eBooks - Literature - Modern Fiction - Karen Marie Moning - Faefever


Faefever eBooks

by Karen Marie Moning


Faefever - Adobe eBook

Faefever eBook

Adobe

Platforms
Windows Vista / XP / 2000, Mac OS X, Sony Reader

Features
Advanced navigation, search, bookmarks, and multiple viewing options.

Availability:
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Price: $23.00


Faefever - Microsoft Reader eBook

Faefever eBook

Microsoft Reader

Platforms
Windows PC, Windows Mobile 5.0-6.0, Pocket PC 2003

Features
ClearType, advanced navigation, search, personal library, bookmarks, notes, and drawing.

Availability:
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Price: $23.00


Faefever - Palm eBook

Faefever eBook

Palm

Platforms
Palm, Windows Mobile, Pocket PC, Windows PC, Mac, iPhone/iPod Touch

Features
Advanced navigation, search, bookmarks, and powerful viewing features.

Availability:
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Price: $23.00


Faefever Summary

Chapter One


The pain, God, the pain! It’s going to splinter my skull!

I clutch my head with wet, stinking hands, determined to hold it together until the inevitable occurs—I pass out.

Nothing compares to the agony the Sinsar Dubh causes me. Each time I get close to it, the same thing happens. I’m immobilized by pain that escalates until I lose consciousness.

Barrons says it’s because the Dark Book and I are point and counterpoint. That it’s so evil, and I’m so good, that it repels me violently. His theory is to “dilute” me somehow, make me a little evil so I can get close to it. I don’t see how making me evil so I can get close enough to pick up an evil book is a good thing. I think I’d probably do evil things with it.

“No,” I whimper, sloshing on my knees in the puddle. “Please . . . no!” Not here, not now! In the past, each time I’d gotten close to the Book, Barrons had been with me, and I’d had the comfort of knowing he wouldn’t let anything too awful happen to my unconscious body. He might tote me around like a divining rod, but I could live with that. Tonight, however, I was alone. The thought of being vulnerable to anyone and anything in Dublin’s streets for even a few moments terrified me. What if I passed out for an hour? What if I fell facedown into the vile puddle I was in, and drowned in mere inches of . . . ugh.

I had to get out of the puddle. I would not die so pathetically.

A wintry wind howled down the street, whipping between buildings, chilling me to the bone. Old newspapers cartwheeled like dirty, sodden tumblew...




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