Kim Harrison: White Witch, Black Curse

But as I ran my fingers over my lips, remembering his there, I thought it might be too late. He was just so…Rachel-ly. Hitting a spot in me that hadn’t been alive since I was eighteen. And with that thought, my face went blank. Damn it, Ford had been right. This was why I hadn’t had any luck with guys. I had been measuring them against Pierce all this time, and they had all come up lacking. I was in big trouble. Big. Maybe as an eighteen-year-old I thought it was romantic to be involved with a smart, intelligent, devil-may-care, handsome witch who could take on demons, vamps, and the I.S., but I was smarter now, right? Right?!

The air pressure shifted with a bang. I cowered below the level of the counter, and Jenks shot up to the ceiling.

“Witch!” Al bellowed, and I peeked over the counter. His eyes met mine, and he yelled, “Where is my familiar?”

I stood, a smile quirking the corners of my lips. “Uh, he was here,” I said. “I didn’t summon him, he just kind of showed up.” My focus sharpened on Al, and he narrowed his eyes, trying to gauge the truthfulness of my words. “Kind of like how you just did,” I added. “He popped in, and then he left.”

“Where did he go!” he bellowed, gloved hands clenching. “I had him in a snare that would take Alexander the Great a lifetime to untwist, and he did it in a week!” Al took a step, pinwheeling as his booted heel found an ice cube.

“I don’t know,” I said, then shouted, “I don’t know!” when Al growled at me. “I think he went that way.” I pointed off in a vague direction.

Making an mmmm of discontent, Al tugged his frock coat. “I’ll see you Saturday, Rachel,” he said roughly. “And bring a silver-core rope to tie Gordian Nathaniel Pierce down with. If I ever find him, I’m going to sell him to Newt. I swear, if I didn’t need him, I’d kill him myself!”

With a foul-smelling gust of air, Al vanished.

I stared at the spot, blinking.

“Sweet mother of Tink,” Jenks whispered from the ladle. “What just happened?”

Leaning against the counter, I shook my head. From the front of the church came the sound of the door opening. “Rachel?” Ivy’s voice filtered in. “I’m home. Why did Pierce pop into the car and tell me to pick up a grande latte, double espresso, Italian blend, light on the froth, heavy on the cinnamon, with a shot of raspberry?”

My lips curved up in a smile.

I loved my life.

I’d like to thank my editor, Diana Gill. The more I know, the harder her job looks. And my agent, Richard Curtis, my knight in shining armor.

New York Times bestselling author KIM HARRISON was born and raised in the upper Midwest, but has since fled south to better avoid snow. When not at work on the Hollows series, she spends her time tending orchids, cooking with some guy in a leather jacket, and training her new dog. Her current vices include good chocolate and exquisite sushi. Her bestselling novels include Dead Witch Walking; The Good, the Bad, and the Undead; Every Which Way But Dead; A Fistful of Charms; For a Few Demons More; and The Outlaw Demon Wails.

www.kimharrison.net

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