Dead Witch Walking Read Online Free PDF Page A
Author: Kim Harrison
misery. One had a bruise developing under his eye; the other was limping. Ivy wasn’t gentle with vamps preying on the underage. Remembering the pull from the dead vamp at the end of the bar, I understood why. A sixteen-year-old couldn’t fight that. Wouldn’t want to fight that.
“Hey, Rachel,” Ivy said brightly, looking almost human now that she wasn’t actively working. “I’m heading uptown. Want to split the fare?”
My thoughts went back to the I.S. as I weighed the risk of being a starving entrepreneur to a lifetime of running for shoplifters and illegal-charm sellers. It wasn’t as if the I.S. would put a price on my head. No, Denon would be thrilled to tear up my contract. I couldn’t afford an office in Cincinnati, but maybe in the Hollows. Ivy spent a lot of time down here. She’d know where I could find something cheap. “Yeah,” I said, noting her eyes were a nice, steady brown. “I want to ask you something.”
She nodded and pushed her two takes forward. The crowd pressed back, the sea of black clothing seeming to soak up the light. The dead vamp at the outskirts gave me a respectful nod, as if to say “Good tag,” and with a pulse of emotion giving me a false high, I nodded back.
“Way to go, Rachel,” Jenks chimed up, and I smiled. It had been a long time since I’d heard that.
“Thanks,” I said, catching sight of him on my earring in the bar’s mirror. Pushing my glass aside, I reached for my bag, my smile widening when the bartender gestured it was on the house. Feeling warm from more than the alcohol, I slipped from my stool and pulled the leprechaun stumbling to her feet. Thoughts of a door with my name painted on it in gold letters swirled through me. It was freedom.
“No! Wait!” the leprechaun shouted as I grabbed my bag and hauled her butt to the door. “Wishes! Three wishes. Right? You let me go, and you get three wishes.”
I pushed her into the warm rain ahead of me. Ivy had a cab already, her catch stashed in the trunk so there would be more room for the rest of us. Accepting wishes from a felon was a sure way to find yourself on the wrong end of a broomstick, but only if you got caught.
“Wishes?” I said, helping the leprechaun into the backseat. “Let’s talk.”
Two
“W hat did you say?” I asked as I half turned in the front seat to see Ivy. She gestured helplessly from the back. The rhythm of bad wipers and good music fought to outdo each other in a bizarre mix of whining guitars and hiccuping plastic against glass. “Rebel Yell” screamed from the speakers. I couldn’t compete. Jenks’s credible imitation of Billy Idol gyrating with the Hawaiian dancer stuck to the dash didn’t help. “Can I turn it down?” I asked the cabbie.
“No touch! No touch!” he cried in an odd accent. The forests of Europe, maybe? His faint musky scent put him as a Were. I reached for the volume knob, and he took his fur-backed hand from the wheel and slapped at me.
The cab swerved into the next lane. His charms, all gone bad by the look of them, slid across the dash to spill onto my lap and the floor. The chain of garlic swinging from the rearview mirror hit me square in the eye. I gagged as the stench fought with the odor of the tree-shaped cardboard, also swinging from the mirror.
“Bad girl,” he accused, veering back into his lane and throwing me into him.
“If I good girl,” I snarled as I slid back into my seat, “you let me turn music down?”
The driver grinned. He was missing a tooth. He would be missing another one if I had my way. “Yah,” he said. “They talking now.” The music fell to nothing, replaced by a fast-talking announcer shouting louder than the music had been.
“Good Lord,” I muttered, turning the radio down. My lips curled at the smear of grease on the knob. I stared at my fingers, then wiped them off on the amulets still in my lap. They weren’t good for anything else. The salt from the driver’s too-frequent
“Hey, Rachel,” Ivy said brightly, looking almost human now that she wasn’t actively working. “I’m heading uptown. Want to split the fare?”
My thoughts went back to the I.S. as I weighed the risk of being a starving entrepreneur to a lifetime of running for shoplifters and illegal-charm sellers. It wasn’t as if the I.S. would put a price on my head. No, Denon would be thrilled to tear up my contract. I couldn’t afford an office in Cincinnati, but maybe in the Hollows. Ivy spent a lot of time down here. She’d know where I could find something cheap. “Yeah,” I said, noting her eyes were a nice, steady brown. “I want to ask you something.”
She nodded and pushed her two takes forward. The crowd pressed back, the sea of black clothing seeming to soak up the light. The dead vamp at the outskirts gave me a respectful nod, as if to say “Good tag,” and with a pulse of emotion giving me a false high, I nodded back.
“Way to go, Rachel,” Jenks chimed up, and I smiled. It had been a long time since I’d heard that.
“Thanks,” I said, catching sight of him on my earring in the bar’s mirror. Pushing my glass aside, I reached for my bag, my smile widening when the bartender gestured it was on the house. Feeling warm from more than the alcohol, I slipped from my stool and pulled the leprechaun stumbling to her feet. Thoughts of a door with my name painted on it in gold letters swirled through me. It was freedom.
“No! Wait!” the leprechaun shouted as I grabbed my bag and hauled her butt to the door. “Wishes! Three wishes. Right? You let me go, and you get three wishes.”
I pushed her into the warm rain ahead of me. Ivy had a cab already, her catch stashed in the trunk so there would be more room for the rest of us. Accepting wishes from a felon was a sure way to find yourself on the wrong end of a broomstick, but only if you got caught.
“Wishes?” I said, helping the leprechaun into the backseat. “Let’s talk.”
Two
“W hat did you say?” I asked as I half turned in the front seat to see Ivy. She gestured helplessly from the back. The rhythm of bad wipers and good music fought to outdo each other in a bizarre mix of whining guitars and hiccuping plastic against glass. “Rebel Yell” screamed from the speakers. I couldn’t compete. Jenks’s credible imitation of Billy Idol gyrating with the Hawaiian dancer stuck to the dash didn’t help. “Can I turn it down?” I asked the cabbie.
“No touch! No touch!” he cried in an odd accent. The forests of Europe, maybe? His faint musky scent put him as a Were. I reached for the volume knob, and he took his fur-backed hand from the wheel and slapped at me.
The cab swerved into the next lane. His charms, all gone bad by the look of them, slid across the dash to spill onto my lap and the floor. The chain of garlic swinging from the rearview mirror hit me square in the eye. I gagged as the stench fought with the odor of the tree-shaped cardboard, also swinging from the mirror.
“Bad girl,” he accused, veering back into his lane and throwing me into him.
“If I good girl,” I snarled as I slid back into my seat, “you let me turn music down?”
The driver grinned. He was missing a tooth. He would be missing another one if I had my way. “Yah,” he said. “They talking now.” The music fell to nothing, replaced by a fast-talking announcer shouting louder than the music had been.
“Good Lord,” I muttered, turning the radio down. My lips curled at the smear of grease on the knob. I stared at my fingers, then wiped them off on the amulets still in my lap. They weren’t good for anything else. The salt from the driver’s too-frequent