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Black Magic Sanction


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      BLACK MAGIC SANCTION

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      Kim Harrison

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       Copyright

      HarperVoyager

      An Imprint of HarperCollins Publishers

      1 London Bridge Street

      London SE1 9GF

       www.harpervoyagerbooks.com

      Black Magic Sanction © Kim Harrison 2010

      Kim Harrison asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of these works

      A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

      All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

      Ebook Edition © September 2010 ISBN: 9780007537563

      Version: 2016-02-03

       Dedication

       To the guy in the leather jacket

       Contents

       Cover

       Title Page

       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

       Acknowledgments

       Also by Kim Harrison

       About the Publisher

       One

      Tucking my hair back, I squinted at the parchment, trying to form the strange angular letters as smoothly as I could. The ink glistened wetly, but it wasn’t red ink, it was blood—my blood—which might account for the slight tremble as I copied the awkward-looking name scripted in characters that weren’t English. Beside me was a pile of rejects.