Bite Me: A Love Story by Christopher Moore

By Christopher Moore

Town of San Francisco is being stalked by way of a massive shaved vampyre cat named Chet, and merely I, Abby common, and my manga-haired love monkey stand among the starving monster and a bloody bloodbath of the overall public.

Whoa. And this can be a love story?

Yup. 'Cept there's no whining. yet there's everybody's favourite undead couple, Tommy and Jody, who've simply escaped from imprisonment in a bronze statue. And now that they're out they've joined forces with Abby, her boyfriend Steve, the frozen-turkey-bowling Safeway workforce, the Emperor of San Francisco and his trusty canine Lazarus and Bummer, homosexual Goth man Jared, and SF's most interesting Cavuto and Rivera to seek enormous cat and keep the town. relatively.

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Sample text

The old Mississippi hisself. I was a pilot for eight years, before I got my own boats, licensed for the upper Mississippi and the Illinois. Never for the Ohio, though, or the lower Mississippi, and for all I knew about steamboatin’ I couldn’t have piloted no boat on those rivers to save my life—didn’t know ’em. Those I did know, it took me years to learn ’em, and the learnin’ never stopped. By now I been out of the pilot house for so long that I’d have to learn ’em all over again. The river changes, Joshua, that it does.

The very one, Abner. An astounding man. I had the good fortune to meet him once. ” He began to recite. She walks in Beauty, like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies; And all that’s best of dark and bright Meet in her aspect and her eyes: Thus mellowed to that tender light Which Heaven to gaudy day denies. “Byron wrote of a woman, of course, but the words seem to fit our boat as well, do they not? Look at her, Abner! ” Abner Marsh didn’t quite know what to think; your average steamboatman didn’t go around spouting poetry, and he didn’t know what to say to one who did.

There was a cool intelligence peering out of those mists. But there was a beast as well, dark and frightening, chained and angry, raging at the fog. Laughter and loneliness and cruel passion; York had all of that in his eyes. But mostly there was force in those eyes, terrible force, a strength as relentless and merciless as the ice that had crushed Marsh’s dreams. Somewhere in that fog, Marsh could sense the ice moving, slow, so slow, and he could hear the awful splintering of his boats and all his hopes.

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