Chapters (42)
- EVERY
- Dedication
- Epigraph
- 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
- The Undead Pool: An Excerpt
- Chapter 2
- About the Author
- Praise for KIM HARRISON’s previous Rachel Morgan novels DEAD WITCH WALKING and THE GOOD, THE BAD, AND THE UNDEAD
- Also by Kim Harrison
- About the publisher
Twenty-three
“Damn!” I swore, backpedaling. The sanctuary. If I could reach holy ground, he couldn’t touch me. I shrieked as a heavy hand fell on my shoulder. Spinning, I clawed at his face. It went misty, and I lurched when his grip vanished. In an instant he had my ankle and jerked me off my feet. “Let go!” I shouted when I hit the floor, my voice harsh as I kicked him.
He spun me sliding into the fridge. His long face took on a sun-starved complexion and his red goat eyes turned eager over his smoked glasses. I scrambled up, and he lunged, grabbing me with his white-gloved hand and giving me a shake to rattle my teeth. He shoved me, and I landed against the center island counter like a rag doll. Turning, I put my back against it, wide-eyed and heart beating fast. I was so stupid. I was so stupid!
“If you run again, I’ll call you in breach of our agreement,” he said calmly. “That’s your warning. Please run. It will make everything so-o-o-o much simpler.”
Shaking, I held onto the counter for balance. “Go away,” I said. “I didn’t summon you.”
“It’s not that simple anymore,” he said. “It took me a day in the library, but I found precedence.” His precise accent became even more officious, and he put the back of his knuckles to his velvet green frock and quoted, “‘If said familiar is stationed at a beta site by way of loan or similar event, the master may seek the familiar out to perform duties.’You opened the door by tapping a line,” he added. “And since I have a task for you, I’m here until you finish it.”
I felt sick. “What do you want?” There was a spell pot on my counter full of an amber liquid smelling of geranium. I hadn’t counted on him bringing his work to me.
“What do you want—master,” Al prompted, smiling to show me his thick, blocky teeth.
I tucked my hair behind my ear. “I want you to get the hell out of my kitchen.”
His smile never flickered as, with a powerful motion, he backhanded me. I stifled a gasp, lurching for balance. Adrenaline surged as he gripped my shoulder, keeping me upright.
“Funny, funny girl,” he murmured, his British elegance chilling me and his beautiful chiseled looks turning harsh. “Say it.”
The sharp taste of blood edged my tongue. My back pressed into the counter painfully. “What do you want, oh gracious master from my ass.”
I didn’t have time to duck as the flat of his hand swung. Pain shocked through my cheek, and I hit the floor. Al’s silver-buckled boots edged my vision. He was wearing white stockings, and there was lace where they met the bottom of his trousers.