BooksBarbecue
Back For a Few Demons More
Chapters (48)
  1. Title Page
  2. Dedication
  3. Epigraph
  4. ONE
  5. TWO
  6. THREE
  7. FOUR
  8. FIVE
  9. SIX
  10. SEVEN
  11. EIGHT
  12. NINE
  13. TEN
  14. ELEVEN
  15. TWELVE
  16. THIRTEEN
  17. FOURTEEN
  18. FIFTEEN
  19. SIXTEEN
  20. SEVENTEEN
  21. EIGHTEEN
  22. NINETEEN
  23. TWENTY
  24. TWENTY-ONE
  25. TWENTY-TWO
  26. TWENTY-THREE
  27. TWENTY-FOUR
  28. TWENTY-FIVE
  29. TWENTY-SIX
  30. TWENTY-SEVEN
  31. TWENTY-EIGHT
  32. TWENTY-NINE
  33. THIRTY
  34. THIRTY-ONE
  35. THIRTY-TWO
  36. THIRTY-THREE
  37. THIRTY-FOUR
  38. THIRTY-FIVE
  39. THIRTY-SIX
  40. THIRTY-SEVEN
  41. THIRTY-EIGHT
  42. THIRTY-NINE
  43. The Undead Pool: An Excerpt
  44. Chapter 2
  45. About the Author
  46. Also by Kim Harrison
  47. Credits
  48. About the Publisher

Jenks’s wings drooped as he landed beside Mr. Fish, the sun shining through them to make sparkles on my hands. Feeling like an ass for my outburst, I put cold water in the pot and wiped it dry with a hand towel. “Sorry,” I said, knowing that this animal was my best long-term insurance to stay alive. How did I get here? Depressed, I pushed the coffeepot away, not feeling up to making coffee anymore. “Kisten must think I’m a boob for falling asleep,” I muttered.

“He knew you were tired.” His brow was creased, and he sounded almost bitter. “Don’t worry about him. Kisten probably has plans you don’t even know about.” Jenks lifted into the air and gave himself a shake to sift the last of the soot into the sink. “Besides, I’ve got some news that’s going to make you piss your pants.”

I didn’t want to hear whatever gossip he had dug up, and I held my upper arm and tried to remember where I had left my shoulder bag. I had to talk to Kisten. Damn it, this wasn’t fair. He was running away like an old cat to die in the woods. That was the terrifying part—that he accepted his murder willingly. Like he deserved to be treated like a thing.

“Listen to me,” Jenks said with a false eagerness as he got in front of me. “You’re not going to believe who called this morning.”

I felt funny, standing in my sun-drenched kitchen with Jenks hovering close—too close—while I tried to remember where I had left my bag. My hand had crept up to my neck, and I forced it down. I was getting the oddest feeling—like I should have a string around my finger or something. Confused, I focused on Jenks. “Kisten isn’t answering his phone. Where is he?”

“Tink’s titties, Rache!” he exclaimed, his wings clattering. “Get off it! Let the man be a man. Besides, if you call or go see him, they’ll find him that much sooner.”

I slumped against the sink, stymied. There was that. My car was well known, and I wasn’t about to take the bus and risk getting stranded somewhere. Giving up on finding my bag, I headed into the bathroom as a mildly pressing need grew worse. “Are you sure he’s okay?” I asked, rubbing my arm through Jenks’s shirt. That was the last time I was going to sleep in Ivy’s chair. It was harder than it looked.

“Trust me.” Jenks followed me in with a soft, almost subliminal hum. “Going to see him won’t help him at all. Make everything worse. Let it go, Rache.”