It’s another chapter of just three pages. Eugh. Eugh. Eugh.
Right, Anita is phoned by Karl Inger, who you might remember from the first chapter. I didn’t for a while, until I flicked back through the book to try and remember who he was. He’s the vampire hating, fanatic parter of Jeremy Ruebens. So, you know, he’s got a great sense of humour and all that. He’s got a great plan for killing the Master of the City and she ought to listen because his group saved her life last night.
I took a deep breath and let it out slow, away from the phone. Didn’t want him to think I was heavy breathing at him.
Why would he think that? Dear Lord Anita, what is with your constant obsession with sex and seeing things as being connected to sex? Is this normal? Is this how hetronormative women perceive the world around them – that people will think they’re getting off on a phone call about killing vampires? Do I just not get it because I’m asexual or is Anita freakishly obsessed with sexual matters?
Inger immediately suggests that he come over to her home because yeah, you really want a violent fundamentalist knowing your address! Anita says no due to the reason I just said and Inger calls her ‘suspicious’. Whatever dude. Inger then says he can’t meet her at Bert’s because his companion, Mr Oliver, just doesn’t feel like it. They arrange to meet at an isolated lake outside of town, where Inger will drive Anita to another location to meet Mr Oliver. Oh, right, and that’s not an extremely suspicious and dangerous situation. No, by all means, meet up with a man who might try and hurt you alone at an isolated situation. Only good things can possibly happen.
Because he was a right-wing fanatic. A zealot. I didn’t like doing business with zealots. And I certainly didn’t like owing my life to one.
so why for the love of cake are you going to meet with one on your own in an isolated location?
She then talks about how she’s been sooooo busy that she’s flat out forgotten to eat and she hates to eat in the car. She’s forgotten to eat anything over the course of the book, or even use the toilet, but I’ll let that slide in the face of the unbelievable statement that she just flat-out forgot to eat. Now, I’m forgotten my keys. I’ve forgotten birthdays. I’ve forgotten the dates of the Thirty Years War. But I have never forgotten to eat. Eating is just far too important to me.*
*Yes, I know you can forget to eat, but from my experience that only happens in extreme stress (which Anita really isn’t in) or when people have been in the midst of a terrible depression (which Anita really, really isn’t in). I can’t forget to eat; with my IBS I have to eat every four hours or I get agonising stomach cramps. So as a lover of food, it frustrates me when female characters just ‘forget’ to eat so easily.