Download Clockwork Doomsday (Rogue Angel, Book 43) by Alex Archer, Mel Odom PDF
By Alex Archer, Mel Odom
A key. An historic automaton. A race opposed to the satan to the deep blue sea...
It begun in forty eight B.C. whilst a centurion on a rescue challenge for Caesar went down with the send in a hurricane. along with his final breath, he observed the article of Caesar's seafaring excursion--an accursed, mechanical minotaur--hit bottom...and begin to stroll away!
While taping an episode of Chasing History's Monsters, television host and archaeologist Annja Creed learns that her someday good friend and protector Garin has obtained an historical butterfly key artifact, the sort as soon as used to wind automatons, clockwork-style units. other than, this key comes with a rumor connected, a narrative that it as soon as labored a god-touched gadget either infrequent and unbelievably powerful.
No quicker does Garin carry the major than it's snatched from his fingers by way of a freewheeling historian who performs through her personal principles. and she or he wishes final energy, that can fortunately contain the sword of Joan of Arc. the hunt for the main and the mythological automaton reunites Annja, Garin and his previous mentor Roux in Genoa, and pits them in a race throughout Europe to overcome a foe as inventive and expert as Annja herself.
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Additional resources for Clockwork Doomsday (Rogue Angel, Book 43)
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Eine beiläufige Freundin mit Draht zur Polizei, mein Mauerblümchen-Maulwurf. Während Staceys Fall langsam kalt wurde, entwickelten Lucy und ich eine Routine, die aus zwei-, dreimal die Woche stattfindenden Happy Hours auf meiner Veranda bestand, mit launigen Geschichten aus ihrem Arbeitsalltag und vorsichtigen Anfragen bezüglich meiner »Fortschritte«. Dann und wann, wenn die Freitagsmargaritas ein wenig zu stark gemixt waren, machte Lucy errötend Annäherungsversuche, meist nicht mehr als eine schnelle Umarmung oder das Zerdrücken einer Träne (ihrer) aus Staunen über meinen Stoizismus (Alkoholnarkose) angesichts meines Verlustes.
Sie meldete sich nicht. Am Abend fing ich an, mir Sorgen zu machen. Ich rief ihre Freundinnen an, aber keine hatte sie gesehen. Ich telefonierte mit dem Gartencenter und der Kunstgalerie, aber sie war weder bei dem einen noch bei dem anderen eingeteilt gewesen. Am Ende stand ich vor der Spüle und sah zu, wie der Tag der Dämmerung wich. Ich blickte zum Fenster hinaus, ohne so recht etwas wahrzunehmen, und dachte, vielleicht wäre es langsam Zeit, die Polizei anzurufen. Und da bemerkte ich, dass das Garagentor offen stand.
Im Haus knipste ich alle Lampen an, während ich durchs Erdgeschoss schwebte: Esszimmer, Wohnzimmer, Korridor, Sonnenzimmer, Waschküche, beide Bäder und die Küche. Licht tat gut, Licht war lebensnotwendig. Das ganze Haus war zu weitläufig für einen einzelnen Menschen, und ich hatte das Erdgeschoss zu meinem Reich erkoren. Im Bad war eine Dusche, ein Korb mit Kleidung stand in der Waschküche, und im Wohnzimmer wohnte es sich besonders gut. Ich machte mein Bett auf dem Sofa und döste weg. Das Festnetz-Telefon schrillte und schreckte mich aus den Kissen.