Chapters (42)
- Title Page
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-one
- Twenty-two
- Twenty-three
- Twenty-four
- Twenty-five
- Twenty-six
- Twenty-seven
- Twenty-eight
- Twenty-nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-one
- Thirty-two
- Thirty-three
- Thirty-four
- Thirty-five
- Thirty-six
- Acknowledgements
- Also by Kim Harrison
- Copyright
- About the Publisher
- Cover
I took a slow breath. Just do it, I thought, touching the blade to my finger.
“There is no almost when it comes to magic,” Al said, and adrenaline surged when his hand clamped down over the knife and pressed it against me. I jerked, my hand suddenly warm and slick as I pulled away. Pain was a pulse behind it.
“Damn it, Al!” I shouted, staring in horror at my bloody palm, then the knife in my other hand, slick and gleaming. My grip tightened on the handle. Frightened and angry, I looked at Al, but his hand was even worse. When I’d pulled away, I’d cut him deep. Most of the blood on me was his. I think.
“I thought your blood wasn’t an accurate focusing object anymore,” I said, and the demon met my gaze, having been eying his palm with interest as to which lines I’d cut across.
“It wasn’t—until you set it back to zero with that little stunt of yours,” he said, holding his hand over his end of the balanced stick. “All together now …”
My heart was pounding, and my hand shook as I set the knife down. Black magic. Just do it. Finish it. Shivering inside, I held my bleeding hand over the stick, and with a few rubs at my finger, the blood started to drip. Al squeezed his hand until a red rivulet started down the inside of his fist. Three drops to mirror mine hit the stick, and his bloodied hand opened.
He made a pleased sound, and the scent of burnt amber rose to mix with the scent of redwood and wood smoke. Almost done. “Finish it,” I said, then jerked when he leaned over the table and grabbed my wrist with his bloody, sticky fingers, yanking me half out of my chair. “What are you doing?” I demanded, scared.
“Relax,” Al said, smearing our blood together on the last candle. “Count yourself lucky I don’t want to share the twisting another way.”
He meant sex, and I tugged my hand from Al’s, only to find it recaptured and pressed against the candle again. “Try it and you’ll be walking funny for a week,” I said, glaring.
“One night, itchy witch, you’ll come to me,” was all he said. Still holding me halfway across the table with my arm outstretched, he smiled and whispered, “Evulago.”