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Anita Blake - My Hero

(Material below is from Penguin Putnam Web site - Club PPI Newsletter)

http://www.penguinputnam.com

January, 2000

I'm not really sure if Laurell K. Hamilton and her literary creation Anita Blake need introduction, since you all so rabidly dog me about her books, but just in case, we've contacted Anita and asked her to give you some background on her stories so you'll be all ready for her new hardcover, Obsidian Butterfly, out this month from Ace.

Anita Blake's life so far . . .

My name is Anita Blake. My life used to be simple. I draw a paycheck from Animators Inc. bringing the dead back to life, just for a while. So that rich Uncle Harry could say where he hid the new will, that sort of thing. Not to brag, but I'm one of the best. So I see a lot of zombies on the job.

Off the job, I killed vampires. Legally. Since the Supreme Court granted the undead legal rights, your average Joe can't just go out and stake them. You need a license and a warrant. And a lot of skill. I'm good at that too. The vamps call me the Executioner.

Then the cops recruited me to consult to the Preternatural Crime Squad. That brought me up and close and personal with the worst of the creatures of the night. Rogue animators, overripe zombies, deranged vampires, ancient Celtic demons, sadistic shapeshifters.

All of which filled my days—and nights—with murder, mayhem. And monsters. Some of which I got to know. Too well.

Like Jean-Claude, the Master Vampire of the City. He claims to love me. If something that doesn't have a heartbeat can love.

And Richard, the handsome schoolteacher—who turned out to be an Alpha Werewolf. He proposed once, but we broke up when I saw him eat someone.

The fact is, these days my life is a cross between a preternatural soap opera and an action adventure movie. Sort of 'As the Casket Turns meets Rambo'.

This is my world. Welcome to it. And these are my stories. If after reading them you find this is your kind of thing — well, you just try being me for a while!

Guilty Pleasures  - Copywrite   1994 © by Laurell K. Hamilton

Vampires call me The Executioner. What I call them isn't repeatable. But now a serial killer is murdering vampires—and the most powerful bloodsucker in town wants me to find the killer.

The Laughing Corpse  - Copywrite   1994 © by Laurell K. Hamilton

Working for Animators, Inc. is just a job—like selling insurance. But all the money in the world wasn't enough for me to take on the particular job Harold Gaynor was offering. Raising a zombie that old required a human sacrifice, and that's one place I don't want to go. But somebody else did, though—a rogue animator. Now he's not just raising the dead . . . he's raising Hell. And it's up to me to stop it . . .

Circus of the Damned -  Copywrite  ©  1995 by Laurell K. Hamilton

As if it wasn't enough that Master Vampire of the City was wooing me, now a tall, dark, and dangerous vampire named Alejandro has hit town. He and Jean-Claude both want me for their own human servant. A war of the undead has begun. Over me. I would be flattered. If my life weren't at stake.

Adapted from Cover Art of Stephen Gardner ©

The Lunatic Cafe - Copywrite  ©  1996 by Laurell K. Hamilton

I thought I'd finally met the perfect guy—intelligent, attractive, and most important—still breathing. But every man has his faults, and Richard's—well, think full moon. Then think furry. Not only is Richard a werewolf, he's The Werewolf. The Alpha Werewolf of the local pack, that is. And when some of them turn up missing, they come to me for help.

Bloody Bones - Copywrite ©  1996 by Laurell K. Hamilton

Bodies with missing pieces are upsetting at the best of times. When it looks like they've gotten that way because of a vampire serial killer—that's beyond upsetting. Add a creature right out of every child's nightmares to the mix, and it didn't take a degree in preternatural studies to figure out that something was very wrong in and around Branson, Missouri. And I was right in the middle of it.

The Killing Dance - Copywrite  ©  1997 by Laurell K. Hamilton

The first hit man came after me at home, which should be against the rules. Then there was a second, and a third.    Eventually, I found out that the word on the street was that Anita Blake, preternatural expert and vampire killer extraordinaire, was worth half a million dollars. Dead, not alive.

Art adapted from Cover Artwork by Lee McLeod

Burnt Offerings - Copywrite  ©  1998 by Laurell K. Hamilton

I've always said you can't trust anyone who sleeps with the monsters. But now I'm the one sharing a bed with the Master Vampire of the City. Me, Anita Blake. The woman the vampires call the Executioner. Don't ask. At any rate, it hits close to home when an arsonist begins to target vampire-owned businesses all over town—an arsonist who seems to want to destroy more than just property.

Blue Moon - Copywrite ©  1998 by Laurell K. Hamilton

You never forget your ex-fiancé. Especially if he's an Alpha Werewolf. So when I found out Richard, the former love of my life, had gotten himself thrown in jail for assaulting a woman, I was off. Anita to the rescue. Though Richard may be one of the monsters, I knew he would never harm a woman. And I've only got a few days to spring Richard and find out who framed him—and why.

Obsidian Butterfly - Copywrite ©  1999 by Laurell K. Hamilton

I'm still living this one. Read it and find out.

Finally, the moment you've all been waiting for...
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Obsidian Butterfly -  Copywrite  © 
by Laurell K. Hamilton

Excerpt from Chapter 1

I was covered in blood, but it wasn't mine, so it was okay. Not only was it not my blood, but it was all animal blood. If the worst casualties of the night were six chickens and a goat, I could live with it, and so could everyone else. I'd raised seven corpses in one night. It was a record even for me.

I pulled into my driveway at a quarter 'til dawn with the sky still dark and star-filled. I left the Jeep in the driveway, too tired to mess with the garage. It was May, but it felt like April. Spring in St. Louis was usually a two-day even between the end of winter and the beginning of summer. One day you were freezing your ass off and the next day it's be eighty plus. But this year it had been spring, a wet gentle spring.

Except for the high number of zombies I'd raised, it had been a typical night. Everything from raising a civil war soldier for a local historical society to question, a will that needed a final signature, to a son's last confrontation with his abusive mother. I'd been neck deep in lawyers and therapists most of the night. If I heard, "How does that make you feel, Jonathan (or Cathy, or whoever)?" one more time tonight, I'd scream. I did not want to watch one more person "go with his or her feelings" ever. At least with most of the lawyers the bereaved didn't come to the graveside. The court-appointed lawyer would ascertain that the zombies raised had enough cognitive ability to know what they were signing, then he would sign off on the contract as a witness. If the zombie couldn't answer the questions, then no legal signature. The corpse had to be of "sound" mind to sign a legally binding signature. I'd never raised a zombie that couldn't pass the legal definition of soundness, but it happened sometimes. Jamison, a fellow animator at Animator's Inc., had a pair of lawyers come to blows on top of the grave. What fun.

The air was cool enough to make me shiver as I walked down the sidewalk to my door. I could hear the phone ringing as I fumbled the key into the lock. I hit the door with my shoulder because no one ever calls just before dawn until it's important. For me that usually meant the police, which meant a murder scene. I kicked the door closed and ran for the phone in the kitchen. My answering machine had kicked on. My voice died on the machine and Edward's voice came on."

"Anita, it's Edward. If you're there, pick up." Silence.

I was running full out and skidded on my high heels, grabbing the receiver as I slid into the wall and nearly dropped the phone. I yelled into the receiver as I juggled the phone, "Edward, Edward, it's me! I'm here!"

Edward was laughing softly when I could finally hear him.

"Glad I could be amusing. What's up?" I asked.

"I'm calling in my favor," he said quietly.

It was my turn for silence. Once upon a time Edward had come to my aid, been my backup. He'd brought a friend, Harley, with him as more backup. I'd ended up killing Harley. Now, Harley had tried to kill me first, and I'd just been quicker, but Edward had taken the killing personally. Picky, picky. Edward had given me a choice: either he and I could draw down on each other and find out once and for all which of us was better, or I could owe him a favor. Some day he would call me up and ask for me to be his backup like Harley. I'd agreed to the favor. I never wanted to come up against Edward for real. Because if I did, I was pretty sure I'd end up dead.

Edward was a hit man. He specialized in monsters. Vampires, shapeshifters, anything and everything. There were people like that did it legal, but Edward didn't sweat the legalities, or hell, the ethics. He even occasionally did a human, but only if they had some sort of dangerous reputation. Other assassins, criminals, bad men, or women. Edward was an equal opportunity killer. He never discriminated, not for sex, religion, race, or even species. If it was dangerous, Edward would hunt it and kill it. It's what he lived for, what he was—a predator's predator.

He'd been offered a contract on my life once. He'd turned it down and had come to town as my bodyguard, bringing Harley with him. I'd asked him why he hadn't taken the contract. His answer had been simple. If he took the contract, he only got to kill me. If he protected me, he thought he'd get to kill more people. Perfect Edward reasoning.

He's either a sociopath or so close it makes little difference. I may be one of the few friends that Edward has, but it's like being friends with a tame leopard. It may curl on the foot of your bed and let you pet its head, but it can still eat your throat out. It just won't do it tonight.

"Anita, you still there?"

"I'm here, Edward."

"You don't sound happy to hear from me."

"Let's just say I'm cautious," I said.

He laughed again. "Cautious. No, you're not cautious. You're suspicious."

"Yeah," I said. "So what's the favor?"

"I need back up," he said.

"What could be so terrible that Death needs backup?"

"Ted Forrester needs backup from Anita Blake, vampire executioner."


To be continued, in Obsidian Butterfly, on sale in January 2000.

Classified Personal Ad  (from Penguin Putnam Web site - Club PPI newletter)

February, 2000

Anita Blake:
Ronnie talked me into this, OK? She thinks I need a man. I think I have too many. I guess she means a man who’s still alive and doesn’t get furry during the full moon. She has a point. So here goes- - -

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