From Publishers Weekly
----------------------
Smart-mouthed Eve Levine, a witch with a reputation
for breaking the rules, may be dead, but as she proves in this
overstuffed paranormal romance (a follow-up to Industrial Magic),
she can still raise hell in the hereafter—which, in this case, is
a curiously ordinary dimension in which ghosts like Eve and her
also deceased former lover, a sorcerer named Kris, can bicker,
have sex and use their paranormal powers. The es, three
elusive sisters, are the rulers of this otherworldly dimension,
and they have a job for Eve. If she can defeat a demonic Nix
who's wreaking havoc in the human realm by inducing people to
kill, she'll earn her wings—literally. The catch: she can't
capture the Nix without the powers that angelhood affords. Eve
surs this hurdle by teaming up with a hunky and humanlike
angel named Trsiel, but her quest, which is fraught with
obstacles as well as unnecessary distractions, is lengthy and
meandering. In addition, Eve's kick-butt-ask-questions-later
attitude, while amusing, can be wearying, and the rules of
Armstrong's alternate world seem conveniently changeable. Still,
those who appreciate heroines with a good measure of spunk, sass
and strong-arm savvy will find this a fun if fitful read.
Copyright © Reed Business Information, a division of Reed
Elsevier Inc. All rights reserved.
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Review
------
"Armstrong has created a persuasive, finely detailed
other-worldly cosmology — featuring sorcery, astral projection,
spells, telepathy and teleportation."
— Toronto Star
"Those who appreciate heroines with a good measure of spunk, sass
and strong-arm savvy will find this a fun if fitful read."
— Publishers Weekly
"Mesmerizing . . . the 'other-worldly' atmosphere conjured up by
Armstrong begins to seem strangely real. Armstrong is a talented
and original writer whose inventiveness and sense of the bizarre
is arresting."
— The London Free Press
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From the Inside Flap
--------------------
THE CONTINUING ADVENTURES OF THE SMART, SEXY --
SUPERNATURAL -- WOMEN OF THE OTHERWORLD
Eve Levine -- half-demon, black witch and devoted mother -- has
been dead for three years. She has a great house, an interesting
love life and can't be killed again -- which comes in handy when
you've made as many enemies as Eve. Yes, the afterlife isn't too
bad -- all she needs to do is find a way to communicate with her
daughter, Savannah, and she'll be happy.
But e -- or more exactly, the es -- have other plans. Eve
owes them a favor, and they've just called it in. An evil spirit
called the Nix has escaped from hell. She feeds on chaos and
death, and is very good at persuading people to kill for her. The
es want Eve to hunt her down before she does any more damage,
but the Nix is a dangerous enemy -- previous hunters have been
driven insane in the process. As if that's not problem enough,
the only way to stop her is with an angel's . And Eve is no
angel. . . .
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About the Author
----------------
Kelley Armstrong lives in rural Ontario with her
husband, three children and far too many pets. She is the author
of a new crime series, the Women of the Otherworld series and an
upcoming young adult trilogy, The Darkest Power.
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Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
--------------------------------------------------------
Chapter One
"Come on," Savannah whispered, tugging the young man's hand.
She climbed a wooden fence into the backyard of a narrow
two-story house.
"Watch out for the roses," she said as his feet threatened to
land in the border. "We gotta come this way or the old bugger
next door will bitch about me having friends over when no one's
home."
"Yeah," the boy said. "I get shit from my folks about that, too."
"Oh, Paige and Lucas don't care, as long as I clean up and don't
have any monster parties. Well, they might care if they found out
I was bringing a guy over. But if that old man sees me having
friends over? He starts telling people that Paige and Lucas are
crappy guardians, shit like that. Makes me want to--" She
swallowed her next words and shrugged. "Tell him off or
something."
I was less than a half-dozen paces behind, but they never turned
around, never even peered over their shoulders. Sometimes that
really pisses me off. Sure, all teenagers ignore their mothers.
And, sure, Savannah had a good excuse, since I'd been dead for
three years. Still, you'd think we'd have a deeper connection,
that she'd somehow hear me, if only as a voice in her head that
said "Don't listen to that girl" or "That boy's not worth the
trouble." Never happened, though. In life, I'd been one of the
most powerful women in the supernatural world, an Aspicio
half-demon and witch master of the black arts. Now I was a
third-rate ghost who couldn't even contact her own daughter. My
afterlife sucked.
Savannah took the boy through the lean-to, dragged him away from
Lucas's latest motorcycle restoration project and into the house.
The back door swung shut in my face. I walked through it.
They shed their shoes, then climbed the small set of stairs from
the landing to the kitchen. Savannah headed straight for the
fridge and started grabbing sandwich fixings. I walked past them,
through the dining room, into the living room, and settled into
my favorite spot, a butter yellow leather armchair.
I'd done the right thing, sending Savannah to Paige. Quite
possibly the smartest thing I'd ever done. Of course, if I'd been
really smart, Savannah wouldn't have needed anyone to take her
in. I wouldn't have been in such a hellfire rush to escape that
compound, wouldn't have gotten myself killed, wouldn't have
endangered my little girl--
Yes, I'd screwed up, but I was going to fix that now. I'd
promised to look after my daughter, and I would . . . just as
soon as I figured out how.
Savannah and her friend took their sandwiches into the dining
room. I leaned forward to peer around the corner, just a quick
check in case . . . In case what, Eve? In case she chokes on a
pickle? I silenced the too-familiar inner voice and started to
settle back into my chair when I noticed a third person in the
dining room. In a chair pulled up to the front window sat a
gray-haired woman, her head bent, shoulders racked with silent
sobs.
Savannah brushed past the woman, and took a seat on the site
side of the table. "Did you hear Ms. Lenke might not be back
before the city finals? She'd better be. Callahan doesn't know
the difference between a dead ball and a free ball."
The boy snorted. "I'd be surprised if that moron could tell a
basketball from a football. At last week's practice . . ."
I tuned them out and focused on the woman. As I drew near, I
could hear her muted sobs. I sighed and leaned against the dining
room doorway.
"Look," I said. "Whatever happened to you, I'm sure it was bad,
but you have to move on. Go into the light or click your heels
three times or whatever. Get thee to the other side, ghost."
The woman didn't even look up. Only thing worse than a stubborn
spirit is a rude one. I'd seen her here at least a dozen times
since the kids had moved in, and not once had she so much as
acknowledged my presence. Never spoke. Never left that chair.
Never stopped crying. And I thought I had a lousy afterlife.
I softened my tone. "You have to get over it. You're wasting your
time--"
She faded, and was gone. Really. Some people.
"Where's that new stereo you got?" the boy asked through a
mouthful of multigrain bread.
"In my room." Savannah hesitated. "You wanna go up and see it?"
The boy jumped to his feet so fast his chair tumbled over
backward. Savannah laughed and helped him right it. Then she
grabbed his hand and led him to the stairs.
I stayed at the bottom.
A moment later, music rocked the rafters. Nothing I recognized.
Dead three years, and I was already a pop-culture has-been. No,
wait. I did recognize the song. "(Don't Fear) the Reaper" . . .
but with a techno beat. Who the hell was this? Not Blue Oyster
Cult, that's for sure. What kind of crap--? Oh God, I was turning
into my mother. I'd avoided it all my life and now--
A man walked through the wall. Two inches taller than me. A
decade older. Broad shoulders. Thickening middle. Thinning blond
hair. Gorgeous bright blue eyes, which followed my gaze to the
stairs.
"And what does our daughter desperately need your help with
today?" he asked.
Kristof Nast's contribution to "our daughter" had been purely
biological, having not entered her life until just days before
the end of his. My choice, not his. After I'd become pregnant,
I'd skedaddled. Took him thirteen years and a mortal blow to the
head, but he'd finally caught up with me.
He cocked his head, listened to the music, and pulled a face.
"Well, at least she's out of the boy-band stage. And it could be
worse. Bryce went through heavy metal, then rap, then hip-hop,
and at each phase I swore the next one couldn't be any worse, but
he always found something--" Kristof stopped and waved a hand in
front of my eyes.
"Come on, Eve," he said. "Savannah's taste may be questionable,
but she doesn't require musical supervision."
"Shhh. Can you hear anything?"
He arched his brows. "Besides a badly tuned bass guitar and
vocals worthy of a castrated stray cat?"
"She has a boy up there."
Another frown, deeper this time. "What kind of boy?"
"Human."
"I meant what 'sort' of boy. This isn't the same one--" He closed
his mouth with an audible click of his teeth, then launched into
a voice I knew only too well, one I heard in my head when he
wasn't around. "All right. Savannah has a boy in her room. She's
fifteen. We both know they aren't up there on a study date. As
for exactly what they're doing . . . is that really any of your
business?"
"I'm not worried about sex, Kris. She's a smart girl. If she's
ready--and I don't think she is--she'll take precautions. But
what if he's ready? I barely know this guy. He could--"
"Force her to do something she doesn't want?" His laugh boomed
through the foyer. "When's the last time anyone forced you to do
something against your will? She's your daughter, Eve. First guy
who puts a hand where she doesn't want it will be lucky if he
doesn't lose it."
"I know, but--"
"What if they do turn that music down? Do you really want to hear
what's going on?"
"Of course not. That's why I'm staying down here. I'm just making
sure--"
"You can't make sure of anything. You're dead. That boy could
pull a on her and there's not a damn thing you could do about
it."
"I'm working on that!"
He sighed. "You've been working on it for three years. And you're
no better off than when you started." He hesitated, then plowed
forward. "You need to step back from it for a while. Take a
break."
"And do what?"
"Well, funny you should ask. That's what I wanted to talk to you
about. I happen to have a temp job lined up for you. Full of
adventure, mystery, maybe even a little danger . . ."
"Just a little?"
He grinned. "Depends on how you play it."
I paused, then glanced up the stairs. "We'll talk about it
later."
Kristof threw up his hands and disappeared into the wall. I
plunked down onto the step. Savannah and I had a special bond he
couldn't possibly understand . . . I only wish that were true.
Kris had single-parented both his sons after his wife had left
them while his youngest was still in diapers. Soon after we'd
met, his secretary had paged him because Sean had been hit in the
head during a baseball game. For barely more than a bump, he'd
blown off an important dinner meeting to catch the next plane
home. And that's when my opinion of him had be the slow but
steady shift that led to Savannah.
It had ended there, though. Once I'd realized I was a black witch
carrying the bastard child of a Cabal sorcerer heir, I hadn't
been dumb enough to stick around and see what his family thought.
As for what Kristof thought of me taking our daughter away . . .
well, I'd spent twelve years trying not to think about that. I
knew I'd made a mistake, an error in judgment overshadowed only
by that final error in judgment I'd made in the compound.
Yet for twelve years I'd been able to coast on my guilt trip,
telling myself maybe Kristof hadn't really cared that I'd taken
Savannah. Bullshit, of course. But not having him there to say
otherwise had made it easier . . . until six months after my
death, when I'd seen him fight for custody of her, and die trying
to protect her.
Upstairs, the music ended. Savannah popped in another CD . . . or
switched MP3s . . . or whatever music came on these days. The
next song began, something slow, and definitely soft enough for
me to hear giggles and murmurs.
Damn it, Kris was right. Following my daughter to the mall was
one thing. Listening to her make out with a boy was wrong. And
creepy. But now I was stuck here. If Kristof found out I'd left
right after him, he'd know I'd seen his point, and I wasn't ready
to admit that. Maybe--
A sharp oath burst from the living room. I took a cautious step
toward the corner. In life, I would have strode over there,
defensive spell at the ready. But here? Well, here things were
different.
Kristof stepped from behind the sofa, picking what looked like
cobwebs from his rumpled shirt. The back of his hair stuck
straight up, as if someone had run a static-charged hand through
it. His tie was shredded.
He gave a fierce wet-dog shake. When he finished, he was
immaculate again . . . except for his tie, which was tucked into
his shirt. I plucked it out and straightened it.
"Let me guess," I said. "Wrong turn . . . again?"
He gave a helpless shrug. "You know how I am with spells."
"Uh-huh."
I glanced back at the stairs. A sigh floated down.
I turned back to Kris. "Want a lift?"
"Please."
Chapter Two
Transportation is my afterlife specialty--my quest to help
Savannah meant I spent a lot of time tracking down sources. In
other areas of ghost activity, I'm not so good, though I didn't
think the es needed to send me through that damned orientation
course three times.
My afterlife world was a version of earth, with some weird
subdimensions that we really tried to avoid. Everyone here was a
supernatural, but not every supernatural was here. When I'd died,
my first thought on waking had been "Great, now I finally find
out what comes next." Well, actually that had been my second
thought, after "Hmmm, I thought it would have been hotter." Yes,
I'd escaped the fiery hell my mother and many others had
prophesied for me, but in dying, I hadn't found out what comes
next, only what came next for me. Was there fire and brimstone
somewhere else? Were there halos and heavenly harps? I have no
idea. I only know that where I am is better than where I expected
to be, so I'm not complaining.
I dropped Kristof off on the courthouse steps. Yes, we have
courts here. The es take care of all major disciplinary
issues, but they let us handle disputes between ghosts. Hence the
courts, where Kristof worked. Not that he'd practiced law in real
life. The day he'd passed the bar exam, he'd gone into business
with his family. But here he was, playing lawyer in the
afterlife. Even Kris admitted this wasn't his first choice for a
new career, but until they started a ghost world NHL franchise,
he was stuck with it.
Speaking of jobs . . . Kristof was right. I needed a break. I'd
known that for a while now, but couldn't bring myself to admit
it. I knew Kris's "temp job" wouldn't be the kind of employment
the es would approve of, but that was more incentive than
obstacle.
That thought had no sooner left my mind than a bluish fog blew in
and swirled around my leg.
"Hey, I was just--"
The fog sucked me into the ground.
The Searchers deposited me in the es' throne room, a white
marble cavern with moving mosaics on the walls. The es are the
guardians of the supernatural layers of the ghost world, and just
about the only time they call us in is when we've screwed up. So
as the floor began to turn, I braced myself. When it didn't turn
fast enough, I twisted around to face the es myself. A pretty
girl threaded yarn onto a spinning wheel. She looked no more than
five or six years old, with bright violet eyes that matched her
dress.
"Okay," I said. "What did I do?"
The girl smiled. "Isn't the question: What did I do now?"
I sighed, and in less time than it takes to blink, the girl
morphed into a middle-aged version of herself, with long graying
dark hair, and light-brown skin showing the first s and
roughness of time.
"We have a problem, Eve."
"Look, I promised I wouldn't use the codes for excessive
unauthorized travel. I never said--"
"This isn't about unauthorized travel."
I thought for a moment. "Visiting Adena Milan for spell-swapping?
Hey, that was an honest mistake. No one told me she was on the
blacklist."
The middle-aged e shook her head. "Admittedly, there might be
some amusement to be had in making you recite the whole list of
your infractions, but I'm afraid we don't have that much time.
Eighteen months ago, you made a deal with us. If we returned
Paige and Lucas to the living world, you'd owe us a favor."
"Oh . . . that."
Damn. When they hadn't mentioned it again, I'd hoped they'd
forgotten. Like that's going to happen. The es can remember
what Noah ate for breakfast on the morning of the flood.
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