“Oh, damn ,” he muttered. “I’m in love.”
“I don’t howl,” Edmund said, aghast. “I intone .”
His sterile existence was shattered, however, by the arrival of a new neighbor: Lady Perdita von Hissingbrook, a werewolf of considerable fortune and even more considerable inconvenience. She was tall, silver-haired, and had a laugh that sounded like rocks tumbling down a mountainside. Worse, she was cheerful .
“You saved us,” she said, shifting back to human form, her eyes glowing gold.
His unbeating heart had just given a very inconvenient lurch .
Baldrick, watching from the shadows, nodded sagely. “See?” he whispered to the stuffed raven. “Told you. Even monsters need a turnip.”
Baldrick looked alarmed. “Shall I fetch the priest, my lord? Or the vet?”