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P.C. Casr: Chosen

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P.C. Casr Chosen

Chosen: краткое содержание, описание и аннотация

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"I guess it had gone okay with Stevie Rae. I mean, she had agreed to meet me tomorrow. And she hadn't tried to bite me, which was a plus. Of course, the whole trying-to-eat-the-street-person thing was highly disturbing..." Zoey's best friend, Stevie Rae, is undead — in an eww! zombie! kind-of-way, not in a cool vampire kind-of-way. She's struggling to retain her humanity and Zoey doesn't have a clue how to help. But she does know that anything they discover must be kept secret. Trust has become a rare commodity. Sinister forces are at work at the House of Night, where the line between friend and enemy is becoming dangerously blurred. Not suitable for younger readers.

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Unfortunately, I knew there was more to the story than what everyone else believed. Aphrodite had used her visions, which had clearly not been taken away from her, to save my grandma as well as Heath, my human boyfriend. Sure, she'd been bitchy and selfish during the saving, but still. Heath and Grandma were alive, and a good part of the credit for that goes to Aphrodite.

Plus, recently I'd found out that Neferet, our High Priestess— my mentor, the vamp most looked up to at the school—was also not what she appeared to be. Actually, I was coming to believe that Neferet was probably as evil as she was powerful.

Darkness does not always equate to evil, just as light does not always bring good. The words that Nyx had said to me the day I was Marked flitted through my mind, summarizing the problem with Neferet. She wasn't what she appeared to be.

And I couldn't tell anyone—or at least not anyone who was alive (which left me with my undead best friend who I hadn't managed to talk to during the entire past month). Thankfully, I also hadn't talked to Neferet for the past month. She'd left for a winter retreat in Europe and wasn't scheduled to be back until the New Year. I figured I'd come up with a plan about how to deal with her when she returned. So far my plan consisted of just that: coming up with a plan. Which was no plan at all. Crap.

"Hey, what's in the package?" Jack said, pulling me out of my mental nightmare back to my birthmas party nightmare.

We all looked at the brown paper package I was still holding.

"I dunno," I said.

"I'll bet it's another birthday present!" Jack cried. "Open it!"

"Oh, boy…" I said. But when my friends gave me confused looks I got real busy unwrapping the box. Inside the generic brown wrapper was another box, this one wrapped in beautiful lavender paper.

"It is another birthday present!" Jack squealed.

"Wonder who it's from?" Damien asked.

I was just wondering the same thing, and thinking that the paper reminded me of my grandma, who lived on an awesome lavender farm. But why would she send my present through the mail when I was meeting her later tonight?

I uncovered a smooth, white box, which I opened. Inside was another, much smaller white box fitted snuggly inside a bunch of lavender tissue paper. Curiosity completely killing me, I lifted the little box from its lavender tissue nest. Several pieces of the paper clung all static-electricified to the bottom of the newly freed box, and I brushed them off before opening it. As they floated to the table I peeked inside the box and sucked in a shocked breath. Lying on a bed of white cotton was the most beautiful sliver bracelet I'd ever seen. I picked it up, oohing and ahing at the twinkling charms. There were starfish and seashells and seahorses, and each of them was separated by adorable little silver hearts.

"It's absolutely perfect!" I said, fastening it to my wrist. "I wonder who could have sent it to me?" Laughing, I turned my wrist this way and that, letting the gaslights that were so easy on our sensitive fledgling eyes catch the polished silver and make it glisten like faceted jewels. "It must be my grandma, but that's weird because we're meeting in just…," and I realized everyone was totally, absolutely, uncomfortably silent.

I looked from my wrist to my friends. Their expressions ranged from shock (Damien) to annoyance (the Twins) to anger (Erik).

"What?"

"Here," Erik said, handing me a card that must have slipped out of the box with the clinging tissue paper.

"Oh," I said, instantly recognizing the scrawling handwriting. Oh, hell! It was from Heath. Better known as boyfriend no. 2. As I read the short note I felt my face getting hot and knew I was turning a totally unattractive shade of bright red.

ZoHAPPY BIRTHDAY!! I know how much you hate those lame birthmas presents that try to mush your b-day with Christmas, so I sent you something I know you'll like. Hey! It doesn't have anything

to do with Christmas! Duh! I'm hating the stupid Cayman Islands and this boring vacation with my parents and I'm counting the days till I can be with you again. See you on the 26th! I heart you! Heath

"Oh," I repeated like a total moron. "It's, uh, from Heath." I wished I could make myself disappear.

"Please. Just please. Why didn't you tell anyone that you don't like birthday presents that have anything to do with Christmas?" Shaunee asked in her usual no-nonsense way.

"Yeah, all you had to do was say something," Erin said.

"Uh," I said succinctly.

"We thought the snowman theme was a cute idea, but it's not if you hate Christmas stuff," Damien said.

"I don't hate Christmas stuff," I managed to say.

"I like snow globes," Jack said softly, looking like he was about to cry. "The snowy part makes me happy."

"Looks like Heath knows more about what you like than we do." Erik's voice was flat and emotionless, but his eyes were dark with hurt, which made my stomach clench.

"No, Erik, it's not like that," I said quickly, taking a step toward him.

He moved back like I had some kind of awful disease he might catch, and suddenly it really pissed me off. It wasn't my fault that Heath had known me since I was in third grade and had figured out the mushed birthmas present issue years ago. Okay, yes, he knew stuff about me that the rest of them didn't. There was nothing weird about that! The kid had been in my life for seven years. Erik and Damien, the Twins and Jack had been in my life for two months—or less. How was that my fault?

Purposefully, I made a show of looking at my watch. "I'm supposed to meet my grandma at Starbucks in fifteen minutes. I better not be late." I walked over to the door, but paused before I left the room. I turned around and looked at my group of friends. "I didn't mean to hurt anyone's feelings. I'm sorry if Heath's note made you guys feel bad—but that's not my fault. And I did tell someone that I don't like it when people try to mush my birthday together with Christmas—I told Stevie Rae."

CHAPTER 3

The Starbucks at Utica Square, the cool outdoors shopping center that was right down the street from the House of Night, was a lot busier than I'd thought it would be. I mean, sure, it was an unusually warm winter night, but it was also December 24, and almost nine o'clock. You'd think people would be home getting ready for visions of sugarplums and whatnot, and not out looking for a caffeine buzz.

No, I told myself sternly, I am not going to be in a bad mood for Grandma. I hardly ever get to see her, and I'm not going to spoil the little time we have together. Plus, Grandma was totally hip to the fact that birthmas presents were lame. She always got me something as unique and wonderful as she is.

"Zoey! I'm over here!"

At the far edge of the Starbucks sidewalk area I could see Grandma's arms waving at me. This time I didn't have to plant a fake smile on my face. The rush of happiness seeing her always brought me was authentic and had me dodging through the crowd as I hurried to her.

"Oh, Zoeybird! I've missed you so, U-we-tsi-a-ge-ya!" The Cherokee word for daughter wrapped around me, along with my grandma's warm, familiar arms that held the sweet, soothing scent of lavender and home. I clung to her, absorbing love and security and acceptance.

"I've missed you, too, Grandma."

She squeezed me one more time and then held me back at arm's length. "Let me look at you. Yes, I can tell that you're seventeen. You look so much more mature, and I think a little taller than you did when you were merely sixteen."

I grinned. "Oh, Grandma, you know I don't look any different."

"Of course you do. Years always add beauty and strength to a certain type of woman—and you're that type."

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