along. It wouldn’t be a lie, per se. After all, I got Samantha. Certain aspects of her character and life: painfully so. But, no, it wasn’t the character that resonated; it wasn’t the charming family living next door to her (though, George? [Er, George is one of the youngest members of the Garrett brood.] I want a book about you all grown up, because you are going to be something).

It was Samantha and Jase, the palpable heat between them, the way their relationship engaged my emotions so completely, and that I actually, honest-to-goodness sighed while reading.

To go into too much detail would be to potentially spoil the experience; I can’t do that. So I’m not going to include excerpts, though my fingers itch with the desire to type out one or two, and I’m not going to say anything more about Jase except yes, please. I will, however, point out that there are at least two types of angst: delicious angst, the kind that pokes the balloons swaying in your stomach, releasing a wash of emotion that prompts your eyes to track back over the words to read them again, hoping the sensation can and will be duplicated; then there’s enough-already angst, the kind that’s uncomfortable or forced, dropped into the story like a bomb, detonating unnecessary drama. When it comes to the relationship in this book, the only angst you’ll experience is that first kind, and oh, my. Just…yes.

Ahem.

I was also engaged by a subplot involving Tim, a childhood friend of Samantha’s, who is tangled in a web of addiction and bound by a spiral of bad choices. Is his story thread predictable? Yes. But the thing about Tim is that his character works; I cared, despite knowing how his story was going to play out, and so his inevitable redemption still managed to be gratifying. Besides, there’s something about him. Take this memorable moment as a for instance:

“Do you have any idea how many times I’ve read If You Give a Mouse a Cookie to this kid? That is one fucked up story. How is that a book for babies?”

Jase laughs. “I thought it was about babysitting.”

“Hell, no, it’s addiction. That friggin’ mouse is never satisfied. You give him one thing, he wants something else, and then he asks for more and on and on and on. Fucked up. Patsy liked it, though. Fifty thousand times.” Tim yawns, and Patsy snuggles more comfortably onto his chest, grabbing a handful of shirt. “So what’s doin’?”

Now, about those caveats. Again, too much detail, in this case, is not a good thing, so I’ll just say this: I had a problem with Samantha’s best friend, how that plot line progressed (and also said best friend’s use of “mommy” and “daddy” without a trace of sarcasm [could be that I'm out of touch, but I wasn't aware that sixteen/seventeen-year-olds still called their parents that]); and I was a bit disappointed in the catalyst for Samantha’s growth, that it took something so extreme to shake her up, to get her to shrug off her indifferent attitude towards her mother’s control and take it back. Those are subjective issues, sure, but I wanted to make it clear that the book isn’t all roses, even if the romance is heady and sweet.

Samantha and Jase made a home under my skin, and I’m actually loathe to give up the library copy I read for wanting to keep them close. So, yes, a trip to the book store is in my immediate future. Because My Life Next Door? For this reader, it’s a keeper.

Steve Rogers: Super-Soldier – Ed Brubaker, Dale Eaglesham

Publisher’s Summary:
“Steve Rogers was America’s first Super-Soldier – Captain America – and he’s fought for his country since World War II. Now a face from the past reappears, a woman that cannot be alive because Steve watched her die! Steve has fought for so long, and lost so much — is his past coming back to haunt him now? Or could this be the plot of an old enemy who controls nearly everything he touches, including Steve’s mind?”

In my review of Brubaker’s Captain America, Volume 1, I noted: “Despite my devotion to [Steve Rogers], I do understand that I may not actually enjoy all of the story arcs he is at the heart of or, for that matter, every graphic novel he turns up in.” Yeah, well. About that…I suspect that claim may not be true; that I may, in fact, be hardwired to enjoy every graphic novel featuring Steve Rogers that I get my hands on. Because Steve Rogers: Super-Soldier was not an exception. I enjoyed the story’s trajectory, even if I did trip over a piece (or two) of information that I had not before been privy to, and Dale Eaglesham’s art knocked my socks off.

Several twists propel this story to its ultimately unresolved ending – Volume two? You’re not too far off, are you? I mean, Brubaker waving goodbye to Cap isn’t going to affect your release, is it? *tries not to panic* – which means, of course, that I need to tread carefully. And that means that I’ll be steering clear of dissecting the plot until its details show. Basically, I can give you the following two (long, because that’s the way I like ‘em) sentences: Informed of the allegedly successful recreation of the serum that transformed him, Steve heads to Madripoor to track down a man with a startling connection to his past, hoping to talk some sense into him before he can sell the serum to the highest bidder. Should that plan fail, Steve will do whatever it takes in order to keep it from falling into the wrong hands, including confronting ghosts from his past and revisiting an old heartache.

More succinctly put: Feels everywhere, folks. Everywhere.

I’ve mostly shaken off my clumsy, prone to toe-stubbing lack of knowledge when it comes to the Avengers’ history and backstories. (That is not to say that I know everything. Far from it. But I’m passing familiar with enough of it to see me through.) So I’m reading, reading, and then all of a sudden *thud* – Down I go, tripping over an old flame of Steve’s that seemingly came out of nowhere. *splutters* Her backstory - their backstory – packs a wallop, which I most certainly would not have forgotten had I encountered a mention of it before. Really, this can only mean one thing: I must seek out and read even more Captain America/Steve Rogers graphic novels. (I can hear you, you know. And, no, it’s not like I needed an actual excuse to do just that, but it’s always nice when an obsession is given a reason to thrive. Who is this woman and how dare she curl up so close to Steve?)

Join the club, lady.

Er, and the villain! (The main one. The in-your-face one.) I’ll keep his name under wraps, but that – along with a handful of facts picked up while reading an Avengers character guide – was about all I knew in regards to him. I had no contextual sense for what type of threat he posed, when he may have tangled with Steve – or any of the others – in the past, etc. As a result, he came off as rather…silly. I was far more interested in the people pulling the strings, who were only just briefly revealed – to an extent – when the volume came to a close. (Curse you, unresolved ending! Double curse you if volume two is not imminent!)

Bottom line on the story: It was solid and engaging and helped along immensely by its reliance on Steve’s inner narrative.

Now. Dale Eaglesham’s art.

I’d like to note, before going further, that the cover was not his doing. That credit goes to Carlos Pacheco, Tim Townsend and Frank D’Armata. And while I don’t mind the cover illustration, it’s not, in my opinion, nearly as whoa and hot damn as Eaglesham’s interior art. At the risk of sounding superficial, Steve Rogers has rarely been drawn so…so…[insert appreciative fangirl sigh here].

Ever since he took up the shield on screen, Chris Evans is Steve Rogers in my mind. When I picture the character, it’s his outrageously attractive face that takes shape. That said, when I’m able to blank his image and concentrate on my own idea and sense of what comic!Steve looks like…it’s eerily similar to how Eaglesham portrays him here. And that’s going beyond his appearance to Steve’s physicality, on wondrous display in this book, and to his grace, poise, determination and skill in a fight, all of which also comes through in spades. Just look at that image on the right. It has badass written all over it.

Setting aside the fact that Steve as drawn here is aesthetically pleasing (understatement), Eaglesham imbued so much emotion in his art. Steve’s story – and I’m referring to before he became Captain America here – tugs at me mercilessly. Couple Steve’s thoughts on his youth with panels like the ones below, and…I’m left a mess of feelings. This isn’t the only instance in which Eaglesham’s art stripped Steve bare (figuratively, alas), but these images are lasting, and they elevated this entire graphic novel to…something more. Which is why I’ll be buying my own copy shortly.

A Local Habitation – Seanan McGuire

Publisher’s Summary:
“Toby Daye-a half-human, half-fae changeling-has been an outsider from birth. After getting burned by both sides of her heritage, Toby has denied the fae world, retreating to a “normal” life. Unfortunately for her, the Faerie world had other ideas…

Now her liege, the Duke of the Shadowed Hills, has asked Toby to go to the Country of Tamed Lightening to make sure all is well with his niece, Countess January O’Leary. It seems like a simple enough assignment-until Toby discovers that someone has begun murdering people close to January, and that if the killer isn’t stopped, January may be the next victim.”

With introductions seen to in Rosemary and Rue, A Local Habitation thrusts October’s services as a PI/Knight Errant to the forefront, setting the stage for a locked room-esque mystery that dangerously escalates as the pages turn.

Where Rosemary and Rue was character driven, establishing October’s past, present and personality alongside other key players, A Local Habitation is plot driven. If, like me, you read for character, don’t be concerned; growth is achieved, insights are there to be taken apart. I was plenty pleased; my appetite for what yet may develop thoroughly whetted. And if, like me, you happen to enjoy detective novels or mystery stories, you will be pulled into the events of this book, avidly attempting to unravel the tight knot of lies, secrecy and murder alongside Toby and Quentin, who, to my delight, had a larger role in this book. Once again, it’s all good.

The action essentially begins when October’s liege, Sylvester, sends her to a small, contained County to make contact with his niece, whose calls abruptly stopped three weeks prior. Quentin is tasked with tagging along, and so they pack up and head out to Fremont, cognizant of the fact that they’re traveling into a political disaster zone with no back-up and no hope of a quick rescue if something goes wrong. And, don’t you know it, something goes drastically wrong. Toby and Quentin aren’t in Fremont for more than two days when the first murder occurs. The staff of ALH Computing – owned and operated by Sylvester’s niece, January – knew nothing, saw nothing, and not a shred of evidence was there to be found on the body or at the scene. Unfortunately for Toby, matters have only begun to get complicated.

Toby is a PI, yes, but she’s not an expert on murder, and admits repeatedly that she’s working blind, relying on logic, skills specific to her heritage, and determined stubbornness to puzzle out motive and opportunity. Her inexperience slows her down, which is unfortunate because the killer is operating at an increasingly faster speed, but she stays put when another might have run. The story is tense, but I found it dense, too, thanks, I think, to the necessity of wading through all of the possibilities at Toby’s pace. I was always engaged, no doubt about that, but I didn’t zip through A Local Habitation the way I did Rosemary and Rue. That’s neither a complaint nor a criticism; just a personal fact.

I mentioned before that Quentin, the young Daoine Sidhe who fosters at Sylvester’s Court as a page, has more page time in this book, and I could not have been happier about that. His character matures the most under the harsh hand of the events that unfold and, as October observes, he has so much potential. I can’t help but wonder what he’s going to be like when – I hope not if – he’s older; how the tentative bonds he’s formed with Toby may come in to play. And Tybalt. If he hadn’t won me over completely in Rosemary – oh, but he did! – he would have sealed the deal in Habitation with his snarls, his awesome lines, his jacket and his tight trousers. (I would have read the book for the exchange that brings up those tight trousers alone.)

A Local Habitation kept me up late – far too late considering work the next morning – but I had to finish it in what amounted to a sitting and a half, broken as it was by work shoehorned in between. (Folks, take a lesson from me: Do not start a new book hours before you’re due in at work. Next time I’ll even try to take my own advice.) I suppose it’s not hard to guess my next move. In fact, I’ve already if only briefly begun An Artificial Night.* Or even the move after that, which will soon find me at a book store, buying Late Eclipses so I can move to it without pause as soon as the third book is done. That is the best testament I can give to how much I am enjoying the October Daye series.

*Actually, since scheduling this to post I’ve finished books three and four. And have promptly begun to experience withdrawal symptoms.

Previously: My review of Rosemary and Rue

Rosemary and Rue – Seanan McGuire

Publisher’s Summary:
“October “Toby” Daye, a changeling who is half human and half fae, has been an outsider from birth. After getting burned by both sides of her heritage, Toby has denied the Faerie world, retreating to a “normal” life. Unfortunately for her, the Faerie world has other ideas…

The murder of Countess Evening Winterrose pulls Toby back into the fae world. Unable to resist Evening’s dying curse, which binds her to investigate, Toby must resume her former position as knight errant and renew old alliances. As she steps back into fae society, dealing with a cast of characters not entirely good or evil, she realizes that more than her own life will be forfeited if she cannot find Evening’s killer.”

Keenly aware of Seanan McGuire’s October Daye series since the release of Rosemary and Rue, it was one that I, for whatever muddled reason that arose at the time, let pass me by. Oh, sure: every now and then I’d see a copy on the book store’s shelf and think Hmm. But it wasn’t until I read Janicu’s review of Late Eclipses – and the gentle nudge she gave me in the comments – that I stopped Hmming and got on the ball. I proceeded with caution, checking to make sure my library had the first three books; they did. I then plucked each one off the shelf to take home. As I tweeted the other day, sometimes my smarts show up in spades. Because there was no stopping after Rosemary and Rue; I was entrenched in October’s world, for good or ill, and itching to get back to it.

For the life of me I couldn’t put a finger on one thing that makes this series work so well. That would be because it’s not just one thing; it’s everything. All of the threads weave together to produce a taut plot propelled by fascinating characters and a compelling world that stands on a solidly built foundation. I’m serious and earnest when I say that this book, it’s good stuff.

October is…well, sit down. This may take a while. October was my kind of urban fantasy heroine for several reasons. She’s competent and willing and brave; when she rushed in she wasn’t stupid. Ever aware of her personal limitations, she delivered this line in the midst of a potentially dangerous situation: “There’s pushing the bounds of credibility, and then there’s just getting silly.” I heartily appreciate when characters are aware of what they can and cannot do, and weigh the consequences of their actions. October did just that, before and after, yes, but even during. Which is why, on those occasions when she stretched those bounds of credibility some, I was okay with it. If I were given to being more concise from the get-go, I could have simply said ‘October is self-aware’, but UF heroines I like and sort of admire have been bumped to the critically endangered category, hence the clumsy elaboration. In an effort to keep things moving along, I also appreciated: her determination, how she copes with what life handed her, her sensitivity to the world – both Fae and human – and how it moves around her. I would follow October wherever she led, which is what I plan to do.

Further, every single side character got to me in some way. No kidding: every one. There were a few, of course, that thoroughly wrapped me around their respective fingers. Tybalt, for instance. Dogs are my joy, but that is one King of Cats that I would make an exception for. And that’s all I’m going to say, for now.

As far as the world-building goes, it’s all encompassing. McGuire takes you pretty deep into the Fae world, wrapping the story up in layers and folds and shadows. The people (creatures? otherworldlies? because they’re not all faeries) are dangerous; many have fangs or claws or worse, and they’re not opposed to wielding them with lethal intent. There is grit ground in with the gilt; nightmares mingling with dreams. It’s a shifting world in which the balance of power is never assured; in which allies can turn to enemies – and vice versa – in a blink. And for all that, I’ve no doubt there’s so much more that will come to light in future books.

The best recommendation for this series that I can think of, however, is to impart how quickly I moved on to the second book. No sooner had I put the first one down, finished, done, that I moved on to the second book, A Local Habitation. (I may have picked the first one back up a few times – just to read a couple of my favorite scenes/lines over again.) And I suspect the same thing will happen with books three and four. A taste of October’s world wasn’t enough; I wanted more. I hope, if you start this series, you will too.

Shane – Jack Schaefer

“A drifter and retired gunfighter helps a homestead family fight against an aging cattleman and his hired gunman.”

It bit deep, the love I felt for this slim novel; and it surprised me. My first, this-is-the-way-it-has-to-be instinct is to type out all of the passages and sentences that sung to me and let it stand at that. Why? Because I know my limitations; I know that when I love something on a level that has nothing to do with thought and everything to do with feeling, I have no hope of articulating why it captured me so. I’ll try and I’ll hope you’ll bear with me.

The synopsis above, which was actually tacked on to the film adaptation of Schaefer’s novel, manages to capture the bare bones plot of the story, but can’t and doesn’t come close to defining it. I can understand why: it’s deceptively difficult to pin down the heart of the story when so much of it exists as subtext. I could say that it’s about loyalty and shades of love; that it’s about taking a stand against bully tactics that would displace a hard-working family and douse the dreams of a fledgling community of farmers and cow hands. I could say that it’s about a weary man trying to put distance between his past and his present; that it’s about recognizing your own kind, and accepting family where you find them. I could say all that, and you know what? It makes for a shallow, woefully incomplete description.

Bob, the young narrator of Shane, has a narrative voice that shines like a shoe under spit or polish; it’s simple and honest, conveying the innocence of youth alongside the burgeoning awareness of adulthood. Simply put, it’s effective. And remarkable. I’ll tell you this: through Bob’s eyes, I saw clearly and absolutely Shane riding his horse up the road that first time, approaching the Starrett’s farm, and I will never forget the sight. Shortly after that first glimpse, Bob’s had a chance to take in the stranger’s travel-tainted clothes, and thinks to himself: “…a kind of magnificence remained and with it a hint of men and manners alien to my limited boy’s experience.” A hint of men and manners. It strikes an odd shiver in me, reading that; I can’t explain it. But it was as Bob continued his study that I realized it would be near to impossible to not fall for Shane.

“Then I forgot the clothes in the impact of the man himself…I could read the endurance in the lines of that dark figure and the quiet power in its effortless, unthinking adjustment to every movement of the tired horse.”

Shane is that inscrutable man so many of us are drawn to without reservation. He’s that man who brings to bear his own code of ethics; that strong, quiet man who, once he’s accepted you as his own, protects you with a fierce pride, and lets you see a side of him that no one else would ever get close to. Shane wears sadness as assuredly as his gun, and just as infrequently. He pays on his debts, takes time to ruffle a young boy’s hair, and puts in a day’s back-breaking work without complaint. And then there’s this:

“He did not mind what they thought of him. Since his session with Chris he seemed to have won a kind of inner peace. He was as alert and watchful as ever, but there was a serenity in him that had erased entirely the old tension. I think he did not care what anyone anywhere thought of him. Except us, his folks. And he knew that with us he was one of us, unchangeable and always.

But he did care what they thought of father.”

If you know me at all – or maybe you’ve been reading this blog long enough to see the pattern – you know that a bond between two strong men reduces me to a puddle of sighing goo. The respect and admiration that draws Shane and Joe Starrett to stand side by side drives so much of the story, but rarely manifests in the lines themselves; between those lines is where the beauty and emotion lies, and where words begin to fail me. About all I can manage is this: That friendship, for lack of a more accurate or insightful word, was undoubtedly my most subjective favorite aspect of the novel.

Shane is representative of the old-fashioned ideal of men being men: tough, stand-up types who shoulder their responsibilities and take personally any affront to their character. It’s not a throwback characterization, considering the time during which it was written and the time period it depicts – and still I’ve seen the type in contemporary fiction, though perhaps not as well done or authentic – but if it puts you off, consider yourself duly advised. Also, while Shane is male-centric, the one woman portrayed in the story – that would be Marian Starrett – has a backbone and a voice. When Marian spoke, Joe and Shane listened; her men, including Bob, showed respect for the contributions she made to farm and family. At times it was clear that Marian was being indulged by her male counterparts – in that old-fashioned way of men being men – but she (and her opinions) were valued.

The story’s pace wasn’t fast or slow; it was persistent. It was more contemplative than action-packed; when the action came, the descriptions of the fight sequences were cinematic, and it was hard to believe they were written in 1949. It’s almost unfathomable to me that a reader would find Shane boring, having struck me as completely as it did, but I have to allow for the possibility. Just as I have to admit: if someone had told me that  I would love a western novel as much as I did this one, I wouldn’t have believed it. But I did love it.

I really did.

Heist Society ~ Ally Carter

When Katarina Bishop was three, her parents took her to the Louvre . . . to case it. For her seventh birthday, Katarina and her Uncle Eddie traveled to Austria . . . to steal the crown jewels. When Kat turned fifteen, she planned a con of her own — scamming her way into the best boarding school in the country, determined to leave the family business behind. Unfortunately, leaving “the life” for a normal life proves harder than she’d expected.

Soon, Kat’s friend and former co-conspirator, Hale, appears out of nowhere to bring her back into the world she tried so hard to escape. But he has good reason: a powerful mobster’s priceless art collection has been stolen and he wants it returned. Only a master thief could have pulled off this job, and Kat’s father isn’t just on the suspect list, he is the list. Caught between Interpol and a far more deadly enemy, Kat’s dad needs her help.

For Kat there is only one solution: track down the paintings and steal them back. So what if it’s a spectacularly impossible job? She’s got two weeks, a teenage crew, and, hopefully, just enough talent to pull off the biggest heist in her family’s (very crooked) history — and with any luck, steal her life back along the way. [Summary from B&N]

Heist Society was the right combination of art, jet-setting adventure, humor, and one crazy awesome boy. Oh, and a smart, resolute girl to lead a crew of expert young thieves. In other words, I was hooked. Pretty much from page one.

I’ll admit to being somewhat worried going into this book. Try as I did, on several occasions at that, to get into Carter’s Gallagher Girls series, I just couldn’t. Was I going to want to put Heist Society down? And if I did, was I going to want to pick it back up? Well, see, I never did put it down, not unless I had to and then only to go to work. Because this book is a whole lot of fun. And I sincerely hope that it is only the first in a long line of books about Kat and her crew.

The smart, resolute girl I mentioned earlier is, of course, Kat. Having been raised among some of the most expert thieves in the world, serving as an inside girl or whatever else to help her family con or steal, Kat wanted to know normal. So she did what she knew best: conned her way into a prestigious boarding school to get an education. She wasn’t there for long, though, before her former life came back to suck her into the game again. What I loved so much about Kat is that she was charmingly pragmatic and sentimental at the same time. She knew that she couldn’t live with herself if the price of her normal life was her father’s welfare, and so she did what she needed to do. And while on the job, she was innately sure of her abilities, and yet she had her doubts. You could see room for growth in her character, room for Kat to find her way, and seriously become one of the best. And you know what? You totally root for her to do just that.

And the crazy awesome boy? I dare you to meet Hale, or, rather, W.W. Hale the Fifth, and not fall a little bit in love. Here’s a taste:

“Dance with me.”

“What?” she asked, but his arms were already going around her waist. He was already holding her tightly against him.

“Dancing. Come on. You can do it. It’s a lot like navigating through a laser grid. It requires rhythm.” He moved her hips to the beat of the distant music. “And patience.” He spun her out slowly and back toward him. “And it’s only fun if you trust your partner.” The dip was so slow, so smooth, that Kat didn’t know it was happening until the world had already turned upside down and Hale’s face was inches from her own.

“Count me in, Kat.” He squeezed her tighter. “You should always count me in.” [204]

And the fantastic characters don’t stop at those two. Each of the members of Kat’s crew brings something to the table. While their backstories are hinted at, you get the feeling that these are very, very interesting individuals, ones you might want to sit down with over coffee and a long stretch of time to hear their stories.

So, good characters with wonderful chemistry, strong plotting, museums, Interpol, goons, moats, Superman pajamas, and…well, this list could just keep going on about what makes this book engaging from start to finish. I’ll just say this: Give this one a shot.

One more thing before I hit publish: A snippet in which Kat and her crew are trying to work out the perfect con for the job. What can I say, it made me laugh.

They’d been through every con they’d ever heard of, and a few Kat guessed the Bagshaw brothers had made up on the spot, but she didn’t notice the hour until she saw Gabrielle stifle a yawn. Kat was too consumed by a ticking clock in the back of her mind. A deadline. A plan. She stared at the lists and diagrams they’d drawn in Magic Marker, and after that had dried up, eyeliner, all over the glass of the library windows.

“It’s no use,” Hale said, dropping to one of the leather sofas. “If we had a month…maybe.”

“We don’t,” Kat told him.

“If we had two maybe three more people…”

Kat closed her eyes. “We don’t.”

“Princess Bride?” Hamish offered, but his brother turned to him.

“Do you know where we can find a six-fingered man on such short notice?” [159]