Chapters (41)
- THEGOOD,THEBAD,AND THEUNDEAD
- 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
- An excerpt from the latest Rachel Morgan novel, The Undead Pool, on sale on February 25, 2014!
- Chapter 2
- E-book Extra
- E-book Extra
- E-book Extra
- E-book Extra
- Acknowledgments
- About the Author
- Also by Kim Harrison
- About the Publisher
Glenn left the crime scene van with its radio and headed in our direction. Jenks was with him, and the pixy circled him three times before zipping ahead. “Give me the key,” Jenks said as he came to a pixy-dust-laced halt between Edden and me. “I’ll take it up.”
Glenn looked at the pixy in bother as he joined us. “You’re not FIB. Key, please.”
An unheard sigh lifted through Edden. I could tell he wanted to see what was in that room and was making a conscious effort to let his son handle it. By rights, he had no business being out here. I imagine accusing a city council member of murder gave him more justification than he might have otherwise.
Jenks’s wings clattered harshly as Captain Edden handed the key to Glenn. I could smell Glenn’s sweat over his cologne, his eagerness. A cluster of people had joined the dog and her handler about the door, and gripping my bag tightly, I started to the stairs right along with him.
“Rachel,” Glenn said, coming to a stop and catching my elbow. “You’re staying here.”
“I am not!” I exclaimed, jerking out of his grip. I glanced at Captain Edden for support, and the squat man shrugged, looking put out that he hadn’t been invited, either.
Glenn’s face hardened as he saw the direction of my gaze. Letting go of me, he said, “Stay here. I want you to watch Kalamack. Read his emotions for me.”
“That’s a load of crap,” I said, thinking, crap or not, it was probably a good idea. “Your d—” I bit my tongue. “Your captain can do that,” I amended.
Bother pinched his brow. “All right. It’s crap. But you’re going to stay here. If we find Dr. Anders, I want this crime scene tighter than—”
“A straight man’s butt cheeks in prison?” Jenks offered, his tiny shape starting to glow.
He landed on my shoulder, and I let him stay. “Come on, Glenn,” I wheedled. “I won’t touch anything. And you’ll need me to tell you if there are any lethal spells.”
“Jenks can do that,” he said. “And he doesn’t have to step on the floor to do it.”
Frustrated, I cocked my hip and fumed. I could tell that under his official veneer, Glenn was worried and excited all at the same time. He had only made detective recently, and I imagined this was the biggest case he’d worked. Cops spent their entire professional lives on the job and were never assigned a case with this many potential political ramifications. All the more reason I should be there. “But I’m your Inderland consultant,” I said, grasping at straws.