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Contents ( 114)
  1. THE HOLLOW SERIES BOOKS 1–4
  2. Contents
  3. Dedication
  4. Contents
  5. One
  6. Two
  7. Three
  8. Four
  9. Five
  10. Six
  11. Seven
  12. Eight
  13. Nine
  14. Ten
  15. Eleven
  16. Twelve
  17. Thirteen
  18. Fourteen
  19. Fifteen
  20. Sixteen
  21. Seventeen
  22. Eighteen
  23. Nineteen
  24. Twenty
  25. Twenty-One
  26. Twenty-Two
  27. Twenty-Three
  28. Twenty-Four
  29. Twenty-Five
  30. Twenty-Six
  31. Twenty-Seven
  32. Twenty-Eight
  33. Twenty-Nine
  34. Thirty
  35. Thirty-One
  36. Thirty-Two
  37. Thirty-Three
  38. Thirty-Four
  39. Acknowledgements
  40. THE GOOD, THE BAD,
  41. AND THE UNDEAD
  42. Dedication
  43. Contents
  44. One
  45. Two
  46. Three
  47. Four
  48. Five
  49. Six
  50. Seven
  51. Eight
  52. Nine
  53. Ten
  54. Eleven
  55. Twelve
  56. Thirteen
  57. Fourteen
  58. Fifteen
  59. Sixteen
  60. Seventeen
  61. Eighteen
  62. Nineteen
  63. Twenty
  64. Twenty-One
  65. Twenty-Two
  66. Twenty-Three
  67. Twenty-Four
  68. Twenty-Five
  69. Twenty-Six
  70. Twenty-Seven
  71. Twenty-Eight
  72. Twenty-Nine
  73. Acknowledgements
  74. Dedication
  75. Contents
  76. One
  77. Two
  78. Three
  79. Four
  80. Five
  81. Six
  82. Seven
  83. Eight
  84. Nine
  85. Ten
  86. Eleven
  87. Twelve
  88. Thirteen
  89. Fourteen
  90. Fifteen
  91. Sixteen
  92. Seventeen
  93. Eighteen
  94. Nineteen
  95. Twenty
  96. Twenty-One
  97. Twenty-Two
  98. Twenty-Three
  99. Twenty-Four
  100. Twenty-Five
  101. Twenty-Six
  102. Twenty-Seven
  103. Twenty-Eight
  104. Twenty-Nine
  105. Thirty
  106. Thirty-One
  107. Thirty-Two
  108. Thirty-Three
  109. Acknowledgements
  110. A FISTFUL OF CHARMS
  111. Also by the Author
  112. About the Author
  113. Copyright
  114. About the Publisher

I settled back on the stool, and the bartender handed me my license along with a dead man’s float and a spoon: a dollop of ice cream in a short glass of Bailey’s. Yum. Tucking the card away, I gave him a saucy wink. I left the glass where it was, turning as if scoping out the patrons that had just come in. My pulse increased and my fingertips tingled. Time to go to work.

A quick look around to make sure no one was watching, and I tipped my glass. I gasped as it spilled, and my distress wasn’t entirely faked as I lurched to catch it, trying to save at least the ice cream.

The kick of adrenaline shook me as the woman bartender met my apologetic smile with her patronizing one. The jolt was worth more to me than the check I found shoved into my desk every week. But I knew the feeling would wane as fast as it had come. My talents were being wasted. I didn’t even need a spell for this one.

If this was all the I.S. would give me, I thought, maybe I should blow off the steady pay and go out on my own. Not many left the I.S., but there was precedence. Leon Bairn was a living legend before he went independent—then promptly got wasted by a misaligned spell. Rumor had it the I.S. had been the one to put the price on his head for breaking his thirty-year contract. But that was over a decade ago. Runners went missing all the time, taken out by prey more clever or luckier than them. Blaming it on the I.S.’s own assassin corps was just spiteful. No one left the I.S. because the money was good and the hours were easy, that’s all.

Yeah, I thought, ignoring the whisper of warning that took me. Leon Bairn’s death was exaggerated. Nothing was ever proven. And the only reason I still had a job was because they couldn’t legally fire me. Maybe I should go out on my own. It couldn’t be any worse than what I was doing now. They would be glad to see me leave. Sure, I thought, smiling. Rachel Morgan, private runner for hire. All rights earnestly upheld. All wrongs sincerely avenged.

I knew my smile was misty as the woman obligingly swiped her towel between my elbows to mop up the spill. My breath came in a quick sound. Left hand dropping, I snatched the cloth, tangling her in it. My right swung back, then forward with my cuffs, clicking them about her wrists. In an instant it was done. She blinked, shocked. Damn, I’m good.

The woman’s eyes widened as she realized what had happened. “Blazes and condemnation!” she cried, sounding elegant with her Irish accent. Hers wasn’t faked. “What the ’ell do you think you’re doin’?”

The jolt flared to ash, and a sigh slipped from me as I eyed the lone scoop of ice cream that was left of my drink. “Inderland Security,” I said, slapping my I.S. identification down. The rush was gone already. “You stand accused of fabricating a rainbow for the purpose of misrepresenting the income generated from said rainbow, failure to file the appropriate requisition forms for said rainbow, failure to notify Rainbow Authority of said rainbow’s end—”