by Devon Monk
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Acknowledgements
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Teaser chapter
Praise for the Novels of Devon Monk
Magic on the Storm
“The latest Allie Beckstrom urban fantasy is a terrific entry. . . . This is a strong tale.”
—Genre Go Round Reviews
“First-rate urban fantasy entertainment.”
—Lurv a la Mode
Magic in the Shadows
“Snappy dialogue, a brisk pace, and plenty of magic keep the pages turning to the end. Allie’s relationship with Zayvion, her friend Nola, and the other Hounds adds credible depth to this gritty, original urban fantasy that packs a punch.”
—Monsters and Critics
“This is a wonderful read full of different types of magic, fascinating characters, an intriguing plot. . . . Devon Monk is an excellent storyteller. . . . This book will keep everyone turning the pages to see what happens next and salivating for more.”
—Fresh Fiction
“Monk sweeps readers up in the drama and dangers of the heroine’s life as it steadily changes and grows. Magic in the Shadows is an intriguing read with fascinating characters and new magical elements introduced to the mix.”
—Darque Reviews
“The writing moves at a fast pace with plenty of exciting action. . . . This series just gets better and better with each new book.”
—Night Owl Reviews
“Allie is developing into a character who is more able to withstand the trouble that lies ahead. I recommend the Allison Beckstrom series to urban fantasy fans who want something fresh and original with a snarky sense of humor.”
—Fantasy Literature
“If Magic in the Shadows is any indication, Devon Monk should become one of urban fantasy’s biggest names.”
—The Internet Review of Science Fiction
Magic in the Blood
“Tight, fast, and vividly drawn, Monk’s second Allison Beckstrom novel features fresh interpretations of the paranormal, strong characters dealing with their share of faults and flaws, and ghoulish plot twists. Fans of Patricia Briggs or Jim Butcher will want to check out this inventive new voice.”
—Monsters and Critics
“[A] highly creative series about magic users in a world much like our own, filled with greed and avarice. I love the character of Allie, and she is just getting better and stronger as the series continues. . . . If you love action, magic, intrigue, good-versus-evil battles, and pure entertainment, you will not want to miss this series.”
—Manic Readers
“One heck of a ride through a magical, dangerous Portland . . . imaginative, gritty, sometimes darkly humorous. . . . An un-put-downable book, Magic in the Blood is one fantastic read.”
—Romance Reviews Today
“This series uses a system of rules for magic that is original and seems very realistic. . . . The structure of the story pulled me in right away, and kept me reading. There’s action, adventure, fantasy, and even some romance.”
—CA Reviews
“Ms. Monk weaves a unique tale of dark magic that will keep readers at the edge of their seat[s]. Magic in the Blood is so thoroughly described that the creepy bits will have you thinking of magic and ghosts long after you’ve finished the story. Fast moving and gripping, it will leave you wanting more.”
—Darque Reviews
“This second installment in the exciting new Allie Beckstrom series is just as carefully woven as the first. . . . It’s gonna be a tough wait for the third installment!”
—RhiReading
Magic to the Bone
“Brilliantly and tightly written . . . will surprise, amuse, amaze, and absorb readers.”
—Publishers Weekly (starred review)
“Mystery, romance, and magic cobbled together in what amounts to a solid page-turner.”
—SFFWorld
“Loved it. Fiendishly original and a stay-up-all-night read. We’re going to be hearing a lot more of Devon Monk.”
—Patricia Briggs, #1 New York Times bestselling author of River Marked
“Highly original and compulsively readable. Don’t pick this one up before going to bed unless you want to be up all night!”
—Jenna Black, author of Glimmerglass
“Gritty setting, compelling, fully-realized characters, and a frightening system of magic-with-a-price that left me awed. Devon Monk’s writing is addictive, and the only cure is more, more, more!”
—Rachel Vincent, New York Times bestselling author of Alpha
“An exciting new addition to the urban fantasy genre. It’s got a truly fresh take on magic and Allie Beckstrom is one kick-ass protagonist!”
—Jeanne C. Stein, national bestselling author of Chosen
“The prose is gritty and urban, the characters mysterious and marvelous, and Monk creates a fantastic and original magic system that intrigues and excites. A promising beginning to a new series. I’m looking forward to more!”
—Nina Kiriki Hoffman, Bram Stoker Award-winning author of Thresholds
“Monk’s reimagined Portland is at once recognizable and exotic, suffused with her special take on magic, and her characters are vividly rendered. The plot pulled me in for a very enjoyable ride!”
—Lynn Flewelling, author of The White Road
Books by Devon Monk
The Allie Beckstrom Series
Magic to the Bone
Magic in the Blood
Magic in the Shadows
Magic on the Storm
Magic at the Gate
Magic on the Hunt
ROC
Published by New American Library, a division of
Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA
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First published by Roc, an imprint of New American Library,
a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
First Printing, April 2011
Copyright © Devon Monk, 2011
All rights reserved
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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.
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eISBN : 978-1-101-51361-3
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For my family
Acknowledgments
Without the many people who have contributed time and energy along the way, this book would not have come to fruition. I’d like to give a much-deserved thank you to my agent, Miriam Kriss, and my editor, Anne Sowards, two consummate professionals and all-around awesome people who make my job easy.
My love and endless gratitude go out to my fantastic first readers and brainstormers, Dean Woods and Dejsha Knight, whose loving support and brilliant insights not only make the story stronger, but also make me a better writer. Thank you also to my family, one and all, who have been there for me every step of the way offering unfailing encouragement and sharing in the joy. To my husband, Russ, and sons, Kameron and Konner, if I haven’t said it lately, thank you for believing in me. You are the very best part of my life. I love you.
Last, but certainly not least, thank you, dear readers, for letting me share this story, these people, and this world with you.
Chapter One
Zayvion stretched out in my bed wearing nothing but his boxers under the covers. He lay on his side, elbow propped under his head, wide, bare shoulders blocking most of the view of my door and apartment beyond. I faced him, wearing boy shorts and a tank top, the covers tucked under my free arm.
We were not touching. We were not talking. We were at war.
“Two out of three?” Never go into battle without laying basic ground rules.
“Fair,” he said.
Zay threw rock; I threw scissors. Damn.
“One,” Zay said.
I threw paper; Zay threw rock.
“Mine.” I looked into his eyes, brown and filled with that gold fire that came from using magic. And let me tell you, he’d been using it very nicely over the past three days, since we’d sealed the undead magic users in Maeve’s inn. Three days we’d spent almost entirely in bed.
We both knew our rest would be short-lived. Victor had called last night and asked me to come down so he could talk to my dead dad, who was possessing my mind. Wanted to know what my dad knew about the solid Veiled—dead magic users who used the disks my dad invented to reclaim bodies.
Yesterday, the higher members of the Authority—Victor, Maeve, Hayden, and a few others—had broken the magical lock on the inn my dad had left there. They transported the solid Veiled to the secret prison the Authority uses to deal with magic users who break the law.
Leander, who had followed me into this world through death’s gate, had not been among them.
Zay had been angry he hadn’t been asked to help. Shame, the only one of us who they requested go along, didn’t talk much about it afterward. All he’d said was: “Freaks are still alive-ish. We have no idea how to remove the disks. Victor will probably want to ask your da about that, and what he knows about Leander. But that place . . . that prison?” He’d shaken his head. “Nothing can break out of those walls.”
I was actually glad I hadn’t been a part of that. Those people had died once. As far as I was concerned, they had no right to be living again—especially when they were bent on killing me and my friends.
I didn’t want Victor or anyone else digging in my head to talk to my dad about undead magic users, but there were still disks out there that could be used to create more solid Veiled. And the longer we waited to find those disks and whoever was behind the undead using them, the better the chance we’d have more solid Veiled to deal with.
“Still with me?” Zay asked.
“Sorry. Tiebreaker?”
“Winning hand.” He gave me a quick smile, then schooled his face into that impenetrable Zen mask.
“Think that’s going to throw me?”
“What?”
“That Zen thing.”
“What Zen thing?”
“You know what I’m talking about. It won’t work. How many times do I have to tell you that you are the easiest man in the world to read, Mr. Zayvion Jones?”
One eyebrow quirked. “Bring it.”
It’s one of the most underrated survival skills in history—winning at rock, paper, scissors. Zay had thrown rock twice in a row. Would he stick with his game and throw it again? Or would he expect me to think he would and instead throw scissors to cut my paper?
I studied his eyes, his lips, his smile. Nothing.
We fist pumped one, two, three.
I threw paper.
Zayvion Jones threw rock.
“Aha!” I crowed. “I win. I’d like my eggs scrambled, toast buttered, and coffee hot.”
“You get a bowl of stale cereal.”
“Oh, no. Hot breakfast was the deal.”
“True.” He pushed the covers down a little, kicking his feet free. “What do you think about omelets?”
“I’m pro-omelet if there’s cheese involved. If not, then I’m totally on scrambled’s side.”
“Maybe I’ll make a nice, slow quiche.” He leaned over me, forcing me to roll onto my back.
I made a face. “I don’t like quiche.”
“I can make you like quiche.”
He kissed me, soft, easy. Moved down to my neck and the edge of my breast and kissed me there, his teeth catching my nipple.
“No, you can’t,” I gasped. Which was a lie. When he kissed me like that, I was pretty sure he could make me like anything.
“Tell me you want quiche.”
“I want coffee.”
“And quiche?”
“Scrambled,” I breathed.
He grinned. “Stubborn, stubborn, stubborn.” His lips pressed against mine, silencing my objections and sending a pulse of heat coiling down my spine. I squirmed to get my hands free, then wrapped my arms around his wide back, ready for more than just a kiss. His muscles bunched under my palms as I dragged fingers over his skin, silently thankful for how quickly he was recovering from the coma. I slipped my fingers up into the soft, short curls at the back of his head and shifted so our bodies fit together as one.
His mouth remained on me, soft, easy, slow. Too slow.
I wanted out of my clothes. Wanted him out of his. I caught at the waistband of his boxers and drew them down just enough that I could stroke the edge of his hip bones. Finally his tongue dragged delicious warmth across my lips. I opened my mouth and his tongue dipped deeper. A shock of need rolled beneath my skin, and I caught my breath.
Oh, baby. If he kept kissing me like that, I’d eat all the quiche he wanted to cook.
Then he pulled away, dragging all of the covers with him.
“Wait—where are you going?”
“Those omelets aren’t going to cook themselves. Deal was hot breakfast.” He mercilessly shucked the covers down to the foot of the bed and grinned.
Cold air sent goose bumps over my bare legs and arms. “Oh, you are such a sore loser. Winner gets to stay in bed—warm.” I sat up and crawled down for the covers, pulling them back over my shoulders. It was ten o
’clock in the morning. I wasn’t planning to get out of bed until noon if at all possible.
“Sore loser? You do know I let you win?”
“You did not.”
“Throwing rock three times in a row? Yes, I did. You make your eggs too runny.”
“I cannot believe you are critiquing my kitchen skills in my own home.”
“Not your skills. Just your eggs.” He stood. “Since you’re awake, how about winner sets the table?”
“Winner doesn’t want a formal breakfast.”
He strode out of the room wearing nothing but his boxers and the fine skin he’d been born with, though he grabbed a T-shirt from the dresser top.
“Not feeding it to you in bed,” he called back. “Again.”
I smiled and snuggled deeper into the blankets. “Didn’t want you to.” Okay, that was a lie. Even though breakfast in bed would be a really nice way to begin the day, it was probably time to start behaving like regular people instead of honeymooners.
I took a minute to stretch out and hog the bed all to myself. Zay’s half was still warm and smelled of his cologne. I closed my eyes and savored the uncommon sensation of not hurting, not worrying, and not running for my life.
Things were good in my life. Right here, right this minute. It felt good to be happy. And I wanted it to last forever.
The sizzle of bacon hitting the pan made me smile, and then the salt and maple aromas were joined by the rich, almost chocolate scent of fresh-brewed coffee.
