Black Arts
Faith Hunter
PRAISE FOR THE JANE YELLOWROCK NOVELS
Blood Trade
“Faith Hunter’s Jane Yellowrock series is a high-octane urban fantasy that follows its own rules and keeps you guessing until the very end. Heavily character driven, each one is able to hold a story in their own right . . . a well-plotted story line.”
—Smexy Books Romance Reviews
“The action is wild and woolly, with aerial and underground operations, and you will learn more about weapons and ammunition than you’ve ever had reason to know. . . . Not only is there a lot of carnage, but the inner turmoil is raised to a high level. Hunter knows how to twist readers in every direction but loose and still leave them thinking of it as therapeutic massage.”
—Kings River Life Magazine
“Jane to the rescue again. She truly is top-notch, kick butt!! Book six in the Jane Yellowrock series does not disappoint.”
—Urban Fantasy Investigations
“Blood Trade is a perfect blend of dark fantasy and mystery with a complex and tough vampire-killing heroine.”
—All Things Urban Fantasy
“[Blood Trade] moves quickly with lots of action and weapons play, which results in many permanently dead vampires. This urban fantasy has just enough romance to be intriguing and enough weapons and fighting to satisfy action fans. Gun-loving guys, if you thought urban fantasy wasn’t for you, then you haven’t met Jane Yellowrock.”
—Bull Spec
Death’s Rival
“Fans of Jane Yellowrock are in for a true treat with Death’s Rival. . . . Hunter has done it again, delivering a thrilling combination of mystery and romance that will delight her fans.”
—SF Site
“A thrilling mystery with epic action scenes and a kick-ass heroine with claws and fangs.”
—All Things Urban Fantasy
“Holy moly, this was an amazing read! Jane is the best urban fantasy heroine around. Death’s Rival catapulted this series to the top of my must-buy list.”
—Night Owl Reviews
“A wild, danger-filled adventure. The world building includes a perfect blend of seductive romance, nail-biting action, intriguing characters, and betrayal from all sides.”
—RT Book Reviews
Raven Cursed
“Faith Hunter has outdone herself in Raven Cursed . . . rife with snarky dialogue, vivid descriptions, and enough hairpin turns to keep a fantastic driver busy. . . . A lot of series seek to emulate Hunter’s work, but few come close to capturing the essence of urban fantasy: the perfect blend of intriguing heroine, suspense, [and] fantasy with just enough romance.”
—SF Site
“Hunter doesn’t disappoint. . . . I say you can’t get enough of one of my favorite kick-ass heroines, so if you are new to the series, give yourself the gift of books one through three. You won’t regret it.”
—Fresh Fiction
“A super thriller. . . . Fast-paced, Raven Cursed is an exhilarating paranormal whodunit with several thriller spins.”
—Genre Go Round Reviews
Mercy Blade
“Fans of Faith Hunter’s Jane Yellowrock novels will gobble down Mercy Blade . . . which has all the complexity, twists, and surprises readers have come to expect . . . a thrill ride from start to finish. . . . Hunter has an amazing talent for capturing mood.”
—SF Site
“There was something about the Jane Yellowrock series that drew me in from the very beginning. . . . Mercy Blade is top-notch, a five-star book!”
—Night Owl Reviews
“I was delighted to have the opportunity to read another Jane Yellowrock adventure. I was not disappointed, but was somewhat overwhelmed by the obvious growth in Faith Hunter’s writing skill.”
—San Francisco Book Review
“A thrilling novel. . . . Fans of suspenseful tales filled with vampires, weres, and more will enjoy this book. Jane is a strong heroine who knows how to take charge of a situation and kick butt if necessary.”
—Romance Reviews Today
“Faith Hunter has created one of my favorite characters, ever. Jane Yellowrock is full of contradictions . . . highly recommended.”
—Fresh Fiction
Blood Cross
“Readers eager for the next book in Patricia Briggs’s Mercy Thompson series may want to give Faith Hunter a try.”
—Library Journal
“In a genre flooded with strong, sexy females, Jane Yellowrock is unique. . . . Her bold first-person narrative shows that she’s one tough cookie, but with a likable vulnerability . . . a pulse- pounding, page-turning adventure.”
—RT Book Reviews
Skinwalker
“Seriously. Best urban fantasy I’ve read in years, possibly ever.”
—C. E. Murphy, author of Truthseeker
“A fantastic start to the Jane Yellowrock series. Mixing fantasy with a strong mystery story line and a touch of romance, it ticks all the right urban fantasy boxes.”
—LoveVampires
“Stunning. . . . Plot and descriptions so vivid, they might as well be pictures or videos. Hunter captures the reader’s attention from the first page and doesn’t let go.”
—SF Site
“A fabulous tale with a heroine who clearly has the strength to stand on her own . . . a wonderfully detailed and fast-moving adventure that fills the pages with murder, mystery, and fascinating characters.”
—Darque Reviews
“A promising new series with a strong heroine. . . . Jane is smart, quick, witty, and I look forward to reading more about her as she discovers more about herself.”
—Fresh Fiction
MORE PRAISE FOR THE NOVELS OF FAITH HUNTER
“With fast-paced action and the possibility of more romance, this is an enjoyable read with an alluring magical touch.”
—Darque Reviews
“The world [Hunter] has created is unique and bleak . . . [an] exciting science fiction thriller.”
—Midwest Book Review
“Entertaining . . . outstanding supporting characters. . . . The strong cliff-hanger of an ending bodes well for future adventures.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Hunter’s distinctive future vision offers a fresh though dark glimpse into a newly made postapocalyptic world. Bold and imaginative in approach, with appealing characters and a suspense-filled story, this belongs in most fantasy collections.”
—Library Journal
“It’s a pleasure to read this engaging tale about characters connected by strong bonds of friendship and family. Mixes romance, high fantasy, apocalyptic and postapocalyptic adventure to good effect.”
—Kirkus Reviews
“Hunter’s very professionally executed, tasty blend of dark fantasy, mystery, and romance should please fans of all three genres.”
—Booklist
Also by Faith Hunter
The Jane Yellowrock Novels
Skinwalker
Blood Cross
Mercy Blade
Cat Tales (a short-story compilation)
Raven Cursed
Have Stakes Will Travel (a short-story compilation)
Death’s Rival
Blood Trade
Jane Yellowrock World Companion
The Rogue Mage Novels
Bloodring
Seraphs
Host
BLACK ARTS
A Jane Yellowrock Novel
Faith Hunter
ROC
Published by the Penguin Group
Penguin Group (USA) LLC, 375 Hudson Street,
New York, New York 10014
USA | Canada | UK | Ireland | Australia | New Zealand | India | South Africa | China
penguin.com
A Penguin Random House Company
First published by Roc, an imprint of New American Library,
a division of Penguin Group (USA) LLC
Copyright © Faith Hunter, 2014
Music and lyrics copyright © Ken Wilson, 2013; performed by: Temporary Empire.
Penguin supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin to continue to publish books for every reader.
REGISTERED TRADEMARK—MARCA REGISTRADA
ISBN 978-1-101-62683-2
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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Contents
Praise
Also by Faith Hunter
Title page
Copyright page
Dedication
Acknowledgments
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
About the Author
To the Hubby for the newly remodeled writing room, kitchen, floors, windows, and the generous loving spirit (while I wailed about how long it took . . .). You truly are my Renaissance Man.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I want to thank:
Mud for poisons and continuity.
The Beast Claws for being such a fantastic street team. GO, CLAWS!
Lee Williams Watts for being the Claws’ primo, and for offering constant encouragement, assistance, and friendship.
A certain gentleman for the name of one of the Bad Guys, Jack Shoffru, and the lizard’s name, LongFellow. Excellent names, by the way!
Misty Massey for bits and pieces of pirates. Errr . . . pirate info. Not pirates themselves. That would be very messy.
My new PR team, Mindy and Audrey at Let’s Talk! Promotions.
Most importantly—my editors, Jessica Wade and Jesse Feldman.
CHAPTER 1
Insanity’s Not the Point
The crash shook the house, sounding as though the front wall had exploded. I whirled as my front door blew in, icy wind gusting with hurricane force. My ears popped. The bed skirt blew flat beneath the bed. My Beast rammed into me, the light going sharp and the colors bleaching into greens. Beast-fast, I grabbed two nine-mils from the bed, off-safetied, and chambered rounds into both. Raced into the foyer.
The door was open, the knob stuck into the wallboard, the hinges bent. The glass of its small window was busted all over the floor. Again.
Gale-force winds rushed through the open door. No one stood there. Icy air whirled through the house with a scream. I heard windows breaking in back. My ears popped again. A table in the living room tumbled over. Daylight patterned the wood floor off the foyer and reflected off broken glass shoved by the wind into the corner. Not vamps, I thought. But I’d been a target for blood-servants and scions for months. This wasn’t the first such attack, but it was the first that had gotten this far. And then the frigid cold tingled up my arms, blue and golden, flecked with darker sparks of frozen force. It smelled like the air over a glacier, fresh and full of suspended, preserved power. It circled over me, tried to latch onto my skin.
My Beast rose and batted the spell away. Magic, she thought. Air magic. Angry, like storms rising on the horizon. Witches.
I advanced the few steps from my room to the front door, the frigid squall pushing against me. In my peripheral vision, I saw Eli at the top of the stairs, his hunting rifle in one hand, a blade in the other, a small subgun on a sling over his back. The former Ranger was wearing boxers, his dark skin slick with shower water.
There was no music in the attack, no wind instrument, no whistling, no singing, none of the usual methods air witches used when they attacked. And the wind seemed random, blustery, not the tornado of might from a focused attack. More like wild magic, the kind teenaged witches might toss when their power first fell on them, out of control and turbulent. I danced into the doorway and back, getting a glimpse out. Despair pelted over me, sharp and burning as sleet, as I identified him. Sorcerer Evan Trueblood, my best friend Molly’s husband, was standing in the street, attacking my home.
Eli raced halfway down the stairs, his bare feet placed with rooted precision, his wet skin pebbled from the cold.
“No guns,” I shouted to Eli.
“Are you insane?” he shouted back.
“Probably, but insanity’s not the point. It’s Evan.”
Understanding dawned in the set of his shoulders and Eli raced back up the stairs. I turned my full attention to the open door. “Whaddaya want, Evan?” I shouted.
The wind receded marginally.
“I don’t want to fight you,” I called out. “I know I’d lose.” Maybe. Possibly. Okay, not likely, not with Eli and Beast on my side, but why stir a frozen pot? My big-cat huffed with agreement. “Talk to me, Evan! Please!”
“Tell Molly to come out and I’ll leave your house standing.”
My eyes went wide. I hadn’t seen Evan’s wife, Molly, in months, not since I killed her sister. Instantly I felt my hand on the knife as the blade slid into Evangelina. Hot blood gushed over me. I blinked away the unexpected tears that the cold wind stimulated and the memory evoked. I had killed her. I’d had no choice.
The police in Asheville had cleared me. There had been a hearing two weeks ago, attended by me, my lawyer, Adelaide Mooney, two local vamps, the PsyLED hand of the law, Rick LaFleur, and lots of press.
Molly hadn’t come to my hearing. None of her sisters had come. I’d kept glancing to the back of the courtroom, hoping. But they hadn’t come. I had only seen two of the Everhart witches while I was in Asheville, and that was because of vamp business, not friendship. Molly’s friendship had died. And why not? I didn’t deserve to have a relationship with her.
Despite, or maybe because of, the media coverage of Evangelina’s dying, I’d been cleared of any wrongdoing in the same way anyone would have been cleared, anyone who had stopped an armed killer from talking more lives. But the feeling that I’d managed to hide from in the months since I killed Evangelina had roared up like hot flame and taken me over. I couldn’t get rid of the feel of her blood, hot and sticky on my hand. Even now, I wiped the back of my hand on my jeans, feeling the cooling blood, long gone, but as real to my flesh and nerves as if it still coated my hand.
I had survived the distance from New Orleans and my accidental binding by Leo Pellissier, Master of the City of New Orleans, but only by hours. I’d flown back on Leo’s private jet, the fastest transport available to me. And retched the entire way home, sick as a dog because of my Beast’s inadvertent binding to the MOC, one that put a deadline on how long I could be apart from him, and also how far away from him I could go, even for short time periods. Getting my legal problems settled had made me deathly sick, but maybe the nausea was only partly from the binding. Maybe the rest of the sickness had been because Molly hadn’t been there. Hadn’t returned my fifteen million phone calls to her cell.
“Send her out!” Evan shouted, and a burst of wind hit the house. It creaked under the pressure. Evan
wasn’t attacking my house on purpose. He was losing control. He was so furious that his magic was operating on its own, ripping free.
“Molly . . .” I stopped as my voice cracked. I took a slow breath, bent, and set the nine-millimeter semiautomatics on the floor in the open doorway where he could see them. The rushing air nearly froze the skin on my hands. I stood and crossed my arms, putting my hands under my armpits to warm them. “Molly’s not here. I haven’t seen her,” I shouted to him. “Why would you think she’d come to see me? If Molly ever really forgave me, she would have called. Answered my calls. Texted me. Something.” I laughed shakily. “She didn’t.” My voice dropped. “Though why that would surprise me, I have no idea. I haven’t been able to forgive myself.”
Moments later, the wind slowed to a trickle. Something in my bedroom overbalanced at the change in pressure and shattered to the floor. I glanced back to see the bed skirt dropping down and a lamp on the floor. I shivered in the cold. Over my head on the landing upstairs, I heard a faint click. Eli readying a gun. I looked up and saw the barrel of the rifle angled down from the floor. Eli was lying prone, aiming into the doorway. “Put it away, Eli.” When he didn’t move, I stepped into the doorway, standing so he’d have to shoot me first, before any attackers. He cursed softly behind me.
I stood in the doorway, the sun’s glare hiding Evan from me, except for a silhouette. A huge bear of a silhouette, six-six and more. Squinting, I made out his red hair and beard, fire-bright, his flannel plaid shirt and jeans. Boots laced up.
I put up a hand to shield my eyes from the sun and studied him. His face was drawn and pale, nose red as if from crying. Dark circles puffed beneath his eyes. He stood less than fifteen feet from the freebie house I lived in. Molly’s minivan was behind him, sunlight bouncing off the chrome. Evan’s rattletrap red truck hadn’t made the trip; it had barely made the previous trip to the Deep South, even with an air sorcerer tinkering with it. Which meant that if Molly was traveling, it was by air or rental car. Or maybe bus. Train. Anyway, easy to track, no matter how she’d traveled. My investigational brain kicking in when the emotional one was in turmoil. I tried for something lighter than his unintentional attack on my house. “You coulda called, you know. I’d have told you she wasn’t here, saved you a trip.”
