Magic on the Line
Devon Monk
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Acknowledgements
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chap ter 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
Teaser chapter
Devon Monk
AVAILABLE NOW FROM
Books by Devon Monk
Praise for the Novels of Devon Monk
Magic at the Gate
“The action-packed fifth Allie Beckstrom novel amps up the magical mayhem.... Allie’s adventures are gripping and engrossing, with an even, clever mix of humor, love, and brutality.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Devon Monk takes her story to places I couldn’t have dreamed of. Each twist and turn was completely surprising for me. Magic at the Gate truly stands out.”
—Reading on the Dark Side
“A spellbinding story that will keep readers on the edge of their seats.”
—Romance Reviews Today
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 relationships with Zayvion, her friend Nola, and the other Hounds add 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, [and] 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
“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
“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
Magic to the Bone
“Brilliantly and tightly written . . . will surprise, amuse, amaze, and absorb readers.”
—Publishers Weekly (starred review)
“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, 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 Sirensong
“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 My Soul to Steal
“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 Crossroads
“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 Meeting
“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 Glimpses
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
Magic on the Line
The Age of Steam
Dead Iron
ROC
Published by New American Library, a division of
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First published by Roc, an imprint of New American Library, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
First Printing, November 2011
Copyright © Devon Monk, 2011
All rights reserved
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PUBLISHER’S NOTE
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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ISBN : 978-1-101-55875-1
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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 Dej-sha 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.
Lastly, but certainly not leastly, thank you, dear readers, for letting me share this story, these people, and this world with you.
Chapter One
It had taken Bartholomew Wray, the overseer of Portland’s Authority, who was apparently my new boss, exactly forty-eight hours to contact me for a standard-procedure meet and greet.
By “contact,” I mean he sent to my door two goons who asked me if my name was Allison Beckstrom, if I was the daughter of Daniel Beckstrom, and if my civilian job was Hounding. I said yes to all three, which scored me the grand prize of a meet and greet. And by meet and greet, I mean small room, bright light, two-way glass, and interrogative Truth spells that would be illegal if anyone knew about them.
The room itself wasn’t too bad—a conference area on the sixth floor, tucked away behind the very real attorney’s office in smack-center downtown Portland. A redwood and marble table took up the middle of the room, while bookshelves on three of the walls bulged with gold-embossed leather volumes that I bet no one had touched since they’d been shelved. The other wall held two tall windows, blinds closed tight.
The carpet was burgundy with whorls of gold at the edges. It gave the whole room a gilded-picture-frame feel, and it was so thick, I felt like I was wading through loose sand when I walked across it.
I had been escorted by the goons, who were both taller and wider than me and had opted for the twinsy look in matching black suits, white shirts, and black ties, topped off with the standard secret-bodyguard accessory: reflective sunglasses. The heavier, darker-featured goon on my left smelled of garlic and pepperoni, while the blond, acne-scarred goon on my right smelled like brown sugar and pork.
My escorts walked with me down the length of the redwood table to an unassuming little black walnut desk in the corner.
Goon Two waved a hand toward the plain leather chair, and I sat. I’d tried conversation in the car, tried conversation during the six flights of stairs (no, I had not let them talk me into riding an elevator). By the second floor, it was pretty clear they were paid to keep the chitchat to a minimum.
I leaned back and didn’t ask questions while the goons positioned themselves at each end of the room. One stood next to the door we’d entered through; the other took the door directly opposite.
And then they started casting magic—something in the Privacy spell category. It was aimed at the room in general, not me specifically, which was good. If they tried to work a spell on me, they’d be in for a helping of hurt.
That they were casting a spell wasn’t all that unusual. That they were working it together piqued my interest. They started the spell small, and when the magic they cast sizzled like a cheap sparkler, Goon One canceled his spell and adjusted what he was tracing to make it more closely match Goon Two’s spell.
They were Contrasts. I hadn’t seen a lot of magic users cast magic together—well, except for a few Soul Complements, me and Zayvion Jones included. Zay’s best friend, Shamus Flynn, and I were Contrasts, which meant that sometimes we could make spells a hell of a lot stronger if we worked together, and sometimes magic backfired and blew things up.
But the goons had it down to a routine. All through the cast, and it seemed to be a long and complicated spell, Goon One kept an eye out for things going wrong—like all the oxygen getting burned out of the room—and negated it before it became a full-force killer.
And then they were done weaving the spell between themselves and throughout the room. They both said a word, a single syllable, and my ears were stuffed with cotton. I swallowed hard, tasted the chemical sting of the combined magic—like they’d just drenched the room in antiseptic—didn’t like it much, and tried to get my ears to clear.
Should have packed some magical chewing gum.
“So now no one can hear us, see us, or probably remember us coming into the room,” I said with all the boredom I felt at their theatrics. “Do we get to have our little chat now? And if we do, would one of you like to fill me in on why Mr. Bartholomew Wray wanted me to meet him here today?”
I didn’t add “alone.” And no, I hadn’t told Zay or anyone else that I was coming here. One, it hadn’t seemed like that big of a deal. The first time I’d gone to meet my teacher, Maeve Flynn, I hadn’t alerted the search and rescue or anything. I figured the new boss of the Authority would be following the same rules he expected the rest of us in the Authority to follow.
And if he wasn’t, I could more than handle myself.
I was no slouch with magic or a blade.
Also, I wasn’t as alone as most people. My dead father had been possessing a corner of my brain for months—ever since a magic user had tried to raise him from the dead. He’d been pretty quiet lately, but I knew he was always there, listening.
The goons still weren’t talking. “Listen,” I said, “I wasn’t the one who called this little barbecue. If he wants to talk to me, he knows where I live.”
I stood.
Just as the door across the room opened.
In strolled Bartholomew Wray. I’d never met him, but that punch-in-the-stomach kick of recognition from my dad, who was still curled up and possessing a part of my brain, told me he knew the man.
Wray was about my dad’s age, maybe a couple inches shorter than me, and dressed in a nice jacket and slacks, button-down shirt but no tie, collar undone. His receding hairline and the pompadour comb-back, which crested in a six-inch wave, only made the top of his head look too wide and his cheekbones too sharp above his narrow, pointed chin.
Eyes: watery blue. Lips: thin enough I was pretty sure they’d break under the weight of a smile.
“Ms. Beckstrom.” He wasn’t looking at me. He was reading the report in his hand. “Thank you for coming today. Please, sit—” This was when he glanced up.
And stopped dead in his tracks.
Shock, surprise, and then an uncomfortable half smile that he managed to prop up with a stiff sneer. “You certainly resemble your father.”
Ah. Well, now I could assume they had not
been friends. I wondered whether he held grudges.
“So I’ve been told,” I said.
He adjusted one sleeve, catching at the cuff links there as if they were worry stones, and then motioned at the chair behind me. “Please, have a seat so we can begin.”
I sat. “What are we beginning?”
He took the chair on the opposite side of the desk and one of the goons came over with two glasses of water, placing them on the coasters near each of us.
“Didn’t they inform you?” He raised silver eyebrows and glanced at each of the goons in turn.
“They said it was a standard-procedure meeting of some kind,” I said. “And I have no idea what that means.”
He glanced back down at the report in his hands. “I’m not surprised. No one has been following procedure during the past five years, apparently. And no one has reported the lapse in discipline.”
“Isn’t that your job?”
He flicked a look at me.
“Supervising?” I said. “Which means working with the ground troops and maybe checking in every once in a while so you know when something isn’t going right?”
“I have a large region to cover, Ms. Beckstrom,” he said. “I can only focus on a specific problem, such as Portland, if it is brought to my attention. No one called me.”
“And you haven’t stopped by in the past five years.”
He held my gaze for a long moment. I suddenly knew he and I would never be friends either.
“No one followed procedure and contacted me until things were in this sorry state of disarray.” He sniffed and pulled a pen out of his breast pocket, clicking it three times and then poising it over the report.
