5 STAR - OUTSTANDING Review at MER - My Earnest Review
"This was such a fun book to read! I didn't think I would enjoy it as much as I did from the book title. (Don't let it deceive you!) I had a hard time keeping a straight face at some of the funnier moments in the book, "awe'ing" at the sad/emotional parts, and holy hell...the sex scenes were HOT HOT HOT!! Who knew that Zombies could be sexy? It was a really great book, well written, an moved along at a nice pace! Ms. Fox did an outstanding job with this one, as her other works have proven and I cannot wait to read more! -- Reviewed by: 314226 - 5/15/2013
Enjoy a snippet:
The small fortune-teller storefront was not what he had expected at all. Well maybe it was, but it was not what he had hoped for. The glow of neon lights flickered in the back drop of the window. The word Psychic shined brightly in blue while the crest of a moon hung behind it in purple. The eerie sight of dead trees loomed in the shadows of the lights, creating an almost cemetery ambiance. A large black handprint hung on a sign to the right indicating that they also read palms and tarot cards.
Great. If they can’t help me figure out what’s going on, maybe they can predict my future.
The scent of burning incense accosted them as they stepped further into the store. He swallowed the rising bile in his throat. Staring at everything around him, he still had no memory of coming to a place like this.
He leaned against Lydia and whispered in her ear, “Why would I have come here?”
Lydia pressed against his side, and he thought he felt her shiver. As she turned to look at him, her eyes were wide with apprehension. “I don’t know, but I really don’t like this place. It gives me the creeps.” She swallowed. “I feel like I’m going to be sick. I don’t feel right.”
Tristan took hold of Lydia’s hand and weaved his fingers around hers. “We’ll be out of here soon,” he told her, and he hoped they were. He also hoped they’d know more about his condition and what they could do about it.
A short, plump woman appeared at the black front counter. Her eyes were eagle-like as she studied them. He forced himself not to laugh at the manner of her dress. She resembled a gypsy from a carnival circuit, draped in loose flowing rags in every color of the rainbow.
“May I help you,” she barked at Lydia, but then her gaze snapped in Tristan’s direction. Her eyes burned a trail over his face and body like she was trying to peel the flesh from his bones with the power of her eyes. He suddenly wished he wore more than a pair of Lydia’s father’s khaki slacks and blue collared dress shirt. It was the only outfit in her father’s closet that didn’t make him look like he was fifty.
“My name’s Tristan Davis. I think I came in here a few nights ago,” he started. “I believe I met someone with cobalt-blue eyes.” He narrowed his brow, waiting for some kind of reaction from the woman. She didn’t give any. “Do you have someone who works here with eyes that color?”
For a long moment the woman stared at him. Her eyes widened and then narrowed. Her nostrils flared out with each breath she took.
“I don’t remember you,” she finally said, her voice scraping against her throat from the excessive amount of smoking she most likely did.
“But does someone with eyes like he described work here?” Lydia calmly interjected.
Turning toward Lydia, the old woman softened her expression. “You’ve got a powerful aura around you, little lady. Has anyone ever told you that?”
Lydia straightened her spine and gave Tristan a quick glance and then returned to look at the old woman. “No,” she admitted.
The woman moved around the counter to take hold of Lydia’s free hand. A jolt of something warm shot into his hand, the one that was still clasped to Lydia’s. He felt her body quiver, but not from the chill in the room. It was something else.
Lydia gasped. “What was that?”
“I was about to ask you the same thing,” Tristan added, locking eyes with the old woman, who was now smirking like she knew a secret.
Yellowish teeth gleamed at them as she told them, “That was power.”
Power? What the hell was she talking about?
Tristan’s gut twisted with unease. “Look, ma’am—”
“Call me Talia,” she told him and without permission, flipped over Lydia’s hand and ran her fingertip over the lines and creases in her palm. “What’s your name?”
Lydia cleared her throat. “I’m sorry, but I’m not here to discuss me.” She pulled her hand from Talia’s grasp. “I’m here for my friend. Do you know the person we’re inquiring about?”
Talia grinned crookedly. “Are you really not interested in learning all the fun facts I’ve discovered about you?”