by Rachel Green
Felicia looked down at her plate where a repast of sautéed potatoes, peas, carrots and meat awaited the attentions of her cutlery. On the recommendation of the family doctor she’d been advised to lay off the red meat, a task made difficult by her werewolf nature. Still, this was, according to Jasfoup, known in restaurant circles as "the other white meat," and although it came not from a bird but from a mammal, the dish itself was not unlike eating quail. Quail was, she found, something to focus on; if she told herself it was quail often enough she might even believe it. Quail. Not rat at all.
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Rachel Green, whose full catalog is here, is an English woman who spends far too much time writing about demons.