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Chapters (43)
  1. The Outlaw Demon Wails
  2. Dedication
  3. One
  4. Two
  5. Three
  6. Four
  7. Five
  8. Six
  9. Seven
  10. Eight
  11. Nine
  12. Ten
  13. Eleven
  14. Twelve
  15. Thirteen
  16. Fourteen
  17. Fifteen
  18. Sixteen
  19. Seventeen
  20. Eighteen
  21. Nineteen
  22. Twenty
  23. Twenty-one
  24. Twenty-two
  25. Twenty-three
  26. Twenty-four
  27. Twenty-five
  28. Twenty-six
  29. Twenty-seven
  30. Twenty-eight
  31. Twenty-nine
  32. Thirty
  33. Thirty-one
  34. Thirty-two
  35. Thirty-three
  36. Thirty-four
  37. The Undead Pool: An Excerpt
  38. Chapter 2
  39. Acknowledgments
  40. About the Author
  41. Also by Kim Harrison
  42. Credits
  43. About the Publisher

We angled to my car, and after shoving the rest of the pie into my mouth, I dug my keys out and handed them to him. Marshal’s brow rose as he took in the zebra-striped key, but he said nothing. He courteously opened my door, and I slid in, watching him go around to the driver’s side. His pie was gone and his mouth was full when he got in with a pained grunt at the tight space, taking a moment to adjust everything to his considerable height. “Nice car,” he said when he was settled.

“Thanks. The FIB gave it to me. It belonged to an I.S. agent until Trent Kalamack killed him.”

Okay, maybe that was a little blunt, but it would help set the scene for the coming disaster tonight when we would get stuck in traffic and a demon would show up to cause a major incident on the expressway. I hated news vans with a passion.

Marshal hesitated, and the way he looked at the gearshift made me wonder if he knew how to drive it. “Ah, he didn’t die in the car, did he?”

“Nope. But I hit him with a sleepy-time charm once and locked him in the trunk.”

He laughed at that, the deep, comfortable sound making me feel warm inside. “Good,” he said as he put the car into first, jerking us only once as he got us moving. “Ghosts give me the creeps.”

Fifteen

The vibration of wheels on varnished wood rumbled up through me, the speed and feel both familiar and exhilarating. Music blared, and the novelty of people skating in costume made the echoing, dingy space seem brand-new. We’d been here for about an hour, going round and round until my mind was numb and my body pleasantly exhausted. Marshal had brushed my hand by accident twice now, and despite his claim that he wasn’t looking for anything but casual companionship, my mom’s words made me wonder if he was testing the waters.

Together we made the next turn with a comfortable foot-over-foot motion to throw us into a faster pace, and when Marshal’s hand bumped into mine again, he took it. I said nothing, but at the slight stiffening in my stance, he let go to pretend to fix the hem of his shirt. Immediately I felt bad, but it really wasn’t a date, and I didn’t want it to slip into one.