Name: Rachel Lewis
Genre: Adult Fantasy
Word Count: 85,000
Pitch: 1858 London. High society adores its gentlemen werewolves, but someone is concealing recent werewolf attacks threatening the city, and only one person knows: the ineptest gentleman werewolf of them all, George Grizzler.
George Grizzler should have been fully transformed by now, yet it was on this count that Piper entered the Grizzler home.
And Piper was vexed.
It is true, Piper was impressed at the hulking shadow lying in the corner—one he would have mistaken for a bulky chest of drawers had not a candle been lit—for there lay the largest and most pungent werewolf he’d ever seen.
But what was such a mass of strength without vitality? Without ambition?
’Twas even less useful than an oversized bureau. Piper wanted to jab it with his cane, but that would not improve his tenuous reputation as a businessman. Instead he pretended to examine George, though it was unnecessary. All the odors were there—and intensely—except one. Nevertheless, Piper leaned toward George, nearing him enough to dip a finger in the blood collecting on the floor. He sniffed at it and wiped it on the werewolf’s fur. Then he turned to the scattering of molars and bicuspids, fingernails and toenails and swept them into his pocket.
One had to put on a good show, though the single candle Mr. Grizzler held did little to improve the drama. No matter.
Piper knew what ailed George. Not only was that particular scent missing, one had only to listen to the whimpers escaping his lips. Some sounded like the cries of an infant; others like the whines of dogs, which meant that though George Grizzler had very much taken on the werewolf corpus, he had not fully formed.
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