Dead Witch Walking
From New York Times best-selling author, Kim Harrison, comes the first book in her brilliant series, The Hollows; packed with vampires, werewolves and witches - don’t miss out on the sexiest urban fantasy you’ll read this year.Rachel Morgan lives in a world where a bioengineered virus wiped out most of the world's human population – exposing the existence of supernatural communities that had long lived alongside humanity. It’s her job as a white witch working for Inderland Security to protect the humans from things that go bump in the night.For the last five years Rachel has been tracking down lawbreaking Inderlanders in modern-day Cincinnati, but now she wants to leave and start her own agency. Her only problem: no one quits the I.S.Marked for death, Rachel will have to fend off fairy assassins and homicidal werewolves armed to the teeth with deadly curses.Unless she can appease her former employers by exposing the city's most prominent citizen as a drug lord, she might just be a dead witch walking.
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DEAD WITCH WALKING
KIM HARRISON
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
HarperVoyager An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd. 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF
Published by Voyager 2006
Copyright © Kim Harrison 2004
Kim Harrison asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
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Source ISBN: 9780007236091
Ebook Edition © JANUARY 2009 ISBN: 9780007236916
Version: 2017-01-31
To the man who said he liked my hat.
Contents
I stood in the shadows of a deserted shop front across from The Blood and Brew Pub, trying not to be obvious as I tugged my black leather pants back up where they belonged. This is pathetic, I thought, eyeing the rain-emptied street. I was way too good for this.
Apprehending unlicensed and black-art witches was my usual line of work, as it takes a witch to catch a witch. But the streets were quieter than usual this week. Everyone who could make it was at the West Coast for our yearly convention, leaving me with this gem of a run. A simple snag and drag. It was just the luck of the Turn that had put me here in the dark and rain.
“Who am I kidding?” I whispered, pulling the strap of my bag farther up my shoulder. I hadn’t been sent to tag a witch in a month: unlicensed, white, dark, or otherwise. Bringing the mayor’s son in for Wereing outside of a full moon probably hadn’t been the best idea.
A sleek car turned the corner, looking black in the buzz of the mercury street lamp. This was its third time around the block. A grimace tightened my face as it approached, slowing. “Damn it,” I whispered. “I need a darker door front.”
“He thinks you’re a hooker, Rachel,” my backup snickered into my ear. “I told you the red halter was slutty.”
“Anyone ever tell you that you smell like a drunk bat, Jenks?” I muttered, my lips barely moving. Backup was unsettlingly close tonight, having perched himself on my earring. Big dangling thing—the earring, not the pixy. I’d found Jenks to be a pretentious snot with a bad attitude and a temper to match. But he knew what side of the garden his nectar came from. And apparently pixies were the best they’d let me take out since the frog incident. I would have sworn fairies were too big to fit into a frog’s mouth.
I eased forward to the curb as the car squished to a wet-asphalt halt. There was the whine of an automatic window as the tinted glass dropped. I leaned down, smiling my prettiest as I flashed my work ID. Mr. One Eyebrow’s leer vanished and his face went ashen. The car lurched into motion with a tiny squeak of tires. “Day-tripper,” I said in disdain. No, I thought in a flash of chastisement. He was a norm, a human. Even if they were accurate, the terms day-tripper, domestic, squish, off-the-rack, and my personal favorite, snack, were politically frowned upon. But if he was picking strays up off the sidewalk in the Hollows, one might call him dead.
The car never slowed as it went through a red light, and I turned at the catcalls from the hookers I had displaced about sunset. They weren’t happy, standing brazenly on the corner across from me. I gave them a little wave, and the tallest flipped me off before spinning to show me her tiny, spell-enhanced rear. The hooker and her distinctly husky-looking “friend” talked loudly as they tried to hide the cigarette they were passing between each other. It didn’t smell like your usual tobacco.
