City Between

When you get up in the morning, the last thing you expect to see is a murdered bloke hanging outside your window. Things like that tend to draw the attention of the local police--and when you're squatting in your parents' old house until you can afford to buy it, another thing you can't afford is the attention of the cops.Oh yeah. G'day. My name is Pet. It's not my real name, but it's the only one you're getting. Things like names are important these days.And it's not so much that I'm Pet. I am a pet. A human pet: I belong to the two Behindkind fae and the pouty vampire who just moved into my house. It's not weird, I promise-well, it is weird, yeah. But it's not weird weird, you know? W.R. Gingell is a Tasmanian author of urban fantasy, fairy-tale retellings, and madcap science fiction who doesn't seem to be able to write a book without a body suddenly turning up. She solemnly swears that all such bodies are strictly fictional in nature. W.R. spends her time reading, drinking a truly ridiculous amount of tea, and slouching in front of the fire to write. Like Peter Pan, she never really grew up, and is still occasionally to be found climbing trees.

There's a body beneath the skip bins. Fae on the forklift. A vampire in the manager's office. And there's definitely something skeevy going on in the locker rooms.G'day. I'm Pet. Well, not exactly Pet. I am a pet.I was meant to stay out of it, but somebody's gotta do something when humans are being killed by Behindkind creatures. Luckily for me, my owners are just as dangerous and inhuman as the bad guys...…maybe more. W.R. Gingell is a Tasmanian author of urban fantasy, fairy-tale retellings, and madcap science fiction who doesn't seem to be able to write a book without a body suddenly turning up. She solemnly swears that all such bodies are strictly fictional in nature. W.R. spends her time reading, drinking a truly ridiculous amount of tea, and slouching in front of the fire to write. Like Peter Pan, she never really grew up, and is still occasionally to be found climbing trees.

I'm not supposed to push through the boundaries of reality without supervision. I'm definitely not meant to drag a cop Between with me.But stuff happens, you know?Hi. I'm Pet. Well, not Pet, exactly. I am a pet.Nothing too hard; I just cook and clean for the Behindkind who took over my house. Easy. But now one of my owners has gone missing. He's fae, so it shouldn't worry me, but if there's something out there that can kidnap fae, I don't wanna meet it.Good thing I've got another two owners and a spare cop up my sleeve… W.R. Gingell is a Tasmanian author of urban fantasy, fairy-tale retellings, and madcap science fiction who doesn't seem to be able to write a book without a body suddenly turning up. She solemnly swears that all such bodies are strictly fictional in nature. W.R. spends her time reading, drinking a truly ridiculous amount of tea, and slouching in front of the fire to write. Like Peter Pan, she never really grew up, and is still occasionally to be found climbing trees.

Two fae is company, but a company of fae is trouble.Which is exactly what we've got. Trouble, I mean. Well, and fae. Lots of fae. Something or someone is stalking and killing high-level fae around Hobart-tearing out hearts and leaving a trail of bloody bodies behind. Fae don't like it when they're the ones getting killed, so of course they came to hire my owners.Owners, you ask?Hi. I'm Pet. No, that's not my name. I am a pet.My owners? They're fae. Well, two fae and one stroppy vampire.Welcome to the world Between. W.R. Gingell is a Tasmanian author of urban fantasy, fairy-tale retellings, and madcap science fiction who doesn't seem to be able to write a book without a body suddenly turning up. She solemnly swears that all such bodies are strictly fictional in nature. W.R. spends her time reading, drinking a truly ridiculous amount of tea, and slouching in front of the fire to write. Like Peter Pan, she never really grew up, and is still occasionally to be found climbing trees.

G'day. I'm Pet. Not, not Pet-I am a pet.Well, I was a pet: I used to belong to two fae and a stroppy vampire. Now I'm homeless. I mean, I was always technically homeless, but this time it's different.I just got used to having some kind of family, and now we're back to everyone wanting to kill each other-and guess who the weak link is?I'll give you a hint: it's not the vampire, and it's sure as heck not the fae. W.R. Gingell is a Tasmanian author of urban fantasy, fairy-tale retellings, and madcap science fiction who doesn't seem to be able to write a book without a body suddenly turning up. She solemnly swears that all such bodies are strictly fictional in nature. W.R. spends her time reading, drinking a truly ridiculous amount of tea, and slouching in front of the fire to write. Like Peter Pan, she never really grew up, and is still occasionally to be found climbing trees.

Don't get too close to humans.That's rule number one. Well, it is if you're an emotionally constipated fae lord. As far as I'm concerned, the vampire could do a better job of keeping his distance, but he's never been that good at following the rules.G'day. I'm Pet. Schrödinger's Pet, these days; depends who's asking.I'm human, but when you hang around with enough Behindkind, it starts getting dangerous for the other humans around you. Humans like my friend Morgana. I tried to stay away, but now she needs my help and don't get too close to humans isn't exactly gunna cut it anymore.I've got the feeling I'm about to find out why it's such a bad idea. W.R. Gingell is a Tasmanian author of urban fantasy, fairy-tale retellings, and madcap science fiction who doesn't seem to be able to write a book without a body suddenly turning up. She solemnly swears that all such bodies are strictly fictional in nature. W.R. spends her time reading, drinking a truly ridiculous amount of tea, and slouching in front of the fire to write. Like Peter Pan, she never really grew up, and is still occasionally to be found climbing trees.

G'day. I'm still here. Still Pet.Well, I'm only two thirds of a Pet these days, but you might as well call me Pet anyway. Everyone does: everyone but the vampire, that is.Life is more unbalanced these days-cases are cutting closer to home than usual. I thought I was the only one, but there are others like me: kids whose parents were murdered just like mine. Stuff that never fit into place before is beginning fall into place.And my psychos are getting really weird. I mean, they've always been weird, but now they're getting weirder.Why would a fae lord decide to collaborate with humans?Why has the fae steward started sneaking out at night?And why is the vampire reading romance novels? W.R. Gingell is a Tasmanian author of urban fantasy, fairy-tale retellings, and madcap science fiction who doesn't seem to be able to write a book without a body suddenly turning up. She solemnly swears that all such bodies are strictly fictional in nature. W.R. spends her time reading, drinking a truly ridiculous amount of tea, and slouching in front of the fire to write. Like Peter Pan, she never really grew up, and is still occasionally to be found climbing trees.

Life is complicated.I mean, life has always been complicated, but there's a difference between monsters-are-trying-to-kill-you complications and monsters-are-in-love-with-you complications. I'm still not sure which is more dangerous.G'day. I'm Pet. Two-thirds of a pet, anyway: the vampire isn't claiming ownership these days, but he's definitely encroaching. On the list of other encroaching complications is the threat of heirling trials, a certain fae lord, and a mysterious librarian-not to mention the thing that's killing people on Hobart's waterfront…One day, I'll have a normal life. Today is not that day. W.R. Gingell is a Tasmanian author of urban fantasy, fairy-tale retellings, and madcap science fiction who doesn't seem to be able to write a book without a body suddenly turning up. She solemnly swears that all such bodies are strictly fictional in nature. W.R. spends her time reading, drinking a truly ridiculous amount of tea, and slouching in front of the fire to write. Like Peter Pan, she never really grew up, and is still occasionally to be found climbing trees.

When someone tries to threaten me by telling me they know my name, I take that personally.G'day. I'm not really a pet anymore, but you might as well keep calling me Pet. It's not like I'm gunna tell you my name anyway. And if I sound stroppy, well, I am. First, I was threatened. Now, someone has cut off my house from the human world and left my emotional support vampire on the human side. On the inside, it's just me and an emotionally compromised fae; outside, a closed arena in the world Behind, where everyone is out to kill us and a few of that everyone might actually be capable of it.Yep. The Heirling Trials have begun, and it seems like it's either be king or be dead when it comes to the world Behind… W.R. Gingell is a Tasmanian author of urban fantasy, fairy-tale retellings, and madcap science fiction who doesn't seem to be able to write a book without a body suddenly turning up. She solemnly swears that all such bodies are strictly fictional in nature. W.R. spends her time reading, drinking a truly ridiculous amount of tea, and slouching in front of the fire to write. Like Peter Pan, she never really grew up, and is still occasionally to be found climbing trees.

G'day. I'm Pet. Heirling. Biter of fae lords. Trouble.I have a lot of names these days-including my own, real name. Unfortunately for me, someone else knows that name too; not to mention the names of my other heirling friends. Now those heirling friends have disappeared, stolen by the current King Behind for a fight to the death where only one contender to the throne remains.The rules say there's no way in and only one way out of that fight, but I've always preferred to work outside the rules. I just have to trust my friends to help each other stay alive long enough for me to get them out-without becoming a contender for the throne myself.Because one thing is for sure: I am absolutely not planning on being the next King Behind. W.R. Gingell is a Tasmanian author of urban fantasy, fairy-tale retellings, and madcap science fiction who doesn't seem to be able to write a book without a body suddenly turning up. She solemnly swears that all such bodies are strictly fictional in nature. W.R. spends her time reading, drinking a truly ridiculous amount of tea, and slouching in front of the fire to write. Like Peter Pan, she never really grew up, and is still occasionally to be found climbing trees.

What happened to the tie frog? What is the best way of disposing of vampiric watermelon? Exactly how do you get rid of goblins in the spare room?Friends and foes, Between and Behind-all the little pieces and curiosities that make up Pet's new world-are here to be seen and delighted in, and put on the shelf beside books 1-10.Featuring Cloudy with a Chance of Dropbears, All the Different Shades of Blue, and every other Short Thing formerly found on the WR(ite) Blog, along with previously unpublished novelettes and three new, never-before-seen short stories, this compilation completes the main City Between series. W.R. Gingell is a Tasmanian author of urban fantasy, fairy-tale retellings, and madcap science fiction who doesn't seem to be able to write a book without a body suddenly turning up. She solemnly swears that all such bodies are strictly fictional in nature. W.R. spends her time reading, drinking a truly ridiculous amount of tea, and slouching in front of the fire to write. Like Peter Pan, she never really grew up, and is still occasionally to be found climbing trees.