By P. S. Power
Having arrange a profitable enterprise, supporting beings flow from one situation to a different directly, Zach Hartley has yet one target left in existence. to discover the demon that killed his father, and spoil him for all eternity. in an effort to do this, he needs to turn into another person entirely.
When you hunt demons, you can't enable little such things as sanity cease you though.
Not if you're going to survive.
And surviving is a specific thing that he's excellent at, indeed.
* those books include intercourse, violence and grownup issues. now not prompt for kids below 14 years previous, or individuals with smooth sensibilities.
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Extra info for Between (Alternate Places, Book 2)
But the The Tables— actually transform each of us into the steel, six-wheeled hero of a mighty poem. Every morning, with six-wheeled precision, at precisely the same hour and at precisely the same m inute,—we, millions of us, arise as one. At precisely the same hour, millions like one, we begin our work- millions like one we finish. And coalescing into a single, million-handed body, at precisely the very same second, designated by The Tables,—we raise our spoons to our m o uth,—and at precisely the very same second we emerge for our walk and we proceed to the auditorium, to the hall for the Taylor exercises, and we withdraw to sleep...
She shook her head. Apparently even her deteriorating brain understood all the absurdity and foolhardiness of that w o m a n ’s behavior. Precisely at 17 1 was at the lecture. And there I suddenly realized for some reason that I had not told the old woman the truth: 1-330 was not alone there now. Perhaps it was precisely this— that 1 had involuntarily deceived the old w om an—that tormented me and hindered me from listening. Yes, she was not alone— that was what the m atter was. After 21 I 2— 1 had a free hour.
Home is my castle”- it really must have cost them an effort to think that one up! At 221 lowered the blinds—and at that very minute O- entered slightly out of breath. She held out her tiny pink m outh to m e—and her pink ticket. 1 tore off the coupon- and then I could not tear myself away from that pink m outh until the very last m o m en t—22:15. Then 1 showed her my records and 1 talked—very well, 1 th o u g h tabout the beauty of the square, the cube, the straight line. She listened so enchantingly and pinkly- and suddenly from her blue eyes a tear, a second, a third,- straight onto the opened page (p.
Between (Alternate Places, Book 2) by P. S. Power