Sometimes, After Sunset

Here are two mesmerizing novels by one of SF's fastest rising stars:Sabella, or the Blood Stone. Love was a luxury she could not afford. The huntress does not love her prey, after all, and Sabella Quey's need to hunt was overpowering.It had been so ever since the day she had wandered into the ruins on Novo Mars and found the strange gem. The thirst for blood had grown in her just as desire grows in most young women. And back then, inexperienced, reckless, she had sated her lust with any of the boys who whistled after her -- boys who were unaware that death awaited them in her arms.As she matured, Sabella became cautious; she did not kill the men who pursued her, but rather allowed them to use her body to satisfy their needs -- all the while satisfying her own. The gem, pale at first, would become deep red as her hunger abated, but the men didn't notice the change. They would faint, ecstatic, and afterward never remember the true nature of Sabella's passion.Yet there were people who understood what Sabella was- people who feared and despised her. And of those, one in particular had found a way to vent her hatred....Kill the Dead. A hush came over the inn's common room when Parl Dro entered. A few in the crowd who recognized him spread the word: he was the Ghost-Killer.Conversation resumed as Dro ordered a meal, and he listened quietly to their nervous sallies.'How do you sleep nights?' someone asked, not really expecting an answer. 'He sleeps all right,' came the reply. 'There'll be plenty with cause to thank him.' 'And plenty who curse him,' another man said.The room was growing quiet again; they wanted to know, yet dared not ask too directly.'Well, you've had a wasted journey to this place, Parl Dro,' someone ventured at last. 'We haven't any deadalive here.'He had been expecting such a comment, and readying himself to say the words none of them wanted to hear.'Oh, but you're wrong,' he told them quietly. And almost against their will, they believed him.

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