By Mercedes Lackey
This can be your soul on drugs...After the occasions chronicled in Bedlam's Bard, world-saving bard and magician Eric Banyon strikes into his new big apple residence hoping to cool down to the quiet existence. No such success: his construction is a safe-house for a gaggle of occultist Guardians conserving the town from supernatural evil. and there is a new evil for them to quard against....When unethical drug researchers realize that they could result in striking psychological powers utilizing psychotropic medicines, they start making plans to elevate a drug-enslaved military of mercenaries and develop very, very wealthy. yet this will get the eye of Aerune mac Audelaine, lord of the darkish Unseleighe Sidhe, who hopes to exploit the medicine to damage via to the human international and feed at the affliction there. either plans will deliver terror to the area -- and either are threatened through the very life of Eric Banyon. together with his almost certainly unswerving partners -- a gorgeous elven half-breed and a gargoyle -- Eric heads for a three-way conflict of wizardry that would verify Gotham's destiny -- and his personal.
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His enrollment at Juilliard argued that he’d be easy to find. He must feel safe if he’d been willing to go there. But of course the years in Underhill would have been as good as a disguise. ” she asked. No. Leave it. He’s the past. Let him stay there. But Jonathan came to her side, silently holding out a slim leather pilot’s wallet. She took it, seeing the sheaf of paper inside from the travel agency LlewellCo used. Plane tickets. A hotel reservation. “I think you’ll just have time to pack and catch the red-eye,” Jonathan said.
She’d spent more than half her life in a war she’d known she could never win. Nobody had ever told her that it wouldn’t go on forever. And one day, when she wasn’t looking, it had just stopped. The enemy had declared peace and gotten out.
When Mr. Rector actually phrased his comment as a question, Eric answered it when he could, and when he could not, he admitted it. Otherwise, he ignored the constant stream of barbs—at least that was something at which he had plenty of practice, thanks in no small part to having studied under Dharinel. Dharinel didn’t like anybody, least of all half-trained ragamuffin scapegrace dragged-up-anyhow human Bards foisted on him by his liege-lord. When it came to hitting nerves, Dharinel had all the accuracy of a surgical laser, and had taken just as much malicious enjoyment in getting a reaction out of Eric as Professor Rector did.