Alexia Tarrabotti was half-Italian, soulless, and worse, a spinster. The unholy trinity of sin, apparently, when you're in the turn-of the 19-century Britain. Alexia is no run-on-the-mill heroine: aside from nearly irrepressible desire to chase down the truth, she packs a mean parasol. Yep. Parasol. Not umbrella, a highly pimped up parasol. There are big differences between - oh heck, just Wikipedia it.
The world where Alexia exists accepts the existence of supernaturals, namely the vampires and the werewolves. Some even become government officials. Humans who desire to be one of these supernaturals are warned, though; not all survive the turning. However, our heroine is an entirely different entity. She has no soul, as the book trumpeted at the cover. What does that have to do with anything?
Well, everything apparently. Her condition means that she nullifies the supernatural powers of these supernatural beings. And that is where her problem really begins. One night at a private ball, she accidentally kills a vampire - and with the wit of a proper Victorian lady, falls down and faints swoons.
From here readers are introduced to the first werewolves - Professor Lyall, a Beta, and Lord Maccon, a new Alpha. Not your normal werewolves, they're neither drop dead gorgeous (New Moon, anyone?) nor friendly. Just 'civilised'. After all, that's the most important virtue anyone, supernatural or human, must have to live in London.
I am thoroughly entertained by this book. Alexia and Lord Maccon provides most of the meaty conversations, with a very, very - how should I say this delicately - loud vampire and a friend whose hat-sense needs some serious reboot time running around in the background. They all are a winsome bunch, if I should say. And I am looking forward to the next story in 2010.
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