The Last American Vampire
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Vampire Henry Sturges returns in the highly anticipated sequel to Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter-a sweeping, alternate history of twentieth-century America by New York Times bestselling author Seth Grahame-Smith.
THE LAST AMERICAN VAMPIRE
In Reconstruction-era America, vampire Henry Sturges is searching for renewed purpose in the wake of his friend Abraham Lincoln's shocking death. Henry's will be an expansive journey that first sends him to England for an unexpected encounter with Jack the Ripper, then to New York City for the birth of a new American century, the dawn of the electric era of Tesla and Edison, and the blazing disaster of the 1937 Hindenburg crash.
Along the way, Henry goes on the road in a Kerouac-influenced trip as Seth Grahame-Smith ingeniously weaves vampire history through Russia's October Revolution, the First and Second World Wars, and the JFK assassination.
Expansive in scope and serious in execution, THE LAST AMERICAN VAMPIRE is sure to appeal to the passionate readers who made Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter a runaway success.
scoundrels. Whoremongers and rapists. Men who worked children to death in sweltering factories. Dying drunks sleeping under the stars in Central Park. Extortionists who threatened to break the arms or burn the businesses of those who refused to pay protection money. Men like these existed in every corner of America, but nowhere were they so deliciously packed as in New York. And remember, lightbulbs were still a novelty. Forensic science and surveillance cameras were a lifetime away. It was a
Americans, always eager to slander the Soviets with their propaganda, could hardly stamp his passport fast enough. They even paid for his ticket. The Asset and his family settled in Texas, where he used the skills he’d been taught to blend in. He joined the Anti-Communist League (it was all he could do to keep his mouth shut in the meetings, as the bloated Americans called for witch hunts and demanded loyalty oaths and whipped themselves into an outright paranoid frenzy over the likelihood of
the cooler morgue, making the follicles on Henry’s head dance. Virginia’s body was blackened and still, skin giving way to charred muscle and sizzling yellow fat. Henry half expected her to lunge toward him, a half-melted monster, intent on grabbing him and pulling him into the flames with her. But nothing of the sort happened. She was dead. Henry threw the ax in with her. He watched its wooden handle start to blacken, then catch fire, burning away the worn grooves where Abe had placed his
Fredericksburg—the lowest point of the war, when Abraham Lincoln had every reason to believe that all was lost. It read: And so I renew myself to the cause, even if it proves a lost one. I pledge my heart and mind to these things because they are right, not because they are prosperous, or even likely to succeed. I echo the last sentiments of Nathan Hale, uttered from the gallows in 1776, “I only regret that I have but one life to give for my country.” Henry closed the journal and smiled. In
shooting out of it, like the experiments he’d shown Twain and me in his lab. But there was nothing like that—just that low vibration and a crackling sound as the raw meat began to smoke, cracking, popping. Cooking before our eyes. Henry and his fellow conspirators had never seen a microwave oven or a radar. They’d never watched television or even imagined such a thing possible. To them, the idea of energy being beamed, invisibly, across a room, was simply magic. Yet here it was, a piece of raw