Dead Witch Walking by Kim Harrison Read Free Book Online Page B

to finding the remaining illegal biolabs where, for a price, one can still get clean insulin and something to stave off leukemia. The human-run FIB is as obsessed in finding banned technology as the I.S. is with getting the mind-altering drug Brimstone off the streets.
    And it all started when Rosalind Franklin noticed her pencil had been moved, and someone was where they ought not be, I thought, rubbing my fingertips into my aching head. Small clues. Little hints. That’s what makes the world turn. That’s what made me such a good runner. Smiling back at Rosalind, I wiped the fingerprints off the frame and put it in my keep box.
    There was a burst of nervous laughter behind me, and I yanked open the next drawer, shuffling through the dirty self-stick notes and paper clips. My brush was right where I always left it, and a knot of worry loosened as I tossed it into the box. Hair could be used to make spells target specific. If Denon was going to slap a death threat on me, he would have taken it.
    My fingers found the heavy smoothness of my dad’s pocket watch. Nothing else was mine, and I slammed the drawer shut, stiffening as my head seemed to nearly explode. The watch’s hands were frozen at seven to midnight. He used to tease me that it had stopped the night I was conceived. Slouching in my chair, I wedged it into my front pocket. I could almost see him standing in the doorframe of the kitchen, looking from his watch to the clock over the sink, a smile curving over his long face as he pondered where the missing moments had gone.
    I set Mr. Fish—the Beta-in-bowl I had gotten at last year’s office Christmas party—into my dissolution basin, trusting chance would keep both the water and the fish from sloshing out. I tossed the canister of fish flakes after him. A muffled thump from the far end of the room pulled my attention beyond the partitions and to Denon’s closed door.
    “You won’t get three feet out that door, Tamwood,” came his muffled shout, silencing the buzz of conversations. Apparently, Ivy had just resigned. “I’ve got a contract. You work for me, not the other way around! You leave and—” There was a clatter behind the closed door. “Holy shit…” he continued softly. “How much is that?”
    “Enough to pay off my contract,” Ivy said, her voice cold. “Enough for you and the stiffs in the basement. Do we have an understanding?”
    “Yeah,” he said in what sounded like greedy awe. “Yeah. You’re fired.”
    My head felt as if it was stuffed with tissue, and I rested it in my cupped hands. Ivy had money? Why hadn’t she said anything last night?
    “Go Turn yourself, Denon,” Ivy said, clear in the absolute hush. “I quit. You didn’t fire me. You may have my money, but you can’t buy into high-blood. You’re second-rate, and no amount of money can change that. If I have to live in the gutters off rats, I’ll still be better than you, and it’s killing you I won’t have to take your orders anymore.”
    “Don’t think this makes you safe,” the boss raved. I could almost see that vein popping on his neck. “Accidents happen around her. Get too close, and you might wake up dead.”
    Denon’s door swung open and Ivy stormed out, slamming his door so hard the lights flickered. Her face was tight, and I don’t think she even saw me as she whipped past my cubicle. Somewhere between having left me and now, she had donned a calf-length silk duster. I was secure enough in my own gender preference to admit she made it look very good. The hem billowed as she crossed the floor with murderous strides. Spots of anger showed on her pale face. Tension flowed from her, almost visible it was so strong.
    She wasn’t going vampy; she was just mad as all get-out. Even so, she left a cold wake behind her that the sunlight streaming in couldn’t touch. An empty canvas bag hung over her shoulder, and her wish was still about her neck. Smart girl, I thought. Save it for a rainy day. Ivy