Format: EBook, 352 pages
Release Date: May 3, 2022
Publisher: Ace
Source: Publisher
Genre: Fantasy / Paranormal
New York Times
bestselling author Faith Hunter presents a stunning collection of
stories from the world of shape-shifting vampire hunter Jane Yellowrock
and beyond.
Collected together for the first time, this
volume contains shorter works featuring heroines Jane Yellowrock and
Nell Ingram, as well as a host of other characters from the Jane
Yellowrock and Soulwood series. Faith Hunter is “an expert at creating
worlds filled with intriguing supernatural elements and exciting
scenarios”* and her skills are on full display in this collection. From a
vampire-filled Halloween evening in New Orleans to the searing tale of
how a certain were-leopard first got his spots, this collection has
something for everyone, and each story is sure to put the super in
supernatural.
With eighteen stories in all, Of Claws and Fangs will enrich and entertain—it’s a must-have for Faith Hunter’s readers and all lovers of fantasy.
Candy from a Vampire: This story was first published on the authors blog as a serial for a blog tour for Halloween 2017. This story features Leo Pellissier, a story that lots of readers requested from the author to write. Halloween in the French Quarter without all the notable chaos and bloodshed and a happy ending.
Make it Snappy: First published in Urban Enemies, an anthology from Gallery Books in 2017. The story is again from Leo's point of view. The story is set a few years before Jane and Leo meet. I've reviewed this story previously under Urban Enemies.
It's Just a Date: First published online as a serial short, as part of a blog tour in 2016. In the timeline, Jane is the Enforcer to Leo. Jane and Jodi have agreed to double date with Bruiser and Wrassler who Jodi has fallen in love with. Eli Younger and Sylvia also tag along to make it a triple date. Chaos ensues when a witch seeking vengeance appears.
Life's a Bitch and Then You Die: First published as a serial short online in 2017 and takes place while Jane was sick. The story is from Beast and Wesa's point of view. Timeline wise, the author says it takes place before or after Of Cats and Cars. A combination of Jane and Beast's memory of the past. Of being caught by maybe military people? Likely about the time Jane walked out of the woods with bullet wound scars on her.
Black Friday Shopping: A Soulwood story featuring Nell which was released in 2017. The story is about Nell and Occam shopping at Walmart. Have you ever visited Walmart on Black Friday? Think of that chaos, and add a child with witch powers that makes things even more chaotic and you have an entertaining story.
How Occam Got His Name: First appeared as a serial short, as part of a blog tour in 2018. It is written from the point of view of Occam, and answers fans questions about the origins of the were-leopard special agent who has won Nell's heart.
Shiloh and the Brick: First appeared as a serial short in 2016 for the release of Blood in Her Veins. Shiloh Everhart Stone is a witch turned vampire who is being forced into learning how to control her needs by her aunt Molly Everhart. She may be as powerful as Angie Baby. Shiloh is a major incident waiting to happen. She's been used, and abused, suffered untold years of trauma, and is finally free. This story make be a look into the future years of Angelina and what Molly, Evan, and Jane have to look forward to.
Beast Hunts Vampire with Jane: Originally published online in 2011 as a Christmas serial short, and rewritten for this anthology. Story is from Beast's point of view. Shopping and hunting with Jane is fun. But Jane singing is like cats screaming.
"Blood drops on pavement,
And whiskers on Beastie,
Bright copper teapots and
Huge Christmas feast-ies.
Vamp-ire bodies all tied up with strings
These are a few of my favorite things!"
Of Cats and Cars: This short story, originally written from Edmund Hartley's point of view, was first published on the authors blog in 2019, and as a serialized blog tour event. It has been rewritten and extended (with more of Beast's point of view). Author states this takes place at the end of Dark Queen and after Life's a Bitch and Then You Die. Eli and Alex Younger make appearances in this story.
Beast Hunts Pie-Bald Deer: Beast story of Hunt. Beast talks to reader. Humans in beast point of view.
Jane Tracks Down Miz A: The original version of this short-short went to a single winner for a charity auction. Except for the winner, no one has ever seen this vignette, and the ending has been altered. Timeline is Jane's world is uncertain. Miz A is a blood servant who disappeared after a bloody fight at Katie's Ladies not long after Jane arrived in New Orleans. Jane learns just how mysterious Katie Fonteneau can be.
Anzu, Duba, Beast: First published in WERE an anthology from Zombies Need Brains (2016). It is in the timeline before Jane becomes the Dark Queen. Jane owes Girrard DiMercy, aka the Mercy Blade, a hunt and Leo offers a little hint as to what Gee and Jane will be facing. "May your hunt be bloody. May you rend and eat the flesh of your prey." Recommended highly.
Eighteen Sixty: A prequel from Ayatas Firewind, Jane Yellowrocks brother. First published in the Weird Wild West, an anthology (2015). Story takes place in 1860, and is written in the point of view of Ayatas. This story makes mention of a woman with magic. Read the next story to find out who this woman is.
Wolves Howling in the Night: First published in Lawless Lands: Tales from the Weird Frontier an anthology from Falstaff Books 2017. The year is 1879. Story once again focuses on Ayatas Firewind. This time you meet the woman named Etsi, or Everhart, the woman with magic, who also states she is a reporter. The two have been together since 1860, nearly inseparable.
Death and the Fashionista: First published in The Death of All Things, an anthology 2017. This story takes place just after Molly Everhart-Trueblood found her death magics. Angie is the first to warn of trouble when people try to attack the Everhart household. Angie's angel warns that 'Death is the Truth and the Lie. And Death can be cheated.' Woman calls herself Sally, Fear of death, man claims to be Death of Magic. Appearances by Molly's sisters Boadicea (Cea) and Elizabeth (Liz). Recommended highly.
My Dark Knight: First published in Temporally Deactivated, an anthology from Zombies Need Brains 2017. In the Yellowrock timeline, it occurs just after Angelina Everhart aka Angie Baby staring calling Jane "Ant" Jane. This novella is one of the longest in this anthology, and one of the most entertaining. Her dark knight refers to Edmond, who swore a blood oath and fealty to the Everharts and Truebloods. More trouble, and more chaos for the family.
Bound into Darkness: First published in Dirty Deeds, an anthology from Pen and Page Publishing (2021). Sometime between books 13 and 14 in Jane's series. Liz Everhart and Eli Younger aka Captain America to Angie and EJ, are the main characters in this book. I will say that THIS is the longest novella in the entire anthology. Liz has come a long way since her older sister Evangelina tried to kill her. Liz agrees to take a job finding a lost dog. From a lost dog, to an assault on Liz and Eli, to Jane, Cea, and Lincoln Shaddock showing up to help. Surprisingly nobody, this was by far the most entertaining story in this entire anthology.
The Ties That Bind: First published in Dirty Deeds, an anthology 2021. Features Bedelia Everhart, as well as Lincoln Shaddock. This story takes place during and after the events of Bound into Darkness which makes sense because Bedelia was mentioned in that story, and she's Cea and Liz's mother. Bedelia learns that her entire family is at risk, and it's up to her, and Lincoln, as well as some old friends, to be a stop to it. There's some interesting aspects of Bedelia and Lincoln's relationship that is highly revealing which I shall not spoil. Definitely worth the read.
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Candy from a Vampire
A vignette first published online, on my blog, as a serial blog tour short for Halloween in 2017. It is from the point of view of Leo Pellissier, a view of his thoughts, for which my fans have often clamored.
Leo Pellissier stood outside the Royal Mojo Blues Company, a bucket—a cauldron, really—filled with individual servings of candy in front of him. Each piece was wrapped in paper, or foil, or foiled paper, with the ingredients in tiny print on the back, showing calorie content and fat content, which was significant, and nutritional value, which was negligible. He had always thought that was the point of candy, that it was to be nothing but sugar and fat and delicious. A treat, back in his day, a sweet that was earned when he had done something good, like staying on his pony through a trot, over small fences, or translated a particularly difficult Latin tale into the French or Castilian or Greek, as his tutor demanded. His hand beaten with a thin strip of wood when he failed, and his presence at dinner denied. Treats when he succeeded. It was the way of his father’s house. Carrot and stick. Or candy and stick. It had been effective then. Now children could have sweets at every meal. And on All Hallows Eve, even more.
It was scarcely past sunset and the streets were filled with adults in various stages of inebriation, accompanied by various stages of nudity, the closer to Bourbon Street one drew. Costumes that did far more than hint were everywhere, even here at the Mithran Council Chambers. But here, as tradition dictated, there were children. Many, many children.
Halloween in the French Quarter of New Orleans had been changed forever when Marilyn Monroe had attempted to turn John Kennedy in the Oval Office and been staked for her trouble. That next year, 1963, Leo had appeared for the first time, in full tuxedo and a black cloak, with scarlet silk lining, to hand out candy. Personally. The children had been bused in from all over the city at Mithran expense. And back then, a parent thought nothing of putting children on a bus and sending them off for a party, which was what he had put on for them, all along the street in front of the chambers.
There had been humans dressed as storybook witches in every doorway, some with hot cauldrons full of liquid pralines that they ladled onto waxed paper, allowed to cool and solidify, and gave away, others offering popcorn balls or caramels. Jugglers, clowns, artists of every stripe were encouraged to display their wares. Musicians stood on every street corner, with baskets or open instrument cases before them for tips. There were pony rides. The press wandered among the crowds, taking photographs for the Times-Picayune and to show on CBS or NBC or ABC, all across the nation. The party had been a ploy to improve public opinion of the newly revealed Creatures of Darkness, as described by a young, up-and-coming newsman whose name he had long forgotten.
The street party had been successful at the time. Now, fewer parents allowed their children onto the chartered buses, instead throwing parties for them in the safety of their schools or in private homes. And when they did allow the children aboard, the parents came too, holding their child’s hand. These days monsters on the streets might be human, intent on much worse than stealing a little blood.
There were fewer and fewer newsmen and newswomen on the streets to photograph the decades-old tradition. Perhaps in a few years, he would discontinue the party, or perhaps make it bigger. He could add wine tasting and beer tasting, and persuade restaurants to bring their foods to taste, in order to attract an older, more sophisticated crowd.
But there were still a few here tonight. Children and reporters both. Enough each year to brave the Quarter for the joy of taking candy from a vampire. And this year, one of the candy makers was a real witch, one he recognized from her dossier. He nodded regally to Suzanne Richardson-White, an earth witch with a gift for making pralines that rivaled Aunt Sally’s. It was a sign of improvement between the races that she was here, in public, sharing a street with a Mithran. On All Hallows Eve. She nodded back, an amused expression on her face.
A little girl with bright red hair raced up to him, her brown paper sack held out in two tiny fists. “Twick or Tweat, Mr. Pewisir.”
“Oh, please. No tricks tonight,” Leo said, reaching down and lifting up enough candy to turn the little girl into an instant diabetic. He let them all fall in a cascade of shushing sounds into her bag. He felt the moment the cameras focused on him and the little girl, and he smiled his public smile, toothy but totally human, the smile that the whole world knew.
“Thank you, Mr. Pewisir,” the little girl said, before racing away to the next candy station.
“You’re welcome, my dear,” Leo replied, though she was no longer there to hear, and a tiny tot in a cowboy suit took her place, his father standing behind, smiling, as if remembering the time he took the bus to this section of the French Quarter to receive candy from a vampire.
The hours wore on, and the crowds thinned. The moon rose in a hazy night sky.
Suzanne dipped up the last of the candies and closed her booth. She packed her mini-cauldron and the brazier that had kept the melted sugar hot. He watched from beneath the streetlight as she moved, her body encased in a corset, the laces holding and reshaping her curves, her breasts thrust up high and rounded. Her flowing witch’s dress was made of silk and netting, the fabric catching the night breeze as if a spell caused it to float. She wore ankle boots with tiny spike heels and the kind of old-fashioned buttons that had to be closed with a hook. He had always loved taking such shoes off a woman. And corsets.
Leo smiled. The girl was all of thirty, a graduate of Tulane. He had learned that acting on such thoughts was considered improper for anyone, especially for an old man such as he. Jane Yellowrock had made him rethink many things that he had once taken as his due.
“Shall I pack everything away?” Del asked, interrupting his reverie.
Leo turned to her and smiled his nonpublic smile, the one he kept for retainers and blood-servants, especially those he depended upon for security and a pleasant life. “Thank you, Del. Yes, it’s late.”
Del spoke into a headpiece, calling in the menials who would clean up and take down the candy stand. She was efficient and beautiful and far too bright and accomplished to be acting as a caterer, though as primo, that was part of her job from time to time. Perhaps too often.
“Del? . . .” She looked up at him, instantly alert for any need he might have. He studied her in the wan yellowed light that tried unsuccessfully to replicate gas streetlights of his early years in New Orleans. “You look lovely tonight. Are you happy in my employ?”
Del’s blond brows went up in surprise, wrinkling her forehead. “Thank—Sir?”
She sounded . . . nonplussed. As if he never asked such things of her, of any of his dependents. And perhaps he had not done so, not in a long while. Had ruling made him hard and insensitive? Jane had insisted this was true, the last time he called her for some small service. Her exact words had been, “Do it yourself, your Royal Fangyness. This is my day off. And maybe it’s time to stop being such a royal ass.” She had hung up on him. And while he had raged, he had also enjoyed the exchange, her indifference, her rebellion, her refusal to bow before him.
To Del, Leo said, “I have been remiss in asking. I want you to be happy in my service, Del. I want you to find joy here, in New Orleans, fulfillment and satisfaction. What can I do to make certain that happens?”
Security closed in around him, urging their small crowd to move down the street. A limo pulled around the corner. Behind him, the kitchen servants began to tear down the candy stand. He and Del walked toward the approaching limo, their legs illuminated in the headlights.
“I don’t know what to say,” Del admitted as the limo slid to a stop beside them. The door opened and Derek Lee, head of security, stepped out, scanning the darkness for threats. Del slid in, her blond, upswept hair and pale skin catching the light. But her eyes were brighter than he had seen in some time.
Yes. Jane was right. He had been more than remiss. “Well, think about it. You are not a menial, but skilled and capable. Your legal degree and aptitude make you too valuable to waste on tedious and humble tasks. You have proven both ability and loyalty.” He smiled again as Derek took his place across from them and closed the limo door. The armored vehicle pulled into traffic. “I am prepared to entrust my personal legal affairs to you. Perhaps I shall also ask you to oversee the financial affairs of the city and the clans. Such jobs as these”—he indicated the darkness and the stand that fell behind them—“could be better administered by a secretary or personal assistant.”
Del’s eyes lit up. “I know just the woman. She’s bright and sharp and detail-oriented.”
“I trust your decision.” He waved languid fingers in the air. “See to it. And for her first task, have her schedule a meeting with you and my law firm.”
“Yes, sir.” Her voice sounded breathy. Excited. “Thank you, sir.”
“Think nothing of it. Happy All Hallows Eve.”
A vignette first published online, on my blog, as a serial blog tour short for Halloween in 2017. It is from the point of view of Leo Pellissier, a view of his thoughts, for which my fans have often clamored.
Leo Pellissier stood outside the Royal Mojo Blues Company, a bucket—a cauldron, really—filled with individual servings of candy in front of him. Each piece was wrapped in paper, or foil, or foiled paper, with the ingredients in tiny print on the back, showing calorie content and fat content, which was significant, and nutritional value, which was negligible. He had always thought that was the point of candy, that it was to be nothing but sugar and fat and delicious. A treat, back in his day, a sweet that was earned when he had done something good, like staying on his pony through a trot, over small fences, or translated a particularly difficult Latin tale into the French or Castilian or Greek, as his tutor demanded. His hand beaten with a thin strip of wood when he failed, and his presence at dinner denied. Treats when he succeeded. It was the way of his father’s house. Carrot and stick. Or candy and stick. It had been effective then. Now children could have sweets at every meal. And on All Hallows Eve, even more.
It was scarcely past sunset and the streets were filled with adults in various stages of inebriation, accompanied by various stages of nudity, the closer to Bourbon Street one drew. Costumes that did far more than hint were everywhere, even here at the Mithran Council Chambers. But here, as tradition dictated, there were children. Many, many children.
Halloween in the French Quarter of New Orleans had been changed forever when Marilyn Monroe had attempted to turn John Kennedy in the Oval Office and been staked for her trouble. That next year, 1963, Leo had appeared for the first time, in full tuxedo and a black cloak, with scarlet silk lining, to hand out candy. Personally. The children had been bused in from all over the city at Mithran expense. And back then, a parent thought nothing of putting children on a bus and sending them off for a party, which was what he had put on for them, all along the street in front of the chambers.
There had been humans dressed as storybook witches in every doorway, some with hot cauldrons full of liquid pralines that they ladled onto waxed paper, allowed to cool and solidify, and gave away, others offering popcorn balls or caramels. Jugglers, clowns, artists of every stripe were encouraged to display their wares. Musicians stood on every street corner, with baskets or open instrument cases before them for tips. There were pony rides. The press wandered among the crowds, taking photographs for the Times-Picayune and to show on CBS or NBC or ABC, all across the nation. The party had been a ploy to improve public opinion of the newly revealed Creatures of Darkness, as described by a young, up-and-coming newsman whose name he had long forgotten.
The street party had been successful at the time. Now, fewer parents allowed their children onto the chartered buses, instead throwing parties for them in the safety of their schools or in private homes. And when they did allow the children aboard, the parents came too, holding their child’s hand. These days monsters on the streets might be human, intent on much worse than stealing a little blood.
There were fewer and fewer newsmen and newswomen on the streets to photograph the decades-old tradition. Perhaps in a few years, he would discontinue the party, or perhaps make it bigger. He could add wine tasting and beer tasting, and persuade restaurants to bring their foods to taste, in order to attract an older, more sophisticated crowd.
But there were still a few here tonight. Children and reporters both. Enough each year to brave the Quarter for the joy of taking candy from a vampire. And this year, one of the candy makers was a real witch, one he recognized from her dossier. He nodded regally to Suzanne Richardson-White, an earth witch with a gift for making pralines that rivaled Aunt Sally’s. It was a sign of improvement between the races that she was here, in public, sharing a street with a Mithran. On All Hallows Eve. She nodded back, an amused expression on her face.
A little girl with bright red hair raced up to him, her brown paper sack held out in two tiny fists. “Twick or Tweat, Mr. Pewisir.”
“Oh, please. No tricks tonight,” Leo said, reaching down and lifting up enough candy to turn the little girl into an instant diabetic. He let them all fall in a cascade of shushing sounds into her bag. He felt the moment the cameras focused on him and the little girl, and he smiled his public smile, toothy but totally human, the smile that the whole world knew.
“Thank you, Mr. Pewisir,” the little girl said, before racing away to the next candy station.
“You’re welcome, my dear,” Leo replied, though she was no longer there to hear, and a tiny tot in a cowboy suit took her place, his father standing behind, smiling, as if remembering the time he took the bus to this section of the French Quarter to receive candy from a vampire.
The hours wore on, and the crowds thinned. The moon rose in a hazy night sky.
Suzanne dipped up the last of the candies and closed her booth. She packed her mini-cauldron and the brazier that had kept the melted sugar hot. He watched from beneath the streetlight as she moved, her body encased in a corset, the laces holding and reshaping her curves, her breasts thrust up high and rounded. Her flowing witch’s dress was made of silk and netting, the fabric catching the night breeze as if a spell caused it to float. She wore ankle boots with tiny spike heels and the kind of old-fashioned buttons that had to be closed with a hook. He had always loved taking such shoes off a woman. And corsets.
Leo smiled. The girl was all of thirty, a graduate of Tulane. He had learned that acting on such thoughts was considered improper for anyone, especially for an old man such as he. Jane Yellowrock had made him rethink many things that he had once taken as his due.
“Shall I pack everything away?” Del asked, interrupting his reverie.
Leo turned to her and smiled his nonpublic smile, the one he kept for retainers and blood-servants, especially those he depended upon for security and a pleasant life. “Thank you, Del. Yes, it’s late.”
Del spoke into a headpiece, calling in the menials who would clean up and take down the candy stand. She was efficient and beautiful and far too bright and accomplished to be acting as a caterer, though as primo, that was part of her job from time to time. Perhaps too often.
“Del? . . .” She looked up at him, instantly alert for any need he might have. He studied her in the wan yellowed light that tried unsuccessfully to replicate gas streetlights of his early years in New Orleans. “You look lovely tonight. Are you happy in my employ?”
Del’s blond brows went up in surprise, wrinkling her forehead. “Thank—Sir?”
She sounded . . . nonplussed. As if he never asked such things of her, of any of his dependents. And perhaps he had not done so, not in a long while. Had ruling made him hard and insensitive? Jane had insisted this was true, the last time he called her for some small service. Her exact words had been, “Do it yourself, your Royal Fangyness. This is my day off. And maybe it’s time to stop being such a royal ass.” She had hung up on him. And while he had raged, he had also enjoyed the exchange, her indifference, her rebellion, her refusal to bow before him.
To Del, Leo said, “I have been remiss in asking. I want you to be happy in my service, Del. I want you to find joy here, in New Orleans, fulfillment and satisfaction. What can I do to make certain that happens?”
Security closed in around him, urging their small crowd to move down the street. A limo pulled around the corner. Behind him, the kitchen servants began to tear down the candy stand. He and Del walked toward the approaching limo, their legs illuminated in the headlights.
“I don’t know what to say,” Del admitted as the limo slid to a stop beside them. The door opened and Derek Lee, head of security, stepped out, scanning the darkness for threats. Del slid in, her blond, upswept hair and pale skin catching the light. But her eyes were brighter than he had seen in some time.
Yes. Jane was right. He had been more than remiss. “Well, think about it. You are not a menial, but skilled and capable. Your legal degree and aptitude make you too valuable to waste on tedious and humble tasks. You have proven both ability and loyalty.” He smiled again as Derek took his place across from them and closed the limo door. The armored vehicle pulled into traffic. “I am prepared to entrust my personal legal affairs to you. Perhaps I shall also ask you to oversee the financial affairs of the city and the clans. Such jobs as these”—he indicated the darkness and the stand that fell behind them—“could be better administered by a secretary or personal assistant.”
Del’s eyes lit up. “I know just the woman. She’s bright and sharp and detail-oriented.”
“I trust your decision.” He waved languid fingers in the air. “See to it. And for her first task, have her schedule a meeting with you and my law firm.”
“Yes, sir.” Her voice sounded breathy. Excited. “Thank you, sir.”
“Think nothing of it. Happy All Hallows Eve.”
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