Library Journal

“Thomas Perry has created a fascinating heroine in Jane Whitefield, who is not only quick on her feet but savvy and compassionate.… The Face-Changers is a lot of fun, and if you ever want to escape the mundane for a while you couldn’t do better than have Jane Whitefield as your guide.”

Orlando Sentinel

“This fourth Jane Whitefield novel could serve as a textbook on how to construct an elaborate plot that, like a Swiss watch, never lets its complex underpinnings overshadow its elegant appearance.… Details count for all in Jane’s world, where everything and everyone is potentially threatening; her ability to instantaneously recognize danger in mundane events is what keeps her alive and what gives this series its special cachet—as if Sherlock Holmes had to do his thinking on the fly rather than sitting comfortably in front of a fire. Like Ridley Pearson’s thrillers, the Whitefield novels bring plotting and suspense to center stage without sacrificing character. That is no small achievement, the equivalent of a great architect also excelling at portraiture.”

Booklist (starred and boxed review)

“Layer upon layer of deception and intrigue … Smooth action writing and a remarkable mastery of escape techniques—one would hate to be a debt collector in search of the author.”

Publishers Weekly

By Thomas Perry:

















* Published by Ballantine Books

Copyright © 1998 by Thomas Perry

All rights reserved.

For Jo, Alix, and Isabel

If anyone dreamed he was a Falseface, it was only necessary to signify his dream to the proper person, and give a feast, to be at once initiated; and so any one dreaming that he had ceased to be a False face, had but to make known his dream and give a similar entertainment to effect his exodus. In no other way could a membership be acquired or surrendered. Upon all occasions on which the members appeared in character they wore False- faces … the masks being diversified in color, style and configuration, but all agreeing in their equally hideous appearance. The members were all males save one, who was a female and the Mistress of the Band. She was called Ga-go-sa Ho-nun-nas-tase-ta, or keeper of the Falsefaces; and not only had charge of the regalia of the band, but was the only organ of communication with the members, for their names continued unknown.

The prime motive in the establishment of this organization was to propitiate those demons called Falsefaces, and among other good results to arrest pestilence and disease.

Report on the Fabrics, Inventions, Implements and Utensils of the Iroquois, Made to the Regents of the University, January 22, 1851 by Lewis H. Morgan (reprinted in Elisabeth Tooker, Lewis H. Morgan on Iroquois Material Culture, 1994) 


Janet McAffee stepped out of the Baltimore Medical Center and winced as the icy air coming off the Inner Harbor lacerated her cheeks and forehead. Her eyes began to water as she lowered her head and searched for the taxi cab. At one time she would have called the sensation pain, but that was before she had learned what pain was. The chemical peel had only left her skin feeling tender and exposed, the way a sore tooth would feel if she drank iced tea.

The part of the makeover that had taken her by surprise was the liposuction. That had been the only part of the process that she had been secretly looking forward to, because it seemed like cheating away all the days she had convinced herself she was too busy to exercise and too hungry to turn down dessert. But the liposuction had cost her a week of hot, fiery misery before she had felt like moving again. Because they had sucked most of the fat from the places that a person rested on, stillness had not offered much relief. The doctors never told you that. Instead they drew lines on a photograph of your face to show you how clever the cut-and-stitch surgery was going to be. The mild discomfort from that was already half-forgotten and the scars were almost invisible.

She spotted the taxi cab parked beside the curb just outside the parking barrier, where the driver had stopped so he wouldn’t have to pull a ticket from the machine to come into the lot. She resolved to be more specific next time she ordered a cab. She squared her shoulders and prepared to step away from the shelter of the big medical building into the wind. She felt a hand touch her elbow and shrank from it, tightening her muscles to clamp her arm to her side.

Janet whirled. A tall, thin woman with long black hair was standing beside her, looking into her eyes. The woman seemed to note her startled reaction, but it seemed neither to surprise nor particularly worry her. She said quietly, “Go back into the building and wait for me just inside the door.”

“But that’s my cab. I was just on my way—”

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