Il Cavaliere delle Tazze [NOOK Book]


Alex is pretty sure that life sucks. He's broke, about to be out of a home, and all he has to show for his life is a mysterious tarot card that has no real value. But when an old tarot card expert tells Alex to keep the card in his sight, amazing things begin to happen. Transported to another world, where magic reigns, Alex meets an man who might just change his boring life. He's not sure if he can stay in his new lover's world, but just when all seems hopeless, Alex finds out that magic isn't dead, even in his ...
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Il Cavaliere delle Tazze

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Alex is pretty sure that life sucks. He's broke, about to be out of a home, and all he has to show for his life is a mysterious tarot card that has no real value. But when an old tarot card expert tells Alex to keep the card in his sight, amazing things begin to happen. Transported to another world, where magic reigns, Alex meets an man who might just change his boring life. He's not sure if he can stay in his new lover's world, but just when all seems hopeless, Alex finds out that magic isn't dead, even in his own world.
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Product Details

  • BN ID: 2940000110133
  • Publisher: Torquere Press
  • Publication date: 2/24/2007
  • Sold by: Barnes & Noble
  • Format: eBook
  • Sales rank: 1,364,007
  • File size: 156 KB

Read an Excerpt

Occupant. Occupant. Resident. Occupant. Final notice. Occupant.

Alex sank into his threadbare armchair and sorted through his mail with the flair of a card shark, flipping envelopes with uncanny precision into a wastepaper basket. Just as he was about to flick the envelope that was ominously marked "FINAL NOTICE" in stenciled, bright red letters into the trash along with the junk mail, the lights flickered. Wincing, he eyed the table lamp as though it were a traitor and grudgingly laid the envelope on the coffee table.

Wondering what he had left to hock that would generate enough cash to keep the electric company from shutting off his power, Alex's hazel eyes wandered around the room.

There wasn't much at all. The walls were bare except for a cheap print of Dali's Persistence of Memory, mounted in an equally inexpensive frame. His television set, an ancient Magnavox, was crowned with a pair of antique rabbit ears and boasted a tiny thirteen-inch screen with a fourteen inch crack zigzagging across its casing. Aside from that, the only furnishings in Alex's tiny studio apartment were his coffee table, armchair, lamp, chest of drawers, and tiny folding cot, all of which had been someone else's discards that Alex had lifted from curbside before the garbage trucks had come along. The table and bureau were dull, scuffed, and older than Alex himself. The lamp's cord was frayed and its pleated, orange-fringed shade was mildewed. In not much better condition, his cot and armchair were barely more than a collection of lethal springs covered with cheesy, cheap fabric. Everything else of value that Alex had owned had already been either sold orrepossessed.

Perhaps he could sell his blood, Alex thought. He still owned that, although the doctor to whom he owed several hundred dollars in unpaid medical bills from bout with pneumonia six months earlier might disagree.

It had been an incredibly hard year for Alexander. In fact, it had been three long, difficult years since, fresh-faced and with the imprint of his mortarboard still visible across his forehead, he had stepped off the bus straight from the middle of the cornfields of Iowa and onto the Great White Way of New York City. Or rather, onto one of the dingy, garbage-strewn side streets that intersected the Great White Way. Alex had not made it to Broadway yet. The closest he'd come was a short-lived job delivering singing telegrams.

Besides the telegram gig, his résumé included busboy, waiter, bartender, cashier, and a short but memorable stint mucking out horse stalls near Central Park. He'd held every job to be had in the City for a man without a college degree it seemed, except for the one Alex most wanted--actor.

Talent wasn't an issue, or so he'd thought. Alex had been the brightest star shining at St. Stanislaus' High back in Cedar Creek, Iowa. His slender angelic looks and clear tenor voice had won him lead roles and the accolades of the student body and faculty alike. Alex had practically expected agents to fall at his feet and beg him to sign with them the instant he disembarked from his Greyhound bus at the Port Authority Bus Terminal.

Instead, it had turned out to be the other way around.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted March 31, 2014

    Dauntless - Chapter 1 By //Invisably_Beautiful\\


    Pretty people do ugly things. It was one of those laws of nature that Phylum had understood for years. If she ever started to forget that rule for a second, there always seemed to be some good-looking ass<_>hole ready to remind her.

    She stumbled up the steps and pushed her way inside The Village School with five minutes to spare before her first class. Actually early. Of course, her hair was still wet from the shower and her homework wasn't done, but being there—actually physically inside the building before the bell rang—was a new experience. For twelve whole seconds after that, she thought she might have an all right day.

    Then she caught a glimpse of one of those things that absolutely defines the High School circle of He<_>ll.

    Down at the end of the rows of lockers, a tall, broad-shouldered guy was smiling, a very confident smile, wearing very popular-crowd clothes, and using a very big hand to pin a very much smaller girl up against the wall. There was an amused expression on Mr. Handsomes' face.

    Only the girl who was stuck between his hand and fifty years' worth of ugly green paint didn't look like she thought it was funny.

    Phylum had noticed the big boy in a couple of her classes but hadn't bothered to file away his name. Tad, she thought, or maybe it was Chip. She knew it was something like that.

    From the way girls in class talked, he was supposed to be cute. Phylum could sort of see it. Big brown eyes. Good skin. Six-five even without the air soles in his two-hundred-dollar sneakers. His lips were a little puffy, but then, some people liked that. It was the hair that really eliminated him from Phylums' list of guys worth looking at.

    He wore that stuff in his hair. The stuff that looked like a combination of motor oil and maple syrup. The stuff that made it look like he hadn't washed his hair this side of tenth grade. "What's the rush, Natalie?" The Chipster said. "I just want to know what he said to you."

    The girl, Natalie, shook her head. "He didn't.."

    Her big pal gave her a little love pat—enough to bounce her from the wall and back to his beefy hand.

    "Don't give me that," he said, still all smiles. "I saw you two together."

    Phylum did a quick survey of the hall. There was a trio of khaki-crowd girls fifty yards down and two eather dudes hanging near the front door. A skinny guy poked his head out of a classroom, saw who was doing the shoving, and rapidly ducked back in. Phylum had to give him some credit. At least he looked. Everybody else in the hallway was Not Noticing so hard, it hurt.

    Phylum really didn't need this. She didn't know the girl against the wall. Sure, the guy with big hands was a prime example of Jerkus Highschoolensis, but it was none of Phylums' business. She turned away and headed to her class, wondering if she might avoid a tardy slip for the first time in a week.

    "Just let me..," the girl begged from behind her.

    "In a minute, babe," replied the guy with the big hands. "I just need to talk to you a little." There was a thump and a short whimper from the girl.

    Phylum stopped. She really, really didn't need this. She took a deep breath, turned, and headed back toward the couple.

    {Chapter 1 continued in next result.}

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
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