Reap the Wind
Karen Chance
“YOU DEFINITELY NEED TO CHECK OUT THIS SERIES.”
—Literary Escapism
Praise for the Cassie Palmer Novels
Tempt the Stars
“An action-packed romp through the Cassandra Palmer universe.”
—All Things Urban Fantasy
“Stellar. . . . Chance has done a fantastic job weaving everything into a fantastic story that sucks you right in.”
—A Book Obsession
“The best of the series.”
—The Demon Librarian
“Cassie is the ultimate poster child for heroines having to learn to roll with the punches and stay on their feet. Per usual, you can count on the awesome Chance delivering a story that hits the ground running and never looks back.”
—RT Book Reviews
Hunt the Moon
“This isn’t just urban fantasy—it’s storytelling at its best.”
—SFRevu
“I am as surprised as anyone to have book five of a series stand me on my head and dazzle me, and even more so as I realize I could pick up Hunt the Moon and these characters would do it again and again and again.”
—All Things Urban Fantasy
“A fascinating world. . . . The author has reinvented her writing style for the series and raised the bar of expectations high. Her story transcends mere urban fantasy and veers toward epic fantasy.”
—LoveVampires
Curse the Dawn
“A truly riotous ride. . . . Chance adds plenty of twists and obstacles to her first-person series that blends time travel, magic, vampires, and more. The pace is rapid, and the exploits are wild. Chance aces another one!”
—RT Book Reviews
“The urban fantasy equivalent of a summer blockbuster . . . quite the satisfying urban fantasy adventure.”
—SF Site
“Outstanding. The characters pull you into their world and won’t let you go. . . . The dialog is funny, the story is fast-paced, full of intrigue with really hot sex scenes.”
—The Romance Readers Connection
“A dark theme tempered with humor, action, and romance comes alive in Curse the Dawn, one of the best of the Cassandra Palmer series.”
—Romance Reviews Today
“Chance is outstanding in her punchy delivery. . . . Swift action sequences, tight plotline, a memorable cast, some rather steamy and heart-thumping scenes . . . are all reasons to love this book and indeed this series.”
—The Truth About Books
Embrace the Night
“Cassie is a well-rounded character, and the intensity and complexity of the plot puts her through her paces physically, emotionally, and psychically.”
—Publishers Weekly
“If you thought Touch the Dark and Claimed by Shadow were action-packed, well, buckle your seat belt. . . . Lara Croft would have a hard time keeping up.”
—SFRevu
“Quick pacing and imaginative use of some old mythologies blend into a captivating read that will leave readers clamoring for more.”
—Monsters and Critics
“Ms. Chance continues to expand her well-built world with time travel, fantastical beings, steamy romance, and the nonstop action her wonderful series provides. This is a fast-moving read that’s hard to set down.”
—Darque Reviews
“A wonderfully refreshing step away from the cookie-cutter regime of the usual vampire novels . . . this novel has it all. Believable characters, descriptive settings, and thrills and chills kept this reader on the edge of her seat.”
—Roundtable Reviews
Claimed by Shadow
“A nonstop thrill ride from beginning to end, a wildly entertaining romp with a strong, likable heroine.”
—Rambles
“Ms. Chance is a master. . . . [A] series well worth getting hooked on.”
—Fresh Fiction
“A great writer of supernatural fantasy that is on a par with the works of Kim Harrison, Charlaine Harris, and Kelley Armstrong.”
—Midwest Book Review
“Magic aplenty populates this fast-moving, rather dark tale of power, corruption, double-dealings, and painful attractions as Cassie comes to grips with her new role in this follow-up to Touch the Dark.”
—Monsters and Critics
Touch the Dark
“A grab-you-by-the-throat-and-suck-you-in sort of book with a tough, smart heroine and sexy-scary vampires. I loved it—and I’m waiting anxiously for a sequel.”
—#1 New York Times bestselling author Patricia Briggs
“A really exciting book with great pace and a huge cast of vivid characters. This is one of my favorite reads of the year.”
—#1 New York Times bestselling author Charlaine Harris
“Exciting and inventive.”
—Booklist
“Fast and heavy on the action, Touch the Dark packs a huge story. . . . A blend of fantasy and romance, it will satisfy readers of both genres.”
—Fresh Fiction
“A very promising start to a new series, and an exceptionally entertaining first novel.”
—Locus
“A wonderfully entertaining romp with an engaging heroine. Here’s hoping there’s a sequel in the works!”
—New York Times bestselling author Kelley Armstrong
“Karen Chance takes her place along with Laurell K. Hamilton, Charlaine Harris, MaryJanice Davidson, and J. D. Robb to give us a strong woman who doesn’t wait to be rescued. . . . The action never stops. . . . Engrossing.”
—SFRevu
“Combines humor, action, and the paranormal into a scintillating story that will leave readers begging for more.”
—Romance Reviews Today
Books by Karen Chance
THE CASSIE PALMER SERIES
Touch the Dark
Claimed by Shadow
Embrace the Night
Curse the Dawn
Hunt the Moon
Tempt the Stars
Reap the Wind
THE MIDNIGHT’S DAUGHTER SERIES
Midnight’s Daughter
Death’s Mistress
Fury’s Kiss
THE MIRCEA BASARAB SERIES
Masks
SIGNET
Published by New American Library,
an imprint of Penguin Random House LLC
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014
This book is an original publication of New American Library.
Copyright © Karen Chance, 2015
Penguin Random House 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 Random House to continue to publish books for every reader.
Signet and the Signet colophon are registered trademarks of Penguin Random House LLC.
For more information about Penguin Random House, visit penguin.com.
ISBN 978-1-101-61698-7
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.
Version_1
Contents
Praise
Boo
ks by Karen Chance
Title Page
Copyright
Acknowledgments
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
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-one
Chapter Forty-two
Chapter Forty-three
Chapter Forty-four
Chapter Forty-five
Chapter Forty-six
Chapter Forty-seven
Chapter Forty-eight
Chapter Forty-nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-one
Chapter Fifty-two
Chapter Fifty-three
Epilogue
Excerpt from Ride the Storm
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
To the crew at Penguin—thanks for the hard work and patience as this monster came together.
Chapter One
Okay, this was going to be easy.
That wasn’t something I said very often, because my life is a lot of things, but easy has never been one of them. My name is Cassie Palmer, and I used to be a down-on-my-luck clairvoyant who made ends meet by reading tarot in a bar. But then stuff happened. A lot of stuff. A lot of hair-raising, spine-tingling, unbelievably crazy and potentially deadly stuff. As a result, I was now a down-on-my-luck Pythia, the chief seer of the supernatural world.
Yeah, I don’t know how that happened, either.
But my no-good luck was about to change. Because my partner, who was currently lost in time, and who I’d been searching for for what felt like forever, was right across the room.
And this time, nothing was going to go wrong.
“This time, nothing is going to go wrong,” I said into my beer.
The should-have-been-handsome-but-wasn’t-because-he-was-an-ass who was propping up the wall next to me didn’t answer. His shirt was open and he was poking at something on his stomach—presumably a bruise. I clenched my hand on my beer mug so I wouldn’t be tempted to add a few more.
“Did you hear me?” I demanded softly, trying not to call attention to us. Not that that seemed likely. The little dive in Amsterdam where we’d washed up was loud, and an especially raucous group had just blown in through the door. Along with a blast of cold air and icy slush that numbed my toes even through thick leather boots and added another layer of frost to my eyelashes.
Apparently, central heating was not a thing in the 1790s.
The smart people were over by the fire, which had managed to melt the slush around a small ring of chairs and a few stool-type things that I guess were supposed to be tables. Or beer holders, anyway. But we couldn’t join them and try to thaw out. Because the bar was by the fire and a half-demon war mage named Pritkin was by the bar.
He’d glanced around a few times since we’d come in, but hadn’t picked me out because my strawberry blond curls were hidden under a dark brown glamourie. The same one that had changed my tip-tilted nose into a pug and fattened my already plump cheeks into chipmunk territory. It was not a great look for me, but since my reluctant partner had provided it, I’d decided it could be worse.
I was sort of surprised he hadn’t given me warts.
I wasn’t surprised that he hadn’t bothered to answer. Rosier might be Lord of all Incubi, the demon race known for being smooth, suave, and charming, but I didn’t get to see that side of him. No, I saw this side. The side that was poking at his hairy abdomen with a frown, as if the ring of bruises there was potentially life-threatening.
If only, I thought, and kicked him.
That won me a glare out of a stranger’s black eyes, because Rosier was wearing a glamourie, too. Normally, he shared the green eye color and rugged blond good looks of his son and our elusive target. And nothing else. The stubborn sense of honor, the brutal honesty, and the iron discipline of the man I knew must have all come from Pritkin’s human side, because I’d yet to see a shred of them in his reprehensible father.
“Why are you asking me?” the creature demanded, glowering at me from under greasy dark brown bangs. “I wasn’t the one who screwed up last time.”
“You got mugged last time!”
“You shouldn’t have left me alone,” he complained. “London is a dangerous city, doubly so in the Victorian age—”
“You’re a demon lord! How the hell you managed to get beaten up—”
“A demon lord without magic.”
“—by a handful of street thugs who didn’t even have—wait. What?”
He scowled at me. “Why do you think I’m carrying this?” he slapped the side of the leather man purse he’d brought along, because I guess incubi are more secure in their sexuality than most guys. Or maybe there was another reason.
He’d pulled the little patch out of it that had provided my glamourie earlier. I hadn’t stopped to wonder about it at the time, being too busy already wondering how to get into my multilayered Victorian outfit. But now it occurred to me that maybe a demon lord shouldn’t have to carry around his magic.
And shouldn’t have the crap beaten out of him quite so easily.
“In their infinite wisdom, the demon council decided to put a dam on my power,” he confirmed bitterly. “They worried about what I would do to some of them, back in time with both foreknowledge and magic intact. Not being able to deprive me of the former, they restricted the latter—something that becomes a problem when one is set upon by six huge brutes!”
I didn’t waste time pointing out that it had been three the first time he told that story, because deflating his ego could wait. Something else couldn’t. “Then what about the counterspell?” I hissed.
Rosier and I were putting up with each other because we had a common goal: to save his son from obliteration. Pritkin’s twenty-first-century body was back where it belonged, and in decent shape despite being hit by a deadly curse. But only because it hadn’t been the target. His soul had. The demon spell had sent his spirit sliding back through the eras of his life, and would destroy it once it reached the beginning of what had been, thankfully, a very long existence.
At least, it would unless we put the countercurse on him first.
But that wasn’t my job. I’d done my job—flipping us through time after the wildly careening soul, which didn’t have anything like a steady, predictable path. It jumped here and there, like a piece of flotsam in the rapids, catching only occasionally on some bit of time’s shoreline before being snatched off again a few minutes later.
And now the one person who could stop it was telling me he couldn’t cast the damned spell?
“Of course I can,” Rosie
r said acidly, when I pointed this out. “They had to leave me that much, or what’s the use in my coming?”
“Nothing as far as I can—”
“But that’s the only one.”
I stared at him as his meaning sunk in. “You mean that’s the only spell you can do?”
He gestured at his bruised ribs. “Obviously.”
“But . . . but what if we run into trouble?”
“Well, you’re a witch, aren’t you?”
“No! No, I am not a witch! How many times do I have to—”
A hand reached around my shoulders and clapped over my mouth. “Keep your voice down! That is not a popular word in this era.”
I shut up, because he was right. And because I didn’t have a choice. And, eventually, Rosier decided to let me breathe again, but just so he could interrogate me.
“What do you mean, you’re not a witch?”
“I mean, I don’t do witch stuff,” I whispered. “I do Pythia stuff. That’s why I have bodyguards!” Only there was a limit to how many people I could take along on my jaunts through time, since every person added to the already considerable strain. So I’d left my guards at home, assuming that a demon lord could protect me.
Only to find out that he couldn’t even do that for himself.
“What do we do if we’re attacked?” he demanded.
“That’s what I just asked you!”
“You couldn’t have mentioned this before?”
“You told me to get us here and you’d take care of the rest!”
“That was before I knew I was dealing with someone without even rudimentary—” He abruptly cut off.
“What is it?” I glanced around nervously. But it wasn’t a witch-hunting posse coming for me with torches blazing. In fact, nothing of interest appeared to be happening at all. Just the bar’s alcoholic tabby winding around a few legs, looking for handouts, more icy rain lashing the windows, and a couple guys arguing over a game of dice.
And Pritkin chatting up one of the barmaids.
I did a double take at that, because it wasn’t the sort of thing you saw every day. Or ever. The asshole beside me had seen to that.
About a century ago, Rosier had had one of his intermittent bouts of fatherly enthusiasm, during which he usually managed to screw up his son’s life in a major way. That time, he’d decided he wanted Pritkin back in hell on a permanent basis. Not so much for the pleasure of his company as to use him as a pawn in his little power games.
