Strange Brew by Jim Butcher EPUB & PDF – eBook Details
- Author: Jim Butcher
- Genre: Paranormal & Urban Fantasy
- Publish Date: July 7, 2009
- Size: 1.2 MB
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Status: Avail for Download
- Price: Free
The doorbell rang.
That was the problem with her business. Too many people thought they
could approach her at any time. Even oh-dark thirty, even though her hours
were posted clearly on her door and on her Web site.
Of course, answering the door would be something to do other than sit in
her study shivering in the dark. Not that her world was ever anything but
dark. It was one of the reasons she hated bad dreams—she had no way of
turning on the light. Bad dreams that held warnings of things to come were
The doorbell rang again.
She slept—or tried to sleep—the same hours as most people. Kept steady
business hours, too. Something she had no trouble making clear to those
morons who woke her up in the middle of the night. They came to see Glinda
the Good Witch, but after midnight, they found the Wicked Witch of the
West and left quaking in fear of flying monkeys.
Whoever waited at the door would have no reason to suspect how grateful
she was for the interruption of her thoughts.
The doorbell began a steady throbbing beat, ring-long, ring-short, ringshort, ring-long, and she grew a lot less grateful. To heck with flying
monkeys, she was going to turn whoever it was into a frog. She shoved her
concealing glasses on her face and stomped out the hall to her front door. No
matter that most of the good transmutation spells had been lost with the
Coranda family in the seventeenth century—rude people needed to be turned
into frogs. Or pigs.
She jerked open the door and slapped the offending hand on her doorbell.
She even got out a “Stop that!” before the force of his spirit hit her like a
physical blow. Her nose told her, belatedly, that he was sweaty as if he’d
been jogging. Her other senses told her that he was something other.
Not that she’d expected him to be human. Unlike other witches, she
didn’t advertise, and thus seldom had mundane customers unless their needs
disturbed her sleep and she set out one of her “find me” spells to speak to
them—she knew when they were coming.
“Ms. Keller,” he growled. “I need to speak to you.” At least he’d quit
ringing the bell.
She let her left eyebrow slide up her forehead until it would be visible
above her glasses. “Polite people come between the hours of eight in the
morning and seven at night,” she informed him. Werewolf, she decided. If he
really lost his temper, she might have trouble, but she thought he was
desperate, not angry—though with a wolf, the two states could be
interchanged with remarkable speed. “Rude people get sent on their way.”
“Tomorrow morning might be too late,” he said—and then added the bit
that kept her from slamming the door in his face: “Alan Choo gave me your
address, said you were the only one he knew with enough moxie to defy
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