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Contents ( 114)
  1. THE HOLLOW SERIES BOOKS 1–4
  2. Contents
  3. Dedication
  4. Contents
  5. One
  6. Two
  7. Three
  8. Four
  9. Five
  10. Six
  11. Seven
  12. Eight
  13. Nine
  14. Ten
  15. Eleven
  16. Twelve
  17. Thirteen
  18. Fourteen
  19. Fifteen
  20. Sixteen
  21. Seventeen
  22. Eighteen
  23. Nineteen
  24. Twenty
  25. Twenty-One
  26. Twenty-Two
  27. Twenty-Three
  28. Twenty-Four
  29. Twenty-Five
  30. Twenty-Six
  31. Twenty-Seven
  32. Twenty-Eight
  33. Twenty-Nine
  34. Thirty
  35. Thirty-One
  36. Thirty-Two
  37. Thirty-Three
  38. Thirty-Four
  39. Acknowledgements
  40. THE GOOD, THE BAD,
  41. AND THE UNDEAD
  42. Dedication
  43. Contents
  44. One
  45. Two
  46. Three
  47. Four
  48. Five
  49. Six
  50. Seven
  51. Eight
  52. Nine
  53. Ten
  54. Eleven
  55. Twelve
  56. Thirteen
  57. Fourteen
  58. Fifteen
  59. Sixteen
  60. Seventeen
  61. Eighteen
  62. Nineteen
  63. Twenty
  64. Twenty-One
  65. Twenty-Two
  66. Twenty-Three
  67. Twenty-Four
  68. Twenty-Five
  69. Twenty-Six
  70. Twenty-Seven
  71. Twenty-Eight
  72. Twenty-Nine
  73. Acknowledgements
  74. Dedication
  75. Contents
  76. One
  77. Two
  78. Three
  79. Four
  80. Five
  81. Six
  82. Seven
  83. Eight
  84. Nine
  85. Ten
  86. Eleven
  87. Twelve
  88. Thirteen
  89. Fourteen
  90. Fifteen
  91. Sixteen
  92. Seventeen
  93. Eighteen
  94. Nineteen
  95. Twenty
  96. Twenty-One
  97. Twenty-Two
  98. Twenty-Three
  99. Twenty-Four
  100. Twenty-Five
  101. Twenty-Six
  102. Twenty-Seven
  103. Twenty-Eight
  104. Twenty-Nine
  105. Thirty
  106. Thirty-One
  107. Thirty-Two
  108. Thirty-Three
  109. Acknowledgements
  110. A FISTFUL OF CHARMS
  111. Also by the Author
  112. About the Author
  113. Copyright
  114. About the Publisher

He had sunglasses on, taking in the residential neighborhood with its shady sidewalks and patchy lawns. We were well within the Hollows, the unofficial haven for most of Cincinnati’s resident Inderlanders since the Turn, when every surviving human fled into the city and its false sense of security. There has always been some mingling, but for the most part humans work and live in Cincinnati since the Turn, and Inderlanders work and—uh—play in the Hollows.

I think Glenn was surprised the suburb looked like everywhere else—until you noticed the runes scratched in the hopscotch grid, and that the basketball hoop was a third again taller than NBA regulation. It was quiet, too. Peaceful. Some of that could be attributed to Inderland’s schools not letting out until almost midnight, but most was self-preservation.

Every Inderlander over the age of forty had spent their earliest years trying to hide that they weren’t human, a tradition that is unraveling with the cautious fear of the hunted, vampires included. So the grass is mown by sullen teenagers on Friday, the cars are dutifully washed on Saturday, and the trash makes tidy piles at the curb on Wednesday. But the streetlights are shot out by gun or charm as soon as the city replaces them, and no one calls the Humane Society at the sight of a loose dog, as it might be the neighbor’s kid skipping school.

The dangerous reality of the Hollows remains carefully hidden. We know if we color too far out of humanity’s self-imposed lines, old fears will resurface and they will strike out at us. They would lose—badly—and as a whole, Inderlanders like things balanced just as they are. Fewer humans would mean that witches and Weres would start taking the brunt of vampires’ needs. And while the occasional witch “enjoyed” a vampiric lifestyle at his or her own discretion, we’d bind together to take them out if they tried to turn us into fodder. The older vampires know it, and so they make sure everyone plays by humanity’s rules.

Fortunately, the more savage side of Inderlanders naturally gravitates to the outskirts of the Hollows and away from our homes. The strip of nightclubs along both sides of the river is especially hazardous since swarming, high-spirited humans draw the more predatorial of us like fires on a cold night, promising warmth and reassurance of survival. Our homes are kept as human looking as possible. Those who strayed too far from the Mr. and Mrs. Cleaver veneer were encouraged in a rather unique neighborhood intervention party to blend in a little more … or move out to the country where they couldn’t do as much damage. My gaze drifted over the tongue-in-cheek sign peeping out from a bed of foxgloves. DAY SLEEPER. SOLICITORS WILL BE EATEN. For the most part, anyway.

“You can park up there on the right,” I said, pointing.

Glenn’s brow furrowed. “I thought we were going to your office.”

Jenks flitted from my earring to the rearview mirror. “We are,” he said snidely.