by John Levitt
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Acknowledgements
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
SEVENTEEN
EIGHTEEN
NINETEEN
TWENTY
TWENTY-ONE
TWENTY-TWO
TWENTY-THREE
TWENTY-FOUR
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
A HARD DAY’S KNIGHT
RIVER MARKED
Praise for
UNLEASHED
“From the San Francisco aura described in the first paragraph to the magic on the last page, this book never let up . . . There are very few books I want to read twice. Unleashed made me want to go back and reread books one and two. And before I was even done with Unleashed, I wanted to read it all over again.”
—BookSpot Central.com
“Magic, mayhem, and mystery make up Unleashed, a poignant yet often amusing urban fantasy that is filled with intrigue . . . a wonderful original urban fantasy whodunit.”
—Genre Go Round Reviews
“Another solid, thoroughly enjoyable urban fantasy . . . Levitt’s newest novel is a fast-paced, entertaining game of hide-and-seek played in San Francisco . . . Readers who enjoy a thrilling tale with plenty of heart are sure to love this book.”
—SFRevu
“As always, Lou, the dog/Ifrit, is both the perfect sidekick and conscience as this magical pair faces a bloodthirsty monster. Levitt has plenty of twists up his sleeve in this supernatural thriller.”
—Romantic Times
Praise for
NEW TRICKS
“A lively new take on working magic. Along with his original take on familiars (in the form of Ifrits), Levitt is doing very nicely at creating his own niche in the urban fantasy landscape.”
—SFRevu
“A suspenseful tale that’s supported by strong characters and a delightful infusion of magic and mystery.”
—Darque Reviews
“The second book in Levitt’s Man & His Dog series is just as clever and twisty as the first. Mason’s offbeat sense of humor and knack for finding trouble make him a likable, if somewhat cursed, hero. Lou, on the other hand, is a pure delight. This crime-fighting duo has plenty of bark and bite!”
—Romantic Times
“If you like urban fantasy, this one is a cut above the rest.”
—CA Reviews
“New Tricks came through in a huge way . . . This is urban fantasy at its best.”
—BookSpot Central.com
Praise for
DOG DAYS
“The supernatural lives, breathes, and slithers in a San Francisco where the dog days don’t just get you down; they eat you alive.”
—Rob Thurman, national bestselling author of The Grimrose Path
“A compelling magical mystery, filled with twists and some uncomfortable turns as it follows a likable new character through a mostly familiar San Francisco ... I thoroughly enjoyed Dog Days. It’s proof that there’s still a heck of a lot of potential for variation in the urban fantasy genre, and it’s a highly satisfying read . . . an excellent start to a promising new series.”
—The Green Man Review
“Appealing, fully founded characters . . . Levitt promises to be a novelist worth watching . . . Readers will enjoy the roller-coaster ride through dangers both magical and mundane. Anyone who likes solid storytelling will enjoy Dog Days. Here’s looking forward to the next adventure.”
—SFRevu
“Levitt has envisioned a lively world . . . [a] delightful take on good versus evil. Mason’s character, with his self-deprecating humor, beat-up van, and list of odd associates, is entertaining and engaging, and will certainly leave readers looking for more from this unlikely hero and his dog.”
—Monsters and Critics
Ace Books by John Levitt
DOG DAYS
NEW TRICKS
UNLEASHED
PLAY DEAD
THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP
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Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
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.
PLAY DEAD
An Ace Book / published by arrangement with the author
PRINTING HISTORY
Ace mass-market edition / February 2011
Copyright © 2011 by John Levitt.
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group,
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375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.
eISBN : 978-1-101-47778-6
ACE
Ace Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group,
a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.
ACE and the “A” design are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
http://us.penguingroup.com
For my dad, Bill Levitt,
who would have liked this one
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thanks go out to all the readers who’ve supported Lou and the series. And Mason, of course, but we all know who the real star is.
ONE
THE RAIN WAS VICIOUS, DRENCHING THE STREETS, bouncing off the pavement and running down the gutters. The wind had picked up, driving the rain sideways at times, and the bobbing red and yellow and black umbrellas danced erratically as the wind swept through.
A nasty gust caught one woman’s black umbrella and flipped it inside out, instantly transforming it from a useful tool into a formless mass of wire and fabric. The woman clutched at it hopelessly and in faint surprise, as if she’d suddenly and unaccountably found herself holding a drowned bat.
Lou was one thoroughly wet dog, and he didn’t like it a bit. He crowded next to my feet, trying to keep under the umb
rella as well, but he’s barely a foot tall, and by the time the rain reached him, the umbrella was essentially useless. He stopped every minute or so to give a vigorous shake, coupled with a sour glare in my direction. It was not fit outside for man nor beast, as they say. But the weather was entirely appropriate for my mission. I was on my way to see a black practitioner.
Black practitioners have a bad rep among the rest of us who aren’t and it’s not entirely undeserved, but not all of them are terrible people. I’d dealt with a few of them in the last few years, with mixed results. But I’d dealt with a couple of “normal” practitioners as well, with outcomes that were no better, and sometimes worse.
Still, normally I wouldn’t waltz off to the home of a black practitioner I didn’t know. They’re unpredictable, and a practitioner’s home is where he or she is most effective. There’s enough danger in the magical world as it is, without inviting more.
So when I got a call out of the blue inviting me for a talk, my first instinct was to politely decline. But the person on the other end of the line was courteous and persuasive, and by “persuasive,” I mean he mentioned a rather large sum of money. He wasn’t the actual practitioner, though. When you reach a certain level of fame, or maybe notoriety would be a better word, you never just call up someone yourself. You have people for that sort of thing. And the name he threw out was impressive—I try not to get involved with practitioner politics, but even I had heard of her.
The representative understood I wouldn’t be comfortable coming to a black practitioner’s home, so he suggested a meeting at the downtown offices.
“Offices?” I’d said. That was a new one for me.
“Five hundred Sutter Street, suite 1092. Blue Bay Promotions.”
So there I was, walking through the rain, headed for 500 Sutter Street. Which turned out to be a handsome older building, erected sometime in the 1920s, or maybe even earlier. It sports an elegant granite facade with scroll-work peeking out below the windows on every floor. The lobby is faced in marble and the elevator doors are constructed of engraved metal, so that when they’re closed they seem like elegant bas-reliefs, hardly looking like elevators at all. It was the kind of building Sam Spade might have visited, back when San Francisco was a far different city, and probably a better one.
The elevator doors were ancient, but the elevator itself was modern and high speed. I shared the ride with a young woman. There’s a particular type of awkwardness associated with elevator rides—you’re stuck in close proximity with a stranger, and often people avoid even making eye contact. Small talk is rare. An unspoken agreement to stay encased in one’s own bubble seems to be the norm.
Lou changes all that, though. He won’t put up with staring blankly at the opposite wall, and he usually gazes up winningly at random passengers until they finally break down and comment on his cuteness factor. I’d just replaced his usual collar with a sleek black harness because he kept getting the collar hung up on random branches. It was quite stylish and increased the cuteness factor, which helped him in cadging treats from strangers. Some people don’t care for dogs, of course. I guess it takes all kinds. This woman, however, had a corgi with her, so we shared a few dog pleasantries.
At the tenth floor, I walked down the corridor checking numbers until I came to Blue Bay Promotions. The outer office reminded me of a dentist’s office, with bland prints on the walls and beige everywhere. The man behind the front desk looked up as I came in, noting my general scruffy condition and my wet dog, and raised his eyebrows ever so slightly in polite inquiry.
“I’m here to see Jessica,” I said. He looked at me in some surprise.
“You’re Mason?”
“The same.” He picked up the phone on the desk, pressed a button, and spoke into it.
“Jessie? There’s a Mason here to see you?” He listened a moment, then nodded and waved a hand toward the door at the far end of the room. “Go right in.”
I knocked politely at the door before pushing it open. The inside office was as opulent as the outside was austere. Thick carpet, the obligatory expanse of mahogany desk, and, on each wall, hanging rugs that even my untrained eye could see were old and expensive.
“Come in,” said the woman on the other side of the desk. “I’m Jessica, Jessica Alexander. Jessie to my friends, and everyone else, for that matter.” She smiled disarmingly. “Yes, I use my full name, just like an ordinary businesswoman. Gauche of me, I know.” She came out from behind the desk and offered her hand, glancing down at Lou. “And this is Louie, of course.”
“You’ve done your homework, I see,” I said, taking her hand. It was cool and her grip was strong.
“Wouldn’t you? I assume you at least asked Victor about me.”
Actually, I hadn’t, so I just shrugged noncommittally. Victor was my sometimes boss, the unofficial head of magical enforcement in San Francisco. Jessica wasn’t at all what I’d expected. First, she was way too young, and way too pleasant-looking. I’d expected more of an iron maiden, suitable for a black practitioner with an impressive reputation. Steely eyes, short hair or perhaps a tight bun, impeccably dressed in the latest of fashion. But this woman was none of those things.
At first I thought she couldn’t be more than twenty-five, but the wrinkles in the corners of her eyes and the slight beginnings of a double chin when she held her head at a certain angle made me revise that upward. Long hair, loose and light brown. A long straight nose. Nondescript slacks and a soft, plain cashmere-type top, expensive but not obviously so. She looked more like the daughter of the CEO than the CEO herself.
Which made her doubly dangerous. One of the things I’ve learned from hanging around with Victor is the danger of unexamined assumptions. This woman looked harmless and friendly, and cultural conditioning would inevitably lead people to not consider her much of a threat. On an intellectual level they might realize her potential for danger, but emotionally it would be hard not to let their guard down, at least a little. Which, given her position, would be a mistake. Luckily, I wasn’t there as a rival.
She sat back down behind the desk, pushing aside a large brown leather purse that was dangling over the back of the desk chair.
“Okay,” I said. “So you checked me out. And there was the mention of some money. Quite a bit, actually, but I have no idea why. Blue Bay Promotions? What exactly is it you do here?”
She examined me thoughtfully, as if she hadn’t yet decided whether she liked what she saw.
“You’ve worked for Victor for quite some time now, haven’t you? And handled some difficult problems, some complicated situations?”
“I have my moments.”
“I believe you. Victor has his moments, too, but he’s old-school, to say the least. He likes the old ways, and tradition, and isn’t fond of change. Am I right?” She was, but I wasn’t about to be discussing Victor’s psyche with her.
“He gets results,” I said.
“I know he does. I’m not dissing him; he’s an impressive man, and quite the character as well. But times are changing—he’d prefer to live in the nineteenth century if he could, where I’m ready to move into the twenty-first, redefining what it means to be a practitioner. So I’ve set up a corporation and opened an office—part public relations, part R and D. The old days of random knowledge and private fiefdoms are coming to an end.”
I wasn’t sure I liked the sound of that, and it also didn’t answer what she wanted from me. She immediately saw that in my body language, and turned on her smile again.
“But that’s neither here nor there. I gather you’re not that interested in practitioner politics.” That was putting it mildly. “That’s not necessarily a bad thing,” she continued. “For example, I’ve also heard that unlike many of your fellows, you don’t hold any particular prejudice toward black practitioners.”
“Maybe not, but I haven’t had the best of experiences in dealing with them, either,” I said.
“And have you had nothing but good experiences
with those who aren’t?”
“Not always,” I admitted. She smiled.
“So if I were to offer you a job, you wouldn’t automatically turn it down, then? You’d at least listen?” I thought about the dollar figure that had been mentioned.
“Well, I’m here,” I said. “And it never hurts just to listen.” Which of course is the age-old lie, but it’s something we all tell ourselves.
Lou meanwhile had been quietly checking out the office, wandering around unobtrusively. He kept glancing over behind the desk where Jessie sat and then glancing back at me. I looked in that direction and thought I saw a slight movement. Jessie saw my attention straying.
“How rude of me,” she said. “I haven’t introduced my Ifrit. Naja, say hello to our guests.”
I wasn’t prepared for what came out from behind the desk. There are many types of Ifrits, which is what we call our magical companions. They almost always take the form of small animals, no more than fifteen pounds tops, and most are much smaller. Mostly they’re cats, ferrets, sometimes small dogs like Lou, and occasionally even large birds. No one really knows what they are or where they come from, although my mentor, Eli, and I have come up with some pretty good guesses in the last couple of years. They can’t do magic or talk, but they’re smart, way smarter than a dog or a cat, and most of them can understand a great deal of what you say. And they do have some special abilities.
