FOR A FEW DEMONS MORE
KIM HARRISON
HarperVoyager An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd. 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF
First published by HarperCollinsPublishers 2007
Copyright © Kim Harrison 2007
The Author 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: 9780007247790
Ebook Edition © January 2007 ISBN: 9780007301867 Version: 2018-05-23
To the guy who knows that the rose is more beautiful with the thorns still on it.
Contents
Title Page Copyright Dedication 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 Chapter Twenty-Two Chapter Twenty-Three Chapter Twenty-Four Chapter Twenty-Five Chapter Twenty-Six Chapter Twenty-Seven Chapter Twenty-Eight Chapter Twenty-Nine Chapter Thirty Chapter Thirty-One Chapter Thirty-Two Chapter Thirty-Three Chapter Thirty-Four Chapter Thirty-Five Chapter Thirty-Six Chapter Thirty-Seven Chapter Thirty-Eight Chapter Thirty-Nine Acknowledgements About the Author By The Same Author About the Publisher
Hammering my fist against the back of my closet wasn’t one of my more pleasant dreams. Actually, it hurt. The pain broke through my comfortable sleepy haze, and I felt the primitive part of me that never slept coolly measuring my slow gathering of will as I tried to wake up. With an eerie feeling of disconnection, I watched it happen, even as in my dream I tore the clothes off the rod and threw them to my rumpled bed.
Something, though, wasn’t right. I wasn’t waking up. The dream wasn’t passively shredding into hard-to-remember bits. And with a jolt I realized I was conscious but not awake.
What in hell? Something was really, really wrong, and instinct sent a pulse of adrenaline through me, demanding I wake. But I didn’t.
My breath was quick and ragged, and after I emptied the closet, I dropped to the floor and tapped my knuckles on the boards for a secret compartment I knew wasn’t there. Frightened, I grasped my will and forced myself awake.
Pain reverberated through my forehead. I sprawled, all my muscles going flaccid. I managed to turn my head, and my ear stung instead of my nose breaking. Hard wood pressed against me, cold through my pajama shorts and top. My cry came out as a gurgle. I couldn’t breathe! Something … something was in here with me. In my head. Trying to possess me!
Terror smothered me like a blanket. I couldn’t see it, couldn’t hear it, could hardly sense it. But my body had become a battlefield—one where I didn’t know how to win. Possession was a black art, and I hadn’t taken the right classes. Damn it, my life isn’t supposed to be like this!
Utter panic gave me strength. I tried to mobilize my legs and arms under me and push. I managed to rise to my hands and knees, then fell into my bedside table. It crashed to the floor and rolled to the empty closet.
My pulse hammering, the fear of suffocating overtook me. I managed to stagger into the