Magic Grave

'Don't move…'

I couldn't stand it. That burning from my chest felt like it had spread all through me. A scream built in my throat, but I choked it back. Please, don't let him see me die screaming…

The agony stopped just as abruptly as it started. Bones let out a harsh sound that was followed by a clatter of metal on the ground. I looked down, seeing a slash in my chest that began to close, the skin seaming back together as it healed.

And then Bones spun around. A vampire stood behind him, holding a big knife and wearing the weirdest expression on his face. He dropped to his knees and pitched forward, a silver handle sticking out of his back. My mother was behind the vampire. Her hands were bloody.

'Rough, quick, and thorough, or you won't get a second chance,' she mumbled, almost to herself.

Bones stared. 'That's right, Justina.' Then he began to laugh. 'Well done.'

I was stunned. Bones swept me up, kissing me so hard I tasted blood when his fangs pierced my lips.

'Don't you ever frighten me like that again.'

'He didn't die,' I said, still stunned by the recent events. 'I twisted a blade in his heart, but he didn't die.'

'Like he said, situs inversus.' At my confused expression, Bones went on. 'Means he was born with his organs backward, so his heart was on the right. That's what saved his life before, but he shouldn't have admitted it while I could hear him.'

I hadn't known such a condition existed. Note to self: Learn more about anatomical oddities.

Bones scanned the parking lot, but the only vampires out here were the ones gathered around the side of the nightclub. Onlookers, I thought in amazement. Had they stood there the whole time and just watched?

Fear leapt in me. 'Where's Tammy?'

'I ran her inside after the car blew up,' my mother said. 'She'd be safe in there, you said.'

And then she'd come back outside to face a pack of hit men. Tears pricked my eyes even as Bones smiled at her.

'You saved my life, Justina.'

She looked embarrassed, and then scowled. 'I didn't know if you were finished getting that knife out of Catherine. I couldn't let him sneak up on you and stab you until my daughter was okay.'

Bones laughed. 'Of course.'

I shook my head. She'd never change, but that was okay. I loved her anyway.

Verses walked out of Bite with Tammy at his side. From her red-rimmed eyes, she'd been crying.

'It's over,' I told her.

Tammy ran and hugged me. I wanted to say something profound and comforting, but all I could do was repeat, 'It's over.'

At least Tammy wouldn't remember any of this. No, her memories would be replaced with one where she'd been sequestered by boring bodyguards provided by her father's former friends. Tammy would go into adulthood without the burden of knowing there were things in the night no average human could stand against. She'd be normal. It was the best birthday present I could give her.

'You fought on the premises,' Verses stated.

Bones let out a snort. 'You noticed that, did you, mate?'

'Maybe if you wouldn't have stood there and done nothing while we were ambushed, your precious premises would still be in one piece!' my mother snapped at Versus. 'Don't you have any loyalty? Bones said you were a friend!'

Verses raised his brows at her withering tone, then cast a glance around at the parking lot. Vampire bodies littered the area, one of the cars was still on fire, and various others were smashed, ripped, or dented.

'I am his friend,' Verses replied. 'Which is why I'll let all of you leave without paying for the damages.'

'He doesn't sound like we'll be welcomed back,' I murmured to Bones. 'So much for coming here during the rest of our vacation to explore all those private areas.'

Bones's lips brushed my forehead. 'Don't fret, luv. I know another club in Brooklyn I think you'll really fancy…'

About the Author

Jeaniene Frost is the New York Times, USA Today, and international bestselling author of the Night Huntress series and the Night Huntress World novels. To date, foreign rights for her novels have sold to seventeen different countries. Jeaniene lives in North Carolina with her husband Matthew, who long ago accepted that she swears like a sailor, rarely cooks, and always sleeps in on the weekends.

A QUESTIONABLE CLIENT by Ilona Andrews

The problem with leucrocotta blood is that it stinks to high heaven. It's also impossible to get off your boots, particularly if the leucrocotta condescended to void its anal glands on you right before you chopped its head off.

I sat on the bench in the Mercenary Guild locker room and pondered my noxious footwear. The boots were less than a year old. And I didn't have money to buy a new pair.

'Tomato juice, Kate,' one of the mercs offered. 'Will take it right out.'

Now he'd done it. I braced myself.

A woman in the corner shook her head. 'That's for skunks. Try baking soda.'

'You have to go scientific about it. Two parts hydrogen peroxide to four parts water.'

'A quart of water and a tablespoon of ammonia.'

'What you need to do is piss on it…'

Every person in the locker room knew my boots were shot. Unfortunately, stain removal methods was one of those troublesome subjects somewhere between relationship issues and mysterious car noises. Everybody was an expert, everybody had a cure, and they all fell over themselves to offer their advice.

The electric bulbs blinked and faded. Magic flooded the world in a silent rush, smothering technology. Twisted tubes of feylanterns ignited with pale blue on the walls as the charged air inside them interacted with magic. A nauseating stench, reminiscent of a couple of pounds of shrimp left in the sun for a week, erupted from my boots. There were collective grunts of 'Ugh' and 'Oh God,' and then everybody decided to give me lots of personal space.

We lived in a post-Shift world. One moment magic dominated, fueling spells and giving power to monsters and the next it vanished as abruptly as it appeared. Cars started, electricity flowed, and mages became easy prey to a punk with a gun. Nobody could predict when magic waves would come or how long they would last. That's why I carried a sword. It always worked.

Mark appeared in the doorway. Mark was the Guild's equivalent of middle management, and he looked the part – his suit was perfectly clean and cost more than I made in three months, his dark hair was professionally trimmed, and his hands showed no calluses. In the crowd of working-class thugs, he stood out like a sore thumb and was proud of it, which earned him the rank and file's undying hatred.

Mark's expressionless stare fastened on me. 'Daniels, the clerk has a gig ticket for you.'

Usually the words 'gig ticket' made my eyes light up. I needed money. I always needed money. The Guild zoned the jobs, meaning that each merc had his own territory. If a job fell in your territory, it was legitimately yours. My territory was near Savannah, basically in the sparsely populated middle of nowhere, and good gigs didn't come my way too often. The only reason I ended up in Atlanta this time was that my part-time partner in crime, Jim, needed