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.
Rachel Green, whose full catalog is here, is an English woman who spends far too much time writing about demons.