By Frank Portman
From Frank Portman, writer of the cult vintage King Dork that John eco-friendly says "will rock your world", comes a unique approximately Andromeda Klein, who has a couple of difficulties of her own.
Her hair is more or less horrible.
Her partner-in-occultism, Daisy, is dead.
Her mystery, estranged, a lot older and forbidden boyfriend-in-theory, has long past AWOL.
And her mom has discovered the best way to text.
briefly, issues could not get a lot worse. until eventually they do. Daisy appears trying to make touch from past, books are commencing to disappear from the library, after which, unusually and without warning, Andromeda's tarot readings are starting to are expecting occasions with bizarrely literal accuracy.
Omens are in all places. goals; swords; fires; hidden playing cards; misplaced, damaged, and lifeless mobile phones . . . and what's Daisy attempting to inform her?
within the resulting fight of impartial as opposed to evil, it is Andromeda Klein opposed to the area, sleek society, demonic forces, and the "friends" of the library.
From the Hardcover edition.
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Additional info for Andromeda Klein
She even fake-believed the dubious notion that such people might be destined to have the last laugh in the end. ” on occasion, as a kind of casual invocation. In high-spirited moments, she and Twice Holy Daisy Wasserstrom used to giggle-shriek it, confusing the masses and emphasizing the exclusivity of their Society of Two. ’s finicky writing and innovations on the customary design of the “small cards,” the minor arcana. ) Mr. v. ” There hadn’t been time to do a full spread, so she had quickly counted off cards in the girls’ bathroom just before leaving school, saving the first nine for later and noting the tenth: the Two of Swords, reversed.
Whatever it had once been, it was now the most underutilized branch of the system. Most people went to Central, which was bigger, better located, and allegedly nicer, though Andromeda preferred the shabby, crumbling stillness of the International House of Bookcakes. The recently remodeled and modernized Central Library looked like a place in a futuristic movie where people take their kids to get their brains replaced so they can be controlled by robots. She stared at the clock and thought about swords and blindfolds and boxes and robots in order to avoid glancing at any shiny surfaces: she didn’t even want to see what she looked like after that ride.
Wild was right. She had been wild, panic-stricken, as action-populated as she had ever been. There had been no response. That was when everything had finally begun to go wrong, as it had been intending to from the beginning. Then Daisy had died and the final spark had gone out of Andromeda’s life. As always, something prevented her from deleting the message. She stared at it, dwelling on the pain. Or maybe, to be honest, the name for this version of the “hi there” distress wasn’t really hurt, since at this late stage it was different from the frantic, desperate madness it had once evoked.
Andromeda Klein by Frank Portman