Dreadful Company

Fantastic(al) femme fatales

What does one do when one is kidnapped by vampires with atrocious fashion sense and an unhealthy fondness for body glitter, but does not have one’s medical supplies handy? Or when one is sent across the Pacific Ocean to confront flying soup ladles, a distressing lack of appropriate headgear and an inconveniently amorous werelioness? How on earth is one supposed to manage with neither accurate aerial charts nor adequate hellphone service? And most importantly of all: how is a writer to confront such ghastly events while also contending with questions of consent, sexuality and femininity?