By John Saul
Clark's Harbor used to be the precise coastal haven, jealously guarded opposed to outsiders. yet now strangers have come to settle there. And a small boy is all at once freed from a frenzy that had gripped him on the grounds that birth... His sister is haunted through anxious visions... And one after the other, in violent, mysterious methods the strangers are death. by no means the townspeople. in simple terms the strangers. Has a dismal cut price been struck among the folk of Clark's Harbor and a few supernatural strength? Or is it the ocean itself calling out for a human sacrifice? A howling, deadly... Cry For The Strangers.
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Additional resources for Cry for the Strangers
Of course, if I had been at the peak of my Power, if I had been feeding on humans this whole time, it would have been nothing to compel the doorman to forget he saw anything. Better yet, I could have run straight to Seventy-third Street and been no more than a blur to the human eye. At Sixty-eighth Street, I hid beneath a damp bush as a drunk stumbled toward us. In the close confines of the branches, there was nothing to distract me from the sweet scent of the girl’s blood. I tried not to inhale, cursing the desire that made me yearn to rip her throat out.
He left her a dry, dead husk and then tried to kill me, too. Had it not been for Lexi, he would have succeeded. With a tortured scream, I pulled my hands back from the girl and pounded the ground. I forced the bloodlust that was in my eyes and cheeks back down to the dark place from which they came. I took a moment longer to compose myself, then pulled the girl’s bodice aside to view her wound. She had been stabbed with a knife, or some other small and sharp blade. It had been shoved with near perfect precision between her breasts and into her rib cage—but had missed her heart.
And neither shall you run off,” Mrs. Sutherland said more pointedly to Lydia. The middle sister blushed. “Lydia has fallen in love with an Italian count,” Bridget confided, her pout evaporating as she indulged in gossip. “We all hope he asks her hand in marriage—wouldn’t that be splendid? Then we’d all be like royalty, sort of, and not just rich merchants. ” Winfield laughed nervously. “Bridget . ” Bridget fluttered her thick eyelashes. “It’s so wonderful that Lydia has a suitor, much less a count.