Chapters (39)
- Dedication
- Acknowledgments
- Contents
- Chapter One
- Chapter Two
- Chapter Three
- Chapter Four
- Chapter Five
- Chapter Six
- Chapter Seven
- Chapter Eight
- Chapter Nine
- Chapter Ten
- Chapter Eleven
- Chapter Twelve
- Chapter Thirteen
- Chapter Fourteen
- Chapter Fifteen
- Chapter Sixteen
- Chapter Seventeen
- Chapter Eighteen
- Chapter Nineteen
- Chapter Twenty
- Chapter Twenty-One
- Chapter Twenty-Two
- Chapter Twenty-Three
- Chapter Twenty-Four
- Chapter Twenty-Five
- Chapter Twenty-Six
- Chapter Twenty-Seven
- Chapter Twenty-Eight
- Chapter Twenty-Nine
- Chapter Thirty
- Chapter Thirty-One
- About the Author
- Also by Kim Harrison
- Credits
- Copyright
- About the Publisher
He smiled from under the brim of his hat. It was the smile that had saved the world, and it was ending mine. “It was supposed to.” Cormel stepped into the hall, then paused. “I know you’re occupied with repairing the lines, so I’m willing to wait, but Rachel, I will not end up like Ohem.” His expression darkened, his pupils going wide and his eyes black. “I will not be a shell of myself, pitied and grasping for the sun when I know my soul is lost to hell. If Ivy leaves Cincinnati again, I will kill her myself. Tell her that for me.”
Cold, I wrapped my arms around myself.
“I want my soul back. Find it.”
Between one breath and the next, he was gone, the door squeaking shut the only sound marking his passage. Shaking, I sat down in Ivy’s chair.
If Ivy leaves Cincinnati again, I will kill her myself, he had said.
Don’t think so.
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty
Junior’s was frighteningly busy, the clientele mostly human at the early hour, stumbling about in search of their first cup of coffee. Either humans appreciated their coffee more than the average Inderlander, or Mark’s marketing gamble of claiming to serve coffee that demons crossed the lines for was paying off. I couldn’t help but notice that the floor had been repainted with circles and spirals, and I wondered if the lock access to the back door had been changed as well. The talk was loud, and the music cranked decibels higher than normal made my head hurt. I truly sympathized with the rare Inderlander accused of eating humans. They were annoying and obnoxious when they thought no one was listening.
My mood couldn’t be entirely blamed on the noise and early hour—seeing as I’d not gotten to sleep until Ivy had come home, and then gotten up at an insane seven in the morning to get here by 7:35 exactly. But if my mood was bad, Ivy had me beat, glowering in the corner of the darkest booth we had been able to snag. The three beatniks bemoaning the unfairness of life and the publishing industry had been taking up the spot when we’d arrived, but after Ivy stood over their table with her grande and bad attitude, they’d packed up their double-spaced pages and red pencils and moved to a sunnier table.