By Kathy Reichs
# 1 overseas bestselling writer Kathy Reichs returns to Charlotte, North Carolina together with her 11th riveting novel during which America's favourite forensic anthropologist, Temperance Brennan, encounters voodoo, Santeria, Satanism, and a Wiccan in her quest to spot younger victims.
In a home below protection, a plumber uncovers a cellar nobody knew approximately, and makes a slightly grisly discovery—a decapitated bird, animal bones, and cauldrons containing beads, feathers, and different relics of spiritual ceremonies. within the middle of the shrine, there's the cranium of a teenage lady. in the meantime, on a close-by lakeshore, the headless physique of a teenage boy is located by way of a guy strolling his puppy.
Nothing is clear—neither while the deaths happened, nor the place. used to be the cranium delivered to the cellar or used to be the woman murdered there? Why is the boy's physique remarkably good preserved? Led by way of a preacher grew to become flesh presser, citizen vigilantes blame satan worshippers and Wiccans. they start a witch-hunt, reason on looking revenge.
Forensic anthropologist Temperance Brennan—"five-five, feisty, and forty-plus"—is referred to as in to enquire, and a posh and gripping story unfolds during this, Kathy Reichs's 11th taut, regularly fantastic, scientifically interesting secret.
With a well-liked sequence on Fox, Kathy Reichs has demonstrated herself because the dominant expertise in forensic secret writing. satan Bones positive factors Reichs's signature mix of forensic descriptions that "chill to the bone" (Entertainment Weekly) and the impressive plot twists that experience made her books extraordinary bestsellers within the usa and around the globe.
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Additional info for Devil Bones (Temperance Brennan, Book 11)
The maid opened the attic window and had a lengthy exchange with a man down below, in the road. He had come for the doctor; he had a letter. Shivering, Nastasie climbed down the stairs and ﬁrst undid the lock, then drew the bolts. Leaving his horse, the man quickly followed the maid and came into the room behind her. He wore a woollen cap with grey pompoms, and from inside it he took a letter wrapped in a piece of rag; this he handed gingerly to Charles, who propped himself up on the pillow to read it.
She was forever consulting lawyers, or the magistrate, remembering when an account was due and negotiating an extension; at home she ironed, sewed, laundered, kept an eye on the workmen and paid their wages, while Monsieur never worried his head about a thing, engulfed in a surly drowsiness from which he roused himself only to mutter some nasty remark, as he sat all day long by the ﬁre, smoking and spitting into the ashes. When she had a child, he had to be sent out to a wet-nurse. Once home again with his parents, the lad was pampered like a prince.
All of a sudden he heard something hit the wall; the shutter had been folded back, the latch was still vibrating. Next morning he was at the farm by nine. Emma blushed when he came in, although she tried to cover her embarrassment with a little laugh. Père Rouault embraced his future son-in-law. They put oﬀ any discussion of money matters, there was plenty of time for that, since the marriage could not decently take place before the end of Charles’s mourning, that is to say, not until the following spring.