Madison Fox Urban Fantasy Series

1. A Man Can Work from Sun to Sun, but a Woman’s Work Is Never Done

An inky puddle of atrum pooled in front of a storage closet beside the hotel elevators. Six fist-size imps bopped around in the atrum, their primordial ooze. In the time it took me to pull my collapsible wand of petrified wood from my back pocket and extend it, a chinchilla-shaped bubble swelled in the atrum, growing glassy ebony eyes, a mouthful of needle-like teeth, and tiny feet. Soundlessly, it sprang an inch into the air, disconnecting from the puddle and becoming a seventh fully formed imp.

I pushed lux lucis into the wand, filling the entire length with the white energy. The imps turned, attention snagged by the bright waving light. As one, they opened jaws as tall as their bodies, revealing rows of sharp black teeth and proving they were little more than brainless mouths. I slashed the thin wood through their insubstantial bodies, and the imps exploded into harmless black glitter. By the time the disintegrated atrum sifted to the floor, the flecks were as gray as the carpet.

I smiled and pressed the tip of the wand into my palm, collapsing the hollow segments like an old radio antenna until it was short enough to return to the back pocket of my jeans.

A few days ago, this hotel had been coated top to bottom with atrum, thanks to a video game convention and the mobs of gamer geeks overflowing the event floor. Okay, technically, the nerd herd hadn’t been responsible for the evil, but they’d disseminated it as unwitting hosts. The real evil had been a demon camping in their midst, taking advantage of my newbie enforcer status and weak control of my region. Besting it had nearly killed me, but survival had firmed my resolve to stick to my new career path.

I’d been running cleanup here at ground zero and throughout my region ever since. Eventually I’d catch up and catch my breath.

I crouched next to the empty black puddle. Atrum was the insidious source from which basic evil creatures spawned and on which more complex evil creatures thrived. I found it repulsive and took great delight in destroying it. Though this patch was only two feet across, left alone, the atrum would continue to spawn imps and taint any people who stepped through it.

I gathered lux lucis in my palm. My soul glowed a soft butter white, but as the lux luciscollected in my hand, it brightened like a fluorescent light warming up. If I were using normal sight, a light as bright as my hand would have left a stain on my retina and cast shadows around my feet. But I wasn’t using normal sight; I was viewing the world in Primordium, and no matter how bright the lux lucis, it never cast a shadow. I liked to think of Primordium as soul sight, because Primordium afforded me a black-and-white morality-based view of the world. Living things fell in two categories: white and good, like plants and animals, and black and bad, like imps and their more intelligent cohorts, vervet. It sounded simplistic until humans were thrown into the mix. Normal people’s souls were a patchwork of stains representing a gray scale of unethical decisions.

The pure white souls of enforcers, mine included, were an exception and a necessity. My job was to fight evil, and my soul was my weapon.

I focused on my hand. Moving my body’s lux lucis was a relatively new experience for me. Shoving my soul’s energy into my pet wood wand or straight into an evil creature I could do without thinking, but manipulating the energy took more concentration.

I pushed lux lucis along the top of my hand to my fingertips, then pulled it back down my palm to my wrist, repeating the loop again and again until a seamless cycle of light zipped around my hand. I waited until the crest of lux lucis reached my fingertips, then gave it a flip. Lux lucis jumped from my fingers to the carpet and rolled through the smear of black atrum. White energy ate through dark, leaving the carpet a clean, inanimate gray.

Standing, I brushed my hands together with satisfaction and examined the hallway. Though I knew the carpet’s floral print swirled with pastel colors and the paintings nailed to the beige walls displayed jarringly colorful interpretations of the Sacramento Valley, in Primordium the walls, paintings, and carpet were all the same inanimate charcoal gray. Indirect illumination gave depth to the hall, but trying to determine the light’s source would give me a headache.

I mentally checked the floor off my list of areas to clean and turned to the elevator. An onyx shadow oozed through the seam between the door and the floor, fleshing out into a monkey’s paw tipped with lion claws. A second arm joined the first. Claws sank into the carpet and heaved, pulling the entire body through the paper-thin opening. It puffed into the shape of a vervet, and I shifted my weight to the balls of my feet.

Black as a demon’s soul from the tip of its scorpion tail to the crown of its spiked primate head and coated with the scales of a diseased fish, the vervet was a compact nightmare. I preferred imps. Both creatures spawned from atrum, but at least imps looked like chinchilla fluff balls. Plus, imps lacked any semblance of a brain.

The vervet spotted me and grinned, exposing jagged teeth long enough to spear my arm clean through. I lunged for it, missing when it sprang to the wall.

A door halfway down the hall opened, and a trio of middle-aged women exited their room, laughing and chatting. The vervet swung to look at them, hunger sparking in its dark eyes. I made another grab for it, but it leapt to the ceiling, then the opposite wall. A few more jumps widened the gap between us, then it galloped along the vertical surface as if gravity didn’t exist, its long black talons leaving no marks in the plaster. While I was still reaching for my wand, the vervet pounced on the nylon-clad calf of the lead lady, sinking a mouthful of fangs into her soul. Flecks of atrum replaced her soul’s lux lucis, one swallow at a time. Oblivious, the woman rifled through her purse.

The vervet clawed up her body to her stomach, each talon depositing a prick of atrum to tarnish her soul. Twisting, it took a bite from her companion’s chest. Whatever the host said made the women toss their heads back with fresh mirth. The vervet clambered over them, eating up the joy brightening their souls.

The juxtaposition of the women’s clueless happiness with the spawn of evil snacking on them twisted my stomach. Narrowing my sights on the vervet, I charged.

When the trio spotted me barreling toward them, they finally reacted, first with scowls at my audacity to run in the hallway, then with widening eyes when they spied the petrified wood I brandished fully extended. My badass enforcer vibe, which came across as loony-bin crazy to norms, plastered them against the wall.

When I was within arm’s reach of the vervet—and the woman it clung to—I made a grab for it. The vervet rocketed into the air and swung down the hallway, teeth wide in a silent laugh. The woman jerked and yelled, thinking I’d tried to punch her.

“Sorry!” I stumbled but didn’t slow.

“I’m reporting you to the manager!” one of the women shouted after me.

My shoulders hunched. This was exactly the kind of attention I was supposed to avoid. My job was strictly undercover. Getting arrested tended to hamper an enforcer’s ability to defend her region.

Finding the balance between doing my job and keeping a low profile was a struggle. I couldn’t let the vervet feast on the women. Atrum corrupted. In people who earned their atrumthrough immoral acts, it created a feedback loop, maintaining a person’s immoral nature—or enhancing it. For innocents like those women, it was possible they might shrug off planted atrum and restore their souls to their natural states, but it was just as likely the atrum would take root, influencing the women to make vile decisions that would spread evil further. Leaving the vervet on the trio could have resulted in a cascade of larger problems.

Plus, it galled me to see good people corrupted. If my tactics had been less than circumspect, so be it.

The hallway cut left at ninety degrees, and the vervet hurled out of sight. I slowed, clutching a cramp in my side. I’d been over this hotel a hundred times in the last two and a half days, and I knew that only ten or fifteen rooms lay beyond the bend before the hallway dead-ended. The vervet was trapped.

I rounded the corner at a jog. A maid’s cart cozied up to a doorway near the end of the hall, the maid absent. The vervet cannonballed into a stack of towels, then collapsed on its back. Lifting one arm, it extended a single dark digit—the middle one of three—sitting up enough to bare a cluttered row of sharp ebony teeth in a grin.

I lowered the pet wood to my side but held myself ready to strike.

“Back at you.” I flipped it off with a sweet smile of my own.

A young maid stepped out of the adjacent room into the crosshairs of my crude gesture. She gasped, crossed herself, and scuttled backward into the room, slamming the door before the vervet could react. A good thing, too. With her light gray soul, she was prime vervet-snack material.

Abashed, I tucked my offending hand behind my back. Frightening the staff would win me no points with my boss. I needed to finish this quickly before she called her manager.

“Hold still and let me kill you, you stupid little bugger.”

The lock slammed home against the other side of the door. Okay. Time to disappear before she called the cops.

I charged the vervet. It bounced to the ceiling at the last minute, but I anticipated the move. Slicing through the air with the wand, I cleaved the vervet in two, pulsing lux lucis into the mutated creature. It exploded. Harmless graying particles floated around my head and shoulders. Grimacing, I ducked aside, surreptitiously wiping my hair. I waited until I reached the empty stairwell before doing a heebie-jeebies dance. When my phone belted out “Hail to the Chief” from my back pocket, I jumped and swallowed a startled shriek.

I pulled my metallic-green cell phone from my pocket. It was my first cell phone ever, newly purchased for this job, and I’d named it Medusa. A week of being on call twenty-four-seven combined with a job that had no defined work hours, and my ardor for the new technology had cooled considerably. I swiped the screen and said hello to my boss.

“Come to the office,” Mr. Pitt said instead of a greeting.

“I’ve got the top two floors left.”

“They’ll wait.” The line went dead.

“Keep up the good work, Madison,” I said on his behalf, pocketing Medusa. “You’re the best.”

Grumpy was Mr. Pitt’s default, or it had been since he’d hired me. He’d wanted a fully trained illuminant enforcer. When my predecessor transferred to another region and no experienced enforcers applied for the job, he’d been forced to accept me. Since I’d spent the first twenty-five years of my life unaware that my ability to see souls was a weapon for fighting evil, I had a lot of catching up to do.

Mr. Pitt had hired Doris, a retired enforcer, to give me some last-minute training, and we squeezed in one packed night of lessons before she left for a family vacation. My boss and I both would have preferred I spend more time learning the ropes before jumping into field work, but the appearance of a demon in our region had necessitated immediate action. A week later, demon vanquished and region almost clean, I felt I deserved a pat on the back, if not a Medal of Valor. Apparently Mr. Pitt needed more proof of my competence than mere survival.

I clattered down the stairs and exited through the quiet lobby. With luck, whatever Mr. Pitt wanted wouldn’t take too much time. I was on a deadline. Tonight I had a date with Dr. Alex Love, the hottest vet in the state.

My stomach flip-flopped as I slid behind the wheel of my Civic and started the car. I’d lusted after the man for three years, and tonight I’d see if reality lived up to my fantasies. And I had plenty of fantasies, several of which I indulged in during the short drive to my office.

Cold November air slapped me back to the present when I slid out of my car a few minutes later. I tried to box up my excitement, but I ruined it by checking the time. Only six hours and fourteen minutes until my date.

I jogged across the parking lot and darted through the glass doors into the heated interior of the two-story office building. Rubbing the chill out of my arms, I walked through the building’s lobby, past the restrooms and elevator, and down a hushed hall. As always, murmured confidential conversations and muted keyboard clacks emanated from the mortgage company, but the temp agency bustled with a louder, no-nonsense air. Passing thatdoor made me smile. My aimless temp days had ended when Mr. Pitt offered me this job. Now I saved the world—or my portion of it—and got paid to do it.

Tucked at the end of the hallway, my region’s headquarters were humble and serene. No one would suspect Illumination Studios was anything other than the tiny bumper sticker company it claimed to be. If my job had entailed working within its confines, I would have been fitted for a straitjacket after three days.

Of course, the fact that I liked sprinting through the suburban neighborhoods of Roseville, California, engaging in skirmishes with evil creatures others couldn’t see, might mean I was already insane.

“Good morning, Sharon,” I sang.

The receptionist tracked my entrance with hard brown eyes, the rest of her body statue still at her tall wooden desk. Behind her, soft white lights glistened on the metallic letters of our fake company, but the same warm glow fell flat across Sharon’s shoulders, shadowing her eyes and thin mouth. I’d met tortoises with more expressive faces—and who were more cheerful.

Focusing on keeping my shoulders relaxed under the receptionist’s inscrutable stare, I strode past the glass-walled conference room—and stuttered to a halt.

Rows of empty, slender spray-topped glass vials lined the long conference table. Rose stood near one end, clutching a bottle in her hands, eyes closed. The Latina’s long dark hair was slicked back in a simple ponytail and she was barefoot. More shocking, she wore jeans and a men’s T-shirt two sizes too big. Since when did Rose swap out her figure-flattering dresses for clothes that could have come from my closet?

I backpedaled to the open doorway, waiting until she opened her eyes before I stepped in.

“Good morning.”

She squinted at me, then gestured me to her side. “I could use some of that bounce right now.”

“Bounce?” I eased closer, keeping myself and my purse well clear of the table. I wasn’t a complete klutz, but I didn’t want to take any chances with vials set up like fragile dominoes.

“Perky morning cheer. You’ve got it in spades.”

“It’s date day.” I tried not to picture Alex topless, but the image refused to be ignored. Only six hours and eleven minutes.

“Honey, I can’t wait until you finally jump his bones.” She fanned herself. “I’m getting dizzy off your horny fumes.”

“Excuse me for getting a little excited.”

“Excited? Don’t try to lie to an empath. That’s lust, plain and simple. I felt you coming from the parking lot.”

I blushed. She had to be exaggerating. “Fine. I’m lusty. But it’s Dr. Love. Even his name sounds sexy.”

“So does Dr. Bigdick.”

“Hmm, that doesn’t have quite the same ring. Dr. Love is a name you could marry into.”

“Madison Love? It sounds like a Playboy Bunny’s name.”

“A happily married Playboy Bunny’s name, and better than Madison Bigdick.”

Rose snorted. “It can’t be just a name thing. How long’s it been?”

“Since I’ve had a date? Not long.”

Rose let one sculpted eyebrow call me on my lie.

“Okay, okay. Maybe it’s been a while.”

Rose crossed her arms.

“Fine. It’s been a long time. Ages. Forever. I can’t even remember what a penis looks like.”

Rose burst out laughing, and I grinned.

“Hang on. This is good stuff.” She set down the vial she’d been holding, then picked up the next one and closed her eyes. I waited, curiosity growing. Rose cracked an eye to glare at me. “No fidgeting.”

“What are you doing?”

“Making sure we stay in business another season. Now hush.”

I closed my mouth. What was that supposed to mean?

Rose sighed. “Think about that date or get out of the room. Anticipation and lust I can work with; curiosity is just mucking things up.”

I frowned.

“Irritation doesn’t work for me, either. Shoo.” Rose waved a hand at me without opening her eyes. I backed carefully out of the room, waiting until safely outside the glass before sticking my tongue out at her. She smiled without looking.

“That’s a load of carob chips, and you know it!” Mr. Pitt bellowed from his office. I ducked into my cubicle. The blinds on the glass front of Mr. Pitt’s office were drawn, making it impossible to see who received his reaming. For once, it wasn’t me.

“Of course Isabel would prefer—” Pause. “This is damn high and—” Pause. No other voices came from his office. He was on the phone. “Don’t quote me the rules, Liam,” Mr. Pitt shouted. “Fine. No, that won’t work— Fine. Tonight.”

The bang of the phone slamming into the cradle made me jump, and I dropped into my chair.

“MadiSON!” Mr. Pitt bellowed.

Oh joy. What have I done now?

To continue reading, pick up your copy of A Fistful of Fire today!

“one hell of a book”

—Kimmie Sue’s Book Review

“A FISTFUL OF FIRE is a raging inferno of action, adventure and humor”

—Tome Tender ★★★★★

“there is both hope and humour which is why I love following Madison’s life so much”

—Nayu’s Reading Corner

“A Fistful of Fire is a more-than-worthy successor to A Fistful of Evil and I can’t wait to see what’s in store next for Madison.”

—The Biblophilic Book Review

“Madison has done it again, she’s made me adore the snot out of her. The growing world was also interesting and kept me on my toes. I’m really becoming a fan of this series and look forward to book #3!”

—The Reader’s Hollow ★★★★★

“I honestly cannot wait to get my hands on the next book…the book was over 400 pages long, but it just wasn’t enough! I need more Madison and Niko!”

—Common Book Sense

“WICKED COOL”

—Kam’s Place

“plenty of humor, action and suspense…If you are fan if Urban Fantasy you should give this series a try.”

—SnoopyDoo’s Book Review

“The book is fast paced, full of mystery, meddlesome demons, devious humans, lots of enforcing and maybe a naked man….the story matures well, alongside Madison and I can’t wait to see what’s next for her.”

—Book Passion for Life ★★★★★

“a masterfully plotted urban fantasy…Fans of Jim Butcher, Ivan Amberlake, and such, will feel quite at home within the confines of the urban fantasy setting, and its sheer power of the novel would pull in the hardiest of mystery lovers. It’s also a playful read, and one well worth it.”

—Open Book Society ★★★★★

“I really enjoy the humor in these novels…Madison Fox is one of the top awesome new series I’ve discovered in 2015.”

—One Book Two

“Lots of moments in this story made me smile and giggle. It’s a lot of action, humor, and luck combined into one that keeps you turning the page for more.”

—Manda-Rae Reads a Lot

“great read, with memorable characters, surrounded with all sorts of new supernatural types. Highly recommended to UF readers that like humor mixed with the paranormal.”

—Rabid Reads

“A Fistful of Fire was everything I’d hoped for and then some, this series has definitely found it’s legs now…I’ll definitely be looking out for more from Rebecca Chastain in the future.”

—Feeling Fictional

“I highly recommend this series…I could NOT put this down. A fun world and characters that entertain me. Too be honest, this was better than the first book which is rare!”

—Carole Rae’s Random Ramblings ★★★★★

“This series has been a rare treat with its vivid and unique world…I seriously enjoy this series. The writing is fabulous.”

—The Book Quarry

“It almost felt like I was reading one of Jim Butcher’s Harry Dresden novel, the way events unfolded one after the other in the novel, barely giving Madison a chance to breathe…I continue to be in awe of Chastain’s world building and her cast of characters, both magical and otherwise.”

—Literary Feline

“I enjoyed reading this book so much because it was a great mixture of action, danger, fantasy, and humor. Also, the descriptions were great and the scenes played in my mind like a movie…I loved reading A Fistful of Fire, and I think other people who are tired of the basic werewolves, vampires, and dragons (and so on) would enjoy this breath of fresh air with so many different kinds of new creatures to learn about as Madison learns about them herself.”

—Books That Hook ★★★★★

“I love when a series gets better as it grows…There is still a lot left to be done in this series and I look forward to the ride.”

—Urban Fantasy Investigations

“I like Madison. She’s quirky and fun, and really wants to prove she can do some good in the world…Definitely recommend this series, but start with book one.”

—Must Have Fiction

“The author has created [the] most amazing world of imagination here and I am absolutely sold on this series. It’s become a must have after this one!! …if you missed out on book one— just go get it now. It’s an excellent start to a series that will have you wanting more more more!!!!”

—Happy Tails and Tales ★★★★★

“It was another awesome time in Madison’s world. She is a great character, and I can’t wait to read more! Rebecca has some cool writing skills!”

—Lovely Reads ★★★★★

The Madison Fox novels have the distinction of being set in the real world. In fact, Madison lives in Rebecca’s hometown and visits many real-world locations. See the pictures on the Behind the Scenes page.

1. Sometimes I Question My Sanity; Sometimes It Replies

Inspector Pamela Hennessey leaned close, shouting to be heard above the enthusiastic marching band pounding its way across the football field. “Remember what I said, Madison: Show me you’re in control of the pooka. Take charge. You’re not helping Jamie by being soft.”

Avoiding her eyes, I nodded, keenly aware of Jamie standing less than three feet from us. With luck, he hadn’t heard her over the bleating trumpets.

We stood against a retaining wall on the outer rim of the track wrapping Oakmont High’s football field. A flailing, cheering quilt of bundled and blanketed people packed the bleachers, and a steady string of teenagers and their parents filed past on their way to and from the concession stand amidst waves of popcorn and hot dog fumes. Normally Jamie would have been at my elbow, begging for a bowl of nachos, and I would have indulged him, but not with the inspector present. I’d met her less than an hour ago, and I’d already lost track of how many times I’d made a fool of myself in front of her. From here on out, I needed to be a shining example of a perfect pooka-bonded enforcer if I stood a chance of saving face—and saving my region.

Jamie edged closer, his shoulders hunched in a dejected curl, his dichotomous soul churning in agitated waves of black atrum and white lux lucis. I strangled the impulse to comfort him. Like Pamela said, I needed to be firm. Authoritative.

Even if it was my fault Jamie looked lost.

I flexed frozen fingers, encouraging blood and heat back into the digits. A freak cold snap had struck Roseville, California, plummeting the temperature below freezing, and local meteorologists threatened we’d see snow before morning. The novel phenomenon would have been a lot easier to appreciate if I were holed up inside my apartment like a normal person. Normal, however, had hopscotched right over me when I’d been born with the ability to use my soul as a weapon.

A dark shape zipped overhead, and I ducked, my free hand spasming around the clunky necklace resting on my chest. My jerky reaction drew stares, but I pretended not to notice. Quick reflexes could make the difference between living and dying in my line of work. Besides, if the norms could see the swarm of tyv drones buzzing above the stadium, they’d do more than duck; they’d run in terror.

Pretending fear didn’t stretch taut across my nerves, I examined the latest enemy to invade my region. The drones bore an uncanny resemblance to mosquitoes—if mosquitoes grew to the size of pterodactyls. They possessed spiky legs, multifaceted ebony eyes wrapped around triangular heads, and two-foot-long, needle-sharp proboscises for mouths. Where mosquitoes drank blood, the drones devoured lux lucis, the white energy of good people’s souls. This bright, undigested energy in the drones’ translucent abdomens made it possible to track the otherwise black creatures against the obsidian sky, and I told myself it was a blessing. But since I was Roseville’s illuminant enforcer and the person responsible for defending the citizens inside my small region from pernicious, soul-snacking creatures, each glowing drone served as neon-white proof of all the people I’d failed to protect.

An entire sky lit with evidence of my inadequacies as an enforcer, and me standing next to an inspector here to assess my competence. Could this night get any worse?

Pamela gestured to the other enforcer accompanying us and then pointed toward the stands. “Summer, take point but stay close.”

Like a perfect little suck-up, Summer Potts jumped to obey, rushing to kneel in front of the stuffed bleachers, out of sight of the crowds but still able to target the soul-hungry creatures dining on them.

“Here they come. Hold your ground, Madison, and aim for the thorax.”

Five drones tore themselves from the smorgasbord and whipped toward us on blurred wings. If it’d been just me and the inspector, I would have said the drones were attracted to the pure white shimmer of our souls. I’d yet to meet an evil creature who could resist our untainted lux lucis, not even those smart enough to know they gambled with their lives when they snacked on an enforcer. But with the pooka at my side, his soul surging with restrained power, I might as well have been invisible to the drones.

I reached blindly for Jamie’s arm with my left hand, pushing him behind me without taking my eyes off the incoming drones. “Stay close and don’t feed them.”

Here goes nothing. I yanked my palmquell from my pocket, fumbling with the unfamiliar weapon. Painted in eye-watering shades of mustard, the palmquell resembled a gun, which meant I couldn’t use it with impunity. People tended to frown upon guns—real or fake—being brandished at crowded high school events. Improvising, I pretended to blow on my gloves as if to warm my hands, disguising the palmquell in my fists. With luck, holding it closer to my eyes would improve my atrocious aim.

The drones dove for us, dropping into range before I had steeled my nerves. I shoved a dollop of my soul’s energy into the palmquell, the transfer of lux lucis passing through my wool glove and disappearing into the balsa wood gun’s bone chamber. When I jerked the trigger, a bright white slug of lux lucis arced through the air . . . missing all five drones by several feet. They didn’t slow. I pushed more energy into the gun and fired, missing again. The drones closed the distance between us too fast, and I backed up, jostling Jamie. The urge to flee flooded my body with adrenaline. Giving up on accuracy, I shot nonstop, hoping the sheer quantity of lux lucis in the air would deter the drones or—if I was extremely lucky—hit at least one.

The drones dodged around the scatter of bullets.

I sucked in a sharp breath, fear coiling in my chest. They’d dodged. Not a lot of evil creatures were smart enough for such a simple act of self-preservation. Imps practically killed themselves. Vervet might taunt me first, but ultimately their appetites ruled their actions, making them easy prey. Hounds couldn’t stop themselves from attacking, which made them as predictable as they were dangerous. But drones were the lower caste of a more evolved and terrifying creature called sjel tyver. According to my boss, sjel tyver were the brains of the species, which is why I’d assumed that as their scouts, the drones would fall squarely in the “I think with my stomach, so let me help you kill me” category.

Dodging proved that the drones were not stupid and that they might actually be intelligent.

I expected to hear a buzz when the drones zoomed past, but if their wings made such a prosaic sound, the marching band drowned them out. Without slowing, they swept back over the crowded bleachers, blending in with the rest of the swarm. It should have upset me to watch them revert to attacking defenseless norms; instead, I breathed a sigh of relief for my reprieve.

Stomping my chilly feet in my boots, I shook tension from my limbs and monitored the nearest drones swooping along the rim of the stands. They speared their sharp mouths into people’s shoulders, necks, and most disturbingly, their faces, feeding without slowing. With bodies constructed not from sinew and blood but from atrum, evil energy coalesced into shape and form, the drones existed exclusively in the metaphysical plane of Primordium. In other words, only people like myself and the inspector could see them. The norms should have been equally oblivious to the sharp jabs of the drones’ insubstantial needle snouts, but every single person acted out immediately after being struck: a girl in skintight jeans jumped to her feet and boldly picked her underwear from her crack; an elderly man pelted a woman a few rows in front of him with popcorn, temporarily silencing the woman’s obnoxious noisemaker while she looked around for the culprit; a mom in so many layers of coats that she looked like a walking sleeping bag grabbed her purse and shoved toward the aisle, only to stop, confused, on the stairs. It was as if the drones’ bites prompted people into action, and the action itself didn’t matter.

The deafening performance of the band died for three blissful seconds, and in the relative silence, I heard Jamie laughing. My heart warmed until I realized the source of his humor was the peculiar actions of the helpless victims. Pamela sliced her disapproving glare from Jamie to me, and I flinched, mentally adding another mark against us. Then the band launched into Pharrell Williams’s “Happy,” and the crowd went wild, drowning out any chance I had of remedying the moment. Pamela’s attention jerked to the air above my head, and I spun back toward the stands. A trio of drones had split from the swarm, pulled to us by the siren song of my pooka’s soul.

Raising my palmquell, I fired a blast of lux lucis bullets into their midst and pivoted to track two that darted in the same direction. The turn faced me toward the field, Jamie, and—

The inspector was missing.

Wild-eyed, I searched for Pamela, finding her hugging the retaining wall more than twenty feet down the track, almost back to the stadium entrance. Without lifting her hand from her hip, she fired on the attacking drones, and her white bullets streaked through the air as if drawn to their targets.

Panic receded and I sucked in a breath. She hadn’t abandoned me.

Shame chased the thought. I shouldn’t need Pamela to do my job, especially since the inspector hadn’t distanced herself to assist me; she’d backed off so she could dissect my skills—or lack thereof—from a better perspective.

Shunting lux lucis into the palmquell, I sighted on the zigzagging drones. A detached part of me considered how ridiculous I looked to the norms, seemingly staring into the halogen lights, my gloved hands cupped a few inches from my face and my eyes darting back and forth as I tracked drones they couldn’t see. The rest of me didn’t care. In Primordium, the blinding light of the halogens didn’t exist, and I’d work on my covert drone-killing techniques some other time, when we weren’t under attack.

The lead drone faltered—no thanks to any of my shots—and then exploded in a puff of harmless atrum glitter that faded to lifeless gray as it settled on the gravel. I squinted at the next-closest drone, pulsing lux lucis into the palmquell and firing so rapidly it looked as if a single white beam of light extended from the palmquell’s tip.

“Hold still, you stupid inflated mosquito,” I growled.

The drone took two shots from Pamela before I aligned on it; it died with the inspector’s fourth slug of lux lucis before I landed a single hit.

I whirled, hunting for the third drone. It had circled wide, approaching from the hill. I brought my palmquell to bear but hesitated, catching Jamie’s rapt expression. The pooka raised a hand to the drone, a hint of a smile tipping the corners of his mouth, his posture completely at odds with the threat.

He looked like a person caught in a spell.

The sounds of the marching band receded. The crowd ceased to exist. My world narrowed to Jamie and the drone. I pumped lux lucis through the palmquell, but my shots were too slow, and the slender drone flitted through them untouched. No streaks of white bullets came from Pamela’s direction either.

What is she doing? Why did she stop shooting?

The drone bore down on us, zipping wide around my lux lucis stream to strike Jamie. Not going to happen. I shouldered the pooka out of the way, and the drone’s barbed proboscis flicked through my chest as painful as a whip crack. I screamed, short and sharp, clutching my breastbone with my free hand.

Incorporeal creatures weren’t supposed to hurt when they fed!

The drone spun back toward us, angling for Jamie again. Screw this. No way was I going to let a drone inflict that pain on my pooka. I tossed the useless palmquell aside and yanked my pet wood from my pocket. A flick of the wrist extended the telescoping petrified wood weapon into a three-foot wand, every inch of it glistening bright white with as much lux lucis as it could hold. Planting my feet, I raised the wand in front of me like a sword.

The drone’s skittish flight brought it into range, and I burst into motion. Channeling an extra blast of lux lucis down the length of the pet wood, I slashed through the drone’s wings and thorax. The drone exploded. Black glitter rained down on Jamie and me, temporarily obscuring the world.

“We’re leaving. Now.” I grabbed Jamie’s hand before he had a chance to adjust his soul, and his atrum slid cold across my palm. I slapped it back with lux lucis. Jamie flinched and shoved all his soul’s atrum to the far side of his body.

“Shouldn’t we—”

“No. It’s too dangerous.” So long as Jamie was present, the drones wouldn’t stop attacking. Despite looking like a teenage boy, the pooka was still a child, having taken physical form for the first time less than a week ago when he’d imprinted on me, tethering us together for the foreseeable future. He needed protection from so many dangers, not the least of which were evil creatures mesmerized by his power.

I hauled Jamie across the track and shoved through the crowd milling between me and the exit. Jamie stumbled behind me, and I squeezed his hand tighter, afraid I’d lose him. Monitoring the skies for drones, I used the pet wood to poke my way past people who lollygagged in front of us.

“Where are you going?” Pamela demanded.

I hadn’t heard her approach, and I spun, bringing the wand up between us.

“I’m getting Jamie to safety.”

She crossed her arms. “Just Jamie?”

“I can’t protect him out in the open like that.”

“Interesting.”

Between one breath and the next, all the urgency bled from me. I blinked, confused, and frowned at Jamie’s hand imprisoned in mine. He’d been in danger. The drone had been about to hurt him, and it’d made sense to get him out of the stadium. But—

But I’d killed the drone, and I should have stayed to kill the rest. Furthermore, Jamie had never been in real danger. As a half-evil creature who possessed a frightening amount of atrum himself, the pooka didn’t have anything to fear from a drone. Even if it had taken a bite from him, the drone wouldn’t have gotten anything for its efforts; unlike me, Jamie could prevent creatures from consuming his soul.

Where had that rationality been a moment ago?

Rubbing my chest where the sting of the drone’s bite had already faded, I checked Jamie’s expression, surprised to see wariness pinching his brows. The twin energies of his soul sloshed with agitation on the far side of his body, but his hand in mine—and his entire arm and side—were draped in safe, white energy.

Oh! I’d used my lux lucis against him. I’d hurt him.

What the hell was going on?

Scowling, I turned back to Pamela. The shorter woman stood just beyond reach of my—extended! blazing!—wand. It’d been the most natural thing in the world to draw the weapon in front of the entire stadium. I hadn’t given one thought to the attention I might attract. And how many people had I stabbed with its sharp tip as I’d fled the stadium?

“The first time is the worst,” Pamela said.

“Huh?”

Jamie and I shook the ache from our hands when I released him. I collapsed the pet wood and tucked it into my pocket, dismayed when I realized I’d lost the palmquell. I had a vague memory of chucking it . . .

Pamela extended her hand, holding my palmquell out to me. Feeling like I was moving in a dream, I accepted it.

“What happened?” I asked.

“Come here. You need to recharge.”

Pamela led the way to a clump of pines, and I removed a glove and examined my soul. The lux lucis capacity of a palmquell bullet was negligible, but given the quantity of shots I’d fired, it was little wonder my normally cotton-white soul flickered faintly. I planted my hand on the nearest tree, and a cool wash of lux lucis flowed into me from the bark as the pine selflessly replenished my reserves.

“Why did I—” I stopped myself, not sure how to complete the question. Why did I forget all my training? Why did I believe it was imperative to get Jamie away from the drones? Why did I feel like I’d been a different person a few minutes ago? I settled for repeating my original question. “What happened?”

“Drones feed off pieces of souls and inhibitions. They take away your restraint, so whatever it is you want to do in that moment, you do it. The effect tends to last about ten seconds, give or take; then you’re back to normal.”

The anomalies clicked into place: the woman picking her underwear from her butt, the old man chucking popcorn like a child in a food fight—the drones hadn’t evoked action so much as freed people to act. Whatever impulse they’d had the moment the drone fed, they’d acted upon it.

When the drone took a bite from my soul, I’d been concerned with protecting Jamie. After it had fed, nothing else had mattered. I hadn’t thought about the people watching, about my goal to prove myself to Pamela, or even about securing my weapons. My top priority—my only priority—had been Jamie’s safety.

Like a person hypnotized, I’d made the decisions and experienced the emotions, but I hadn’t been in control. Not fully. Which left me playing catch-up even though I’d lived through the events.

“That last drone, why didn’t you shoot it before it struck me?”

“I thought it’d be more informative to see how you reacted.”

Of course. What better way to test an enforcer than to have something strip away her inhibitions to see how she reacted? I released a slow, deliberate breath, telling myself it was the inspector’s job to evaluate my proficiency. Using the drone to do so had simply been pragmatic.

Nevertheless, irritation sharpened my tone when I asked, “And?”

“You confirmed my earlier assessment. You need serious target practice, and you coddle the pooka when you should lead. The road to hell is paved with good intentions.” Behind Jamie’s back, she gestured to the dark energy pulsing in his soul, her not-so-subtle use of the cliché coming through loud and clear.

As a newly risen pooka, Jamie’s powerful soul encapsulated a fluid, perfect balance of lux lucis and atrum, but his energies wouldn’t stay harmonized for long; he’d gravitate toward one side or the other, and it was my job to ensure Jamie made the kinds of decisions that would transform him into a pure lux lucis creature like myself—only vastly more powerful.

If I failed, he’d turn dark, and because of the bond linking us, I’d be altered in the process, too.

I couldn’t afford to ignore Pamela’s advice.

Still . . .

“Protecting Jamie from harm is not coddling.”

“Between the two of you, you need protection more than the pooka.”

“The drones wouldn’t hurt me,” Jamie said softly.

“Wouldn’t the drone have taken away your inhibitions?” Surely Pamela would agree that an inhibition-free pooka should be avoided.

Jamie shrugged. “I’m not human.”

Pamela gave me a pointed look.

“Well, good.” I sounded petulant even to myself. The drones can’t hurt Jamie, so why aren’t I ecstatic?

“Indeed,” Pamela agreed. “With the drones drawn to him, we can use the pooka to lure them away from the crowds.”

Bingo. “You want to use Jamie as bait?”

“Is there a problem?”

I held my body stiff, wanting to look away from the challenge in the inspector’s eyes, wanting to check Jamie’s face. Hell yes, there was a problem. Jamie was my pooka, bonded to me and under my protection, even if he claimed he didn’t need it. The idea of using him made my stomach knot. But Pamela was an inspector. She outranked me and my boss. More important, she had actual experience in dealing with pookas. If she said I needed to be firmer with Jamie, then I needed to stiffen my backbone. I couldn’t let the bond manipulate me into spoiling him.

“No, no problem here.”

How had this evening gone to Sucksville so fast?

To continue reading, pick up your copy of A Fistful of Frost today!

“A Fistful of Frost is a riveting ride that readers shouldn’t miss.”

—Open Book Society ★★★★★

“I enjoy this series immensely”

—One Book Two ★★★★★

“A FISTFUL OF FROST is another high-powered, action-packed quest to conquer evil… Book after book, page after page, Rebecca Chastain never misses a beat telling Madison’s tale! Fabulous fantasy with heart and humor that never gets old!”

—Tome Tender ★★★★★

“phenomenal”

—Kimmie Sue’s Book Review

“A FISTFUL OF FROST is a fab instalment of this fun, light-hearted urban fantasy series”

—Feeling Fictional

“[I] am already looking forward to rereading this series again. It’s that good.”

—Nayu’s Reading Corner

The Madison Fox novels have the distinction of being set in the real world. In fact, Madison lives in Rebecca’s hometown and visits many real-world locations. See the pictures on the Behind the Scenes page.

(From A Fistful of Gifts)

1. Be Naughty; Save Santa the Trip

Ice sinks into my bones, shivers cascading down my legs. I flee through snow-covered fields, my steps clumsy and slow, bogged down by hidden weeds. I struggle to run faster, desperate to escape the demon chasing me before it eats my soul. But the wet snow clings to me, soaking my clothing, numbing my limbs. Sharp teeth nip my back, grazing my flesh in painful pinches.

I crash through the jagged ice of a frozen lake, falling into the frigid water beneath—

I woke with a strangled gasp.

A soft, yellow glow from the light outside my window filtered through the gaps of my bedroom mini-blinds, casting a faint grid across the ceiling. The heater rattled and hummed, blasting hot air through the overhead vent. I burrowed deeper under the covers, trying to shake the dream without fully waking. I had no desire to be conscious at—I peeked at the clock on my nightstand—4:55 in the morning.

My gaze snagged on the stuffed reindeer propped beside the clock, and the last remnants of the nightmare evaporated. It wasn’t just any morning: It was Christmas!

A fizz of giddiness spiraled through my midsection. I hadn’t been awake this early on Christmas morning since I was a teen, but I wouldn’t be able to fall back to sleep now. Today was Jamie’s first Christmas, and I couldn’t wait to share it with him.

We had decorated the apartment and porch with all things red and green and merry, and presents were piled beneath the tree in the front room. My apartment didn’t have a fireplace or mantel, but we had set out socks around the TV—one each for me, Jamie, Val, Mr. Bond, and Dame Zilla. Though technically young enough, Jamie was too savvy to believe in the myth of Santa, but we both agreed it would be fun to honor the tradition of pretending a jolly plump man dropped by once a year to deliver presents. I embraced the role of Santa, and it had taken some crafty coordination with my best friend to keep the stocking stuffers a secret from Jamie and Val. The presents sat in a bag in the laundry closet, hidden behind the box of detergent. If I was sneaky, I might be able to slip out and fill the socks now before Jamie woke up.

The pooka shifted restlessly on the bedroom floor. As always, he had opted to sleep in his Great Dane form rather than suffer through a night in pajamas as a human. A thick blanket covered the bulk of his long, black body, making it impossible to distinguish his head from his rump. Normally he slept like the dead, but tonight his soft grunts and shallow whines made me wonder if he was having a bad dream. What would a pooka nightmare look like? Did nameless monsters lurk in his dreams, too, or were his fears more immediate, like being forbidden to eat ice cream?

I snorted. Careful not to make too much noise, I reached for an upturned leg, hoping to jostle Jamie into a better dream. Icy prickles ran up my exposed arm. Frowning, I examined my hand in the dim light. I lay snuggled under a thick down comforter and fleece blanket, so why couldn’t I get warm? And why did the air feel like . . . bites?

Adrenaline pinged to my brain, and I blinked to Primordium. The muted yellow tones of the dark room flattened to gray, and an ambient metaphysical light flooded the room. Day or night, the same illumination lit Primordium, the source unclear. Only right now, it looked as if someone had thrown a dark cloth over the light, draping the room in slinking shadows.

Bracing myself on an elbow, I thrust my hair out of my face. Shadows didn’t exist in Primordium. All inanimate objects, including the walls, ceilings, carpet, and furniture, should have been a uniform, charcoal gray. Only evil, or atrum, registered as true black . . .

A vervet dropped from the oily ceiling. Ink dark, with a compact monkey body, claws to make Wolverine jealous, and a scorpion tail, the vervet was one of the more common evil pests I exterminated as part of my job as an illuminant enforcer for Roseville, California. They weren’t, however, common in my bedroom.

The vervet fell soundlessly into the seething black mound atop Jamie’s doggy bed, burrowing and clawing through the mass of formless evil to latch on to Jamie’s buried soul. The entire heap pulsed, the indistinct bodies seeming to grow as one, swelling three inches in size as I stared in shocked horror.

“Holy sh—” A mob of beady eyes swiveled to fixate on me, and the rest of my curse died in my throat.

I fumbled blindly with the covers, shoving them off my legs, revealing a nightmare of soul-sucking imps lining my body from my neck to my toes like grotesque ticks. My stomach somersaulted and I swallowed convulsively.

“Jamie.” It came out a strangled whisper when I wanted to shout. I tried again. “Jamie, wake up.”

The pooka squirmed in his sleep, and the mass of feasting vervet undulated. I pulsed lux lucis down my body, pushing my soul’s clean energy into the imps to disintegrate them. Five exploded into black glitter puffs of disbanded atrum—the rest clung to me, unfazed. My heart pounded harder. That maneuver should have killed every evil creature in contact with me. I lifted a bare hand to examine my soul, shocked to find the white of my lux lucis as weak as skim milk. How long had the imps been feeding on me while I slept?

Fresh imps swarmed across the bed. With their plump chinchilla bodies, round ears, and glossy eyes, they might have looked like potential pets—if not for their cavernous mouths. Mindlessly charging through the powdery remains of their exterminated comrades, they chomped down on vacant patches of my soul. Pinches of chilly pain flickered across my body, then faded.

The last imp lunged for my face, snapping me out of my horrified paralysis. I swiped a hand through the air, killing the imp before it could sink its teeth into my cheek. Not waiting for another to take its place, I sprang from the bed and grabbed the white stalk of a pothos ivy that sat atop my nightstand. Its lux lucis shot into me, and the vine’s leaves crumbled to dust. I didn’t feel even a hint of rejuvenation from the energy jolt.

Crap.

Crapcrapcrap.

“Jamie, wake up! We’re under attack.” I stumbled to the next plant on my dresser, swiping aside a trio of imps only to have them leap and latch on to my neck.

Jamie’s head snapped up, whirling irises springing open. He glanced from me to his belly, and his upturned legs flailed, tangling in his blanket. Barking short, deep woofs, he struggled harder, but his antics didn’t disturb the creatures attached to his soul, and they all continued to grow in size.

“Stop feeding them.” My words came out in breathy pants between imp exterminations, the nominal exertion of killing the softball-size imps attached to me sapping my depleted energy.

Jamie growled—at me or at the feasting minions, I wasn’t sure—and his soul went supernova. Bright-white lux lucis burst from him in a kinetic crackle, wiping out every vervet and imp attached to his soul and clearing a circular patch around him as wide as his dog bed. He rolled to his feet as shadows peeled from the walls, reshaping into imps larger than Mr. Bond.

“The cats! Jamie, they need—”

He lunged out the bedroom door, nails catching on the carpet as he took the sharp turn down the hallway to the front room. I smacked my hand to the next plant crammed atop my dresser, draining it to its roots in seconds. Grabbing my pet wood wand from my desk, I shoved lux lucis down its three-foot length and slashed the glowing rod through vervet clinging to the ceiling. Atrum glitter rained down from their exploded bodies. None had attempted to evade my weapon. I expected as much from the imps squeezed in between their more evolved brethren, but vervet usually had a better sense of self-preservation.

The black walls seethed and imps sprang from the vertical surface to fill Jamie’s clean bed. They bumbled into each other, jaws snapping, revealing row after row of jagged, ebony shark’s teeth. In a macabre exchange of body mass, they devoured each other, cannibalizing each other’s atrum and smearing the fluffy bed with evil energy. I tore my gaze from the nightmarish scene and lurched to the next plant. It died, and I used its energy to kill seven imps and one vervet clinging to my hips. Two more steps, and I sacrificed the final plants in the bedroom, expending their energy to slash my way through the bubbling mass of bodies on the floor and escape into the hallway.

Where had all this evil come from? When I had gone to sleep, my region had been clean. If there had been a mass of evil this large, Brad would have notified me. Somehow all these imps and vervet had spawned in the last six hours. Had it been Jamie? Evil creatures flocked to my pooka, but they had never attacked inside our home before. We had wards to protect against this.

I squinted over my shoulder, checking the bedroom window. A faint smear of white energy encased the frame. My ward still held. So how had these imps and vervet gotten in? Were we under attack by something larger, like a demon?

Oh God, please no.

I didn’t want to tackle a demon, not with my soul weak enough to be overshadowed by a glow-in-the-dark sticker, and not while dressed in my pajamas.

I sprinted down the short hall to the front room, goose bumps radiating down my spine as vervet dropped from the ceiling to my back. A scream clawed up my throat, and I clamped my mouth shut. I could handle vervet. I could kill imps in my sleep. Okay, obviously not in my sleep, but it wasn’t time to panic. Yet.

I gasped in relief at the sight of the mostly untainted front room and the jungle of lux lucis–filled plants packed around the perimeter. Slapping a hand to a sturdy bamboo stalk, I devoured its energy, then killed the remaining evil creatures clinging to me.

I scrambled on all fours for the next plant. The hearty rubber tree died, and energy splashed into me. I glanced around for the next enemy, finding none. Ebony atrum seeped from the hallway, pooling across the front room carpet and leeching along the walls and ceiling, but no creatures sprang from hiding to attack. Jamie stood in front of the TV, feet braced wide, lips curled back to reveal his canines. A spotlight of inanimate gray circled him, encompassing the corner behind the TV and a swath of the walls.

“Are the cats hiding back there?” I asked.

He nodded. I climbed to my feet, wobbled, and trailed my fingers through the closest living plants. They died, brittle leaves crumbling to dust. I veered wide around the Christmas tree, collecting energy from the cluster of potted plants near the sliding glass door. They died, too, but my legs steadied.

A beach ball–size imp bounced out of the hallway, spotted Jamie, and charged. The imp’s round ears flattened against its head and its jaw dropped open. Jamie growled and leapt across the room, meeting the imp halfway. A spear of pure lux lucis shot from his chest and skewered the imp. It exploded into black particulates. Jamie growled again and stalked down the hall, his enormous Great Dane paws silent on the carpet.

Up until tonight, imps had treated Jamie like a fun uncle, and he had indulged them like spoiled children. They might have nibbled at his soul, but they had never outright attacked him before. Their bizarre behavior was almost as troubling as the invasion itself.

Leaning over the TV, I checked on the cats. Mr. Bond hunched in the corner, squeezed into a space never meant for a cat of his girth. Dame Zilla, Jamie’s kitten, hunkered between two ceramic pots, her tiny body nearly invisible. Both glowed a healthy white. If the imps had fed off them, Jamie had countered their lux lucis loss. His null field also held the ooze of atrum at bay. The cats were safe for now.

“Hang in there, guys. We’ll get this sorted out.”

Neither cat appeared reassured.

Sacrificing the last of the front room plants, I stalked down the hall after Jamie. A trio of baby vervet clawed across the wall, impervious to gravity. When they spotted me, they pounced. I slashed them to shreds with the pet wood before they touched me and strode through the dissipating atrum into the bedroom.

Jamie stood in the middle of his bed, the dual energy of his soul divided—pitch-black atrum blanketed him from his tail to his neck and his head shone bright with lux lucis. Even normal imps would have been helpless to resist the allure of such a bright energy source. These frenzied creatures flung themselves at him with vacuous determination and wide-open maws. Jamie caught them midair, snapping his powerful jaws through their airy bodies. They exploded against his white teeth, and he swallowed down their dark energy.

Ew.

“Is that the healthiest way to dispose of them?” I asked.

Jamie shot me a look I couldn’t interpret on his canine face.

“I’m just saying, they don’t seem right in the head. Are you sure you want to eat their wonky atrum?”

He woofed, his reply soft enough not to travel through the apartment’s thin walls. Then he whirled and crushed a vervet in his jaws. Atrum burst from the sides of his mouth like he had bitten down on a black bubble. He slanted another glance my way, and this time his tail wagged.

“Are you having fun?”

His sharp-toothed grin and his glowing head made him look like a deranged doggy version of the Cheshire cat.

I left him to it and rolled lux lucis in my palms. Slapping them to the door frame, I spun the energy off the tips of my fingers. It ate through the dark film coating the wall, erasing atrum from a third of the surface. I would have preferred to leave a residue of lux lucis behind, but I didn’t have the energy. I would have to be satisfied with restoring a neutral, inanimate gray.

“Watch my back.” I strode to the closet door, where my lux lucis had run out of steam. Atrum was already encroaching on the cleaned surface. Jamie’s teeth snapped behind me, the rapid clicks raising the hairs on the back of my neck. He would never hurt me, but the sound of his clacking teeth activated fight-or-flight instincts embedded in my DNA. Giving my shoulders a shake, I rolled another tide of lux lucis across the wall, then opened the closet door.

A rack of gray clothes hung at eye level, half mine, half Jamie’s. I knelt, sweeping Val off the floor. The sentient handbook glimmered with untouched lux lucis. The evil creatures must have been too busy munching on Jamie and me to investigate the closet, for which I was grateful. Giving the book an affectionate pat, I tucked him into the waistband of my pajamas and closed the laptop that had been sitting beside him, cutting off the soft murmur of an audiobook playing through the attached headphones.

A mist of white arched over my head, killing two vervet that had been scrambling across the ceiling. I turned to take in the bedroom once more, dismayed to see the patch of wall I had cleaned already obscured with fresh atrum. Jamie chomped through kamikaze vervet, jaws snapping so fast his teeth sounded like castanets.

“Are you done playing?” I asked. I folded my arms over my chest and gave the pooka my best mom look.

Jamie blew air out his cheeks, which I interpreted to mean I was no fun. Sitting, he spooled a line of lux lucis from the tip of his tail across the carpet, up the wall, and to the center of the ceiling. With a dramatic wag, he swept the white energy in a radial spin around the room, extinguishing every iota of atrum in one pass. When the leading edge of his power slid beneath my toes, it tickled.

Jamie released a satisfied bark.

“Show-off.” I rubbed his forehead affectionately, concerned by the dimness of his glowing head. “Let’s recharge.”

We both examined the bedroom. The army of plants I had packed into every nook and cranny were dead. Most looked as if they had decayed in their pots months ago.

“Outside,” I added. “Do you want to change?”

Jamie nodded, stepping away from me as his soul flexed. His back legs lengthened, his front thickened. His spine widened. I swung around before he finished his transformation to a human—a very naked human.

“I’ll just . . .” I fled to the hallway. Jamie’s soft laugh followed me.

I assessed the atrum sullying the hallway and creeping into the kitchen and front room. Then I assessed my soul. I would have preferred to wait until after recharging to finish cleansing the evil, but I couldn’t chance leaving the cats in a tainted apartment. The atrum might remain inert and harmless, or it might spawn more noxious creatures hungry for lux lucis.

Heaving a sigh, I strode to the dining room and murdered the last of our house plants—or, rather, assisted in their suicides. Plants gave their lux lucis freely, and they didn’t hold back anything for themselves. Normally I tried to respect their selflessness and never took so much energy that I killed them. I wished I hadn’t needed to destroy them now. All the plants in my home were only supposed to be fail-safes—if I fell asleep without fully recharging, my body would passively pull lux lucis from the nearest, weakest sources. Covering every flat surface with flora had eased my phobia of harming Mr. Bond or Dame Zilla. I had never planned on using the plants to actively recharge, not on this scale.

I had never planned on having my home invaded, either.

Squelching my guilt, I turned away from the plant graveyard and returned to the encroaching edge of atrum. I urged the sluggish energy of my soul into a spin and flipped it off my fingertips to the carpet. It cleared a three-foot patch of atrum. After Jamie’s impressive display, it seemed downright pathetic.

We can’t all have the strength of a pooka, I reminded myself.

One small patch at a time, I cleaned all atrum from the front room and kitchen before focusing on the denser layers clinging to the hallway. An imp sprang from the half-open bathroom door and swallowed my ankle. I yipped in surprise, then killed it. Using my toes, I bounced the bathroom door open. Atrum drenched the tiny room from floor to ceiling, saturating every surface and pooling in the sink and tub. The baleful energy bubbled and seethed, forming three new imps as I watched.

What the hell? Why did the bathroom look like the epicenter of a demon’s den?