Magic mourns, p.1
Magic Mourns, page 1
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Magic Mourns
Teaser chapter
PRAISE FOR THE KATE DANIELS NOVELS
MAGIC BLEEDS
“At times I felt like I needed to take a break from the book due to [its] just being too engrossing, too brilliant for my little heart, like when you gorge yourself on Belgian chocolate. Magic Bleeds is the best yet of this series!”
—Night Owl Reviews
“Ilona Andrews is one of the few authors whose books just keep getting better . . . It’s books like Magic Bleeds that make television and movies seem like an inferior form of entertainment.”
—Romance Reviews Today
“I have read and reread this book, and it’s perfect. The action, the romance, the plot and suspense . . . I cannot wait for the fifth in the series.”
—Smexy Books
“Having an already-exceptional series exceed your expectations is a rare and wonderful thing, but Andrews unquestionably pulls it off with this astonishing read . . . Balancing petrifying danger with biting humor is an Andrews specialty, leaving readers both grinning and gasping. Put this on your auto-buy list immediately!”
—Romantic Times
“These books are here to stay. They only get better. I don’t ever want them to end.”
—Lurv a la Mode
“The world-building is, in a word, fantastic . . . The story is a fast-paced and exciting read.”
—Mrs Giggles
“Delivers on the promise of ‘One hell of a good read.’ You will not be disappointed!”
—ParaNormal Romance.org
MAGIC STRIKES
“Andrews’s crisp dialogue and layered characterization make the gut-wrenching action of this first-person thrill ride all the more intense . . . mesmerizing.”
—Romantic Times (4½ stars)
“Andrews blends action-packed fantasy with myth and legend, keeping readers enthralled. Magic Strikes introduces fascinating characters, provides a plethora of paranormal skirmishes, and teases fans with romantic chemistry.”
—Darque Reviews
“Ilona Andrews’s best novel to date, cranking up the action, danger, and magic . . . Gritty, sword-clashing action and flawless characterizations will bewitch fans, old and new alike.”
—Sacramento Book Review
“Doses of humor serve to lighten the suspense and taut action of this vividly drawn, kick-butt series.”
—Monsters and Critics
“From the first page to the last, Magic Strikes was a riveting, heart-pounding ride. Story lines advance, truths are admitted, intriguing characters are introduced, and the romance between Kate and Curran develops a sweetness that is simply delightful.”
—Dear Author
“An engrossing, superbly written urban fantasy series.”
—Lurv a la Mode
“Write faster . . . I absolutely love the relationship between Curran and Kate—I laugh out loud with the witty sarcasm and one-liners, and the sexual tension building between the couples drives me to my knees, knowing I’ll have to wait for another book.”
—SFRevu
MAGIC BURNS
“Fans of Carrie Vaughn and Patricia Briggs will appreciate this fast-paced, action-packed urban fantasy full of magic, vampires, werebeasties, and things that go bump in the night.”
—Monsters and Critics
“With all her problems, secrets, and prowess both martial and magical, Kate is a great kick-ass heroine, a tough girl with a heart, and her adventures . . . are definitely worth checking out.”
—Locus
“[Magic Burns] hooked me completely. With a fascinating, compelling plot, a witty, intelligent heroine, a demonic villain, and clever, wry humor throughout, this story has it all.”
—Fresh Fiction
“A new take on the urban fantasy genre, the world Kate inhabits is a blend of gritty magic and dangerous mystery.”
—The Parkersburg News and Sentinel
“The sexual tension Kate emits has me gritting my teeth.”
—SFRevu
“If you enjoy Laurell K. Hamilton’s early Anita Blake or the works of Patricia Briggs and Kim Harrison, you need to add Ilona Andrews to your reading list.”
—LoveVampires
“Andrews . . . demonstrates her mastery at balancing dark humor, clever mystery, and supernatural jeopardy. Andrews is the total package!”
—Romantic Times
MAGIC BITES
“Treat yourself to a splendid new urban fantasy . . . I am looking forward to the next book in the series or anything else Ilona Andrews writes.”
—Patricia Briggs, #1 New York Times bestselling author of River Marked
“Andrews shows a great deal of promise. Readers fond of Laurell K. Hamilton and Patricia Briggs may find her work a new source of reading pleasure.”
—SFRevu
“Andrews’s edgy series stands apart from similar fantasies . . . owing to its complex world-building and skilled characterizations.”
—Library Journal
“Fans of urban fantasy will delight in Ilona Andrews’s alternate-universe Atlanta.”
—Fresh Fiction
“A perfectly paced supernatural mystery with bits of dark humor and—if you’ll forgive the pun—a fair amount of bite.”
—Rambles.net
“The strong story line coupled with a complex alternative history . . . will have readers hoping for more.”
—Monsters and Critics
Ace Books by Ilona Andrews
The Kate Daniels Novels
MAGIC BITES
MAGIC BURNS
MAGIC STRIKES
MAGIC BLEEDS
MAGIC SLAYS
The Edge Novels
ON THE EDGE
BAYOU MOON
THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP
Published by the Penguin Group
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Previously published in the anthology Must Love Hellhounds, published by Berkley Books.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
MAGIC MOURNS
A Berkley eSpecial / published by arrangement with the author
PRINTING HISTORY
Berkley eSpecial edition / May 2011
Copyright © 2009 by Andrew Gordon and Ilona Gordon.
Excerpt from Magic Slays by Ilona Andrews copyright © by Andrew Gordon and Ilona Gordon.
All rights reserved.
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ISBN : 978-1-101-53185-3
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Magic Mourns
I sat in a small, drab office, one of many in the Atlanta chapter of the Order of Knights of Merciful Aid, and pretended to be Kate Daniels. Kate’s phone didn’t ring very often, so I didn’t have to pretend very hard.
Unfortunately, when it did ring, like right now, the person on the other end was rarely interested in a facsimile. They wanted the real thing.
“Order of Knights of Merciful Aid, Andrea Nash speaking.”
A female voice on the other end murmured hesitantly. “You’re not Kate.”
“No, I’m not. She’s on medical leave. But I’m filling in for her.”
“I’ll just wait until she comes back.”
I said good-bye to the disconnect signal, hung up, and petted my SIG-Sauer P226s lying on Kate’s desk. At least my guns still liked me.
The real Kate Daniels, my best friend and partner in butt-kicking, was on medical leave. And I intended to do my best to let her stay on medical leave, at least until her wounds stopped bleeding.
The magic wave fell. The mysterious orange and yellow glyphs on the floor of Kate’s office faded. On the wall, the charged air inside twisted glass tubes of a feylantern turned dark, while the ugly warts of electric lights in the hallway ceiling ignited with soft light. Inside my skin, the secret me stretched, yawned, and curled up for a nap, with her claws securely tucked away.
We lived in an uncertain world: magic flooded us in waves, screwed things up, and vanished. Nobody could predict when it came and went. One always had to be prepared. Sometimes though, no matter how prepared you were, the magic left something behind that you simply couldn’t handle, and then you called the police, and if they couldn’t help, you called the Order. The Order would send a knight, someone like me, who would help you with your magic problems. At least, that’s how it was supposed to work.
Very few people could have expertise in both tech and magic. Kate chose magic. I chose tech. Give me a firearm and silver bullets over swords and sorcery any day.
The phone rang again. “Order of Knights of Merciful Aid, Andrea—”
“Can I speak to Kate?” An older male voice tinted with country accent.
“I’m filling in for her. What do you need?”
“Can you take a message for her? Tell ’er this is Teddy Jo callin’ down from Joshua Junkyards. She knows me. Tell her I was drivin’ on through Buzzard, and I saw one of them fellers she hangs out with, the shapeshifters, run like hell through the Scratches. Right below me. There was a big dog chasin’ him.”
“How big was the dog?”
Teddy Jo mulled it over. “I’d say as big as a house. A one-story. Maybe a bit bigger. Not as big as one of them colonials, you understand. A regular-person house.”
“Would you say the shapeshifter was in distress?”
“Hell yeah, he was in distress. His tail was on fire.”
“He ran like his tail was on fire?”
“No, his tail was on fire. Like a big, furry candle on his ass.”
Bingo. Green five, shapeshifter in dire distress. “Got it.”
“Well, you tell Kate I said hello and not to be a stranger and all that.”
He hung up.
I grabbed my gun belt and sent a focused thought in the direction of Maxine, the Order’s secretary. I had no telepathic abilities whatsoever, but she was strong enough to pick up a thought if I concentrated hard enough. “Maxine, I have a green five in progress. I’m responding.”
“You have fun, dear. I hope you get to kill something,” Maxine’s voice said in my head. “By the way, do you recall that nice young man whose calls you aren’t taking?”
Raphael. He wasn’t exactly the type of man a woman would forget. “What about him?”
“He usually calls for you twice a day, at ten and at two. He hasn’t phoned today. At all.”
I killed a twinge of disappointment. “Perhaps he got the message.”
“Could be. Just thought you would like to be aware.”
“Thanks.” Raphael was trouble. And I had enough trouble as it was.
I picked up my favorite pair of P226s and ducked into the armory, where I kept my assortment of guns. As big as a house, huh? I took my Weatherby Mark V rifle off the rack, petting the hand-laminated fiberglass-and-Kevlar stock. A classic. When you absolutely have to have a job done correctly, use the best tool for it. There was only one weapon with more stopping power in the armory. Referred to as Big Unit by male knights, and Boom Baby by me, it sat in a glass case all by itself. Boom Baby ate Silver Hawks: .50 armor-piercing, incendiary, explosive, silver-load cartridges. To get Boom Baby out of its case, I’d have to show a lot of probable cause. That was fine with me. The Weatherby would more than do the job.
I grabbed .416 Remington Magnum cartridges and headed out the door, before somebody decided to stop me.
In our age, a woman could have a gasoline car, which worked only during tech, or a vehicle that ran on charged water, which worked only during magic. My Jeep was Order issue and equipped with an electric engine and a magic one, so it functioned during both tech and magic. Unfortunately, it didn’t function very well.
The engine started on the fourth try. I hopped in and steered out of the parking lot, joining a steady stream of riders and carts heading west. Mine was the only hoof-free transport on the street. The rest consisted of horses, mules, donkeys, and oxen.
The city lay in ruins. Heaps of dusty rubble and small mountains of broken glass marked the locations of once stately office buildings, ground to dust by magic’s relentless jaws. Atlanta grew around them. New apartment buildings, built by hand rather than machine, sprouted atop the carcasses of the old ones. Stone and wood bridges spanned the gaping drops of crumbled overpasses. Small stalls and open markets replaced Wal-Mart and Kroger. The old Atlanta might have fallen like the trunk of a great tree struck by lightning, but its roots were too strong to die.
I liked the city. I wasn’t born here, nor did I come to Atlanta by choice, but now the city was my territory. I had walked its streets, sampled its scents, and listened to it breathe. Atlanta wasn’t sure about me. It tried to kill me every now and then, but I was confident we’d come to an understanding eventually.
Forty minutes later I turned off the main road on James Jackson Parkway and followed it around the bend to Buzzard’s Highway. When magic was up, it flooded deep in this part of the city. Tall trees flanked the road, huge pines and dogwoods, still green despite the impending October. A twisted metal sign slid by: the white letters spelling out SOUTH COBB DRIVE, all but covered by BUZZARD scrawled in black paint. Pale wind chimes, made of turkey vulture skulls and string, hung from the tree limbs overshadowing the road. A cheerful welcome. Not quite sure what they were trying to tell me. My goodness, could it be some sort of a warning?
My Jeep slid onto an old bridge over the Chattahoochee River. The old maps claimed that heading north would bring me into Smyrna and turning southwest would deliver me to Mableton, but neither any longer existed.
I crossed the bridge and pulled over to the side of the road. A vast network of ravines lay before me. Narrow, twisted, some a hundred yards deep, although most were shallow, they tangled together and veered apart, like tunnels of a giant dirt-eating termite. Here and there remnants of the old buildings perched, halfway down the slopes, flanked by sickly brush. A highway cut through the ravines, running atop the cliff tops, interrupted with wooden patches of bridges. Above it all, black-winged vultures glided on the aerial currents.
The locals called it the Scratches, because from above the place looked like a giant buzzard had scratched in the dirt. The Scratches came into being after the very first flare, when the magic returned to the world in a three-day wave of disasters and death. With every magic wave, the ravines grew a little deeper.
Far to the south, the Scratches united into a gorge that eventually became Honeycomb Gap, another hellish magic spot. The highway itself served as the favorite drag-racing spot for idiot juvenile delinquents. Somewhere in this mess of soil and air was my green five, the shapeshifter in distress. Hopefully still alive and nursing a singed tail.
