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Back Black Magic Sanction Save as PDF
Chapters (42)
  1. Title Page
  2. One
  3. Two
  4. Three
  5. Four
  6. Five
  7. Six
  8. Seven
  9. Eight
  10. Nine
  11. Ten
  12. Eleven
  13. Twelve
  14. Thirteen
  15. Fourteen
  16. Fifteen
  17. Sixteen
  18. Seventeen
  19. Eighteen
  20. Nineteen
  21. Twenty
  22. Twenty-one
  23. Twenty-two
  24. Twenty-three
  25. Twenty-four
  26. Twenty-five
  27. Twenty-six
  28. Twenty-seven
  29. Twenty-eight
  30. Twenty-nine
  31. Thirty
  32. Thirty-one
  33. Thirty-two
  34. Thirty-three
  35. Thirty-four
  36. Thirty-five
  37. Thirty-six
  38. Acknowledgements
  39. Also by Kim Harrison
  40. Copyright
  41. About the Publisher
  42. Cover

My face went cold, and I looked at Ivy. “Matalina,” I said breathlessly, and Ivy’s face paled. I hadn’t seen her since their last stand.

Shit.

Twenty-one

Twenty-one

I’ll check the church,” Ivy said, then took the steps two at a time. She was gone even before the door slammed shut. The fairies watched in satisfaction as the entire feeling in the garden turned to fear. But it wasn’t until I saw Rex that my panic almost swallowed me.

The small orange cat was oblivious to the darting shapes, her ears pricked and her movements sure as she paced across the mown grass, let out when Ivy went in. With a little jump, she gained the small stone wall that separated the garden from the graveyard. Focus intent, she vanished into the taller grass.

“Pierce?” I said, glancing from where she’d disappeared. “Watch the fairies, will you?”

Nodding, he stood, face sad and head bowed.

I followed Rex through the wet grass, moving as if in a dream. My tension eased when we passed the ring of burnt ground, and I felt even better when I found Rex sitting at the edge of a small, familiar plot, her tail curled around her feet as she sat in the sun and cleaned a paw.

I knew this grave. The pixies frequently played around it despite—or maybe because—the site being snarled with the thorns of a rose gone wild. The marker itself was decorated with the statue of a childlike angel not much bigger than Rex, the chubby features somehow not destroyed by time. It was a child’s grave, and innocence seemed to linger yet.

Creeping forward, I exhaled in relief when I heard Jenks. Until I realized he was singing. Tears filled my eyes and I swallowed a lump when from behind the tombstone came a mournful, stop-and-go duet with heartrending gaps. Only one voice was raised.

Dreading what I might find, I moved forward until I could see the base of the tombstone. Jenks was on the ground, his wings still and drooping as he held Matalina, cradling her, keeping her from touching the earth. Ringing them in the pressed grass were four dead fairies, their wings tattered but unburnt. Jenks’s sword was in the nearest, the fairy still holding the blade as it punctured his middle. Arrows littered the ground, and the scent of broken green was strong.

He looked up at me, his voice cracking and his wings lifting slightly. Moisture shined his cheeks, turning to dust as it dried. “Rachel is here, Mattie,” he said, turning back to her, and hope jumped. She was alive?