Divine Madness by Melanie Jackson

Author:Melanie Jackson [Jackson, Melanie]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Fiction, Romance, Fantasy, cookie429, Kat, Extratorrents
ISBN: 9780505526908
Publisher: Montlake
Published: 2006-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Every action we take, everything we do, is either a victory or defeat in the struggle to become what we want to be.

—Ninon de Lenclos

The ideal has many names, and beauty is but one of them.

—Ninon de Lenclos

The more sins you confess, the more books you will sell.

—Ninon de Lenclos

CHAPTER TWELVE

Okay, we now return to our regularly scheduled program.

I felt calm as I waited for Ninon outside her hotel, my anxiety worn off the lining of my mental brake pads that had only barely stopped my earlier panic from roaring across the steep downward grade toward insanity. What can I say? S.M. affects me that way—especially when the bastard is crawling around in my skull, committing acts of vandalism. I knew that I’d have to have some brain repairs, and soon. But for the moment I was enjoying the absence of fear and the floating feeling that followed my death by electrocution. As I said, the only substance that can still get me high is jimsonweed, and for it to have any effect I have to smoke a joint about the size of a grande burrito, or eat an entire pan of brownies so fibrous they also serve as a colon cleanser. I don’t do that often. This buzz was a rare treat.

The Hotel Ybarra had been invaded by tourists while we were out dying. People were in a party mood, but the Cheers bar it still was not, so I listened carefully to the gossip while I waited for Ninon to pack up her cat. It was easy; my hearing had always been good, but now it was exquisite.

There were a few tourists come to see the wonders of the pozas and a couple of boutique owners—women in their forties, I would estimate—looking for inexpensive imports that were colorful and yet still cheap. They had had a couple of margaritas to go with their new Vulcan-style face-lifts, and it was clear their credit cards were set to stun. They were going home with new stock, or they’d die trying. There was also another Anglo, a woman recently betrayed by her “rat bastard” husband. She had no credit limit and was in monetary kill mode. Her husband—rat bastard or otherwise—should be grateful that she discovered his infidelity while in Mexico. The local jewelry was fairly inexpensive, and even if she bought out the town, this would be marginally less expensive than paying for a divorce in California where they lived and had liberal community property laws.

The odd weather was mentioned in passing, but of vampires or death gods, there wasn’t a single murmur. That was good. I hoped Mamita had the sense to get out of town for a while. I knew that we weren’t being offered a clean escape route, a get-out-of-jail-free card from the mess we were in with either S.M. or this Saint Germain, but what we had been presented with was a quick getaway and a small detour from a really bad reality, a back road that might allow us to find a more advantageous position from which to fight the next battle.

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