Praise for the Alex Verus novels
“Harry Dresden would like Alex Verus tremendously—and be a little nervous around him. . . . A gorgeously realized world with a uniquely powerful, vulnerable protagonist. Books this good remind me why I got into the storytelling business in the first place.”
—Jim Butcher, #1 New York Times bestselling author of
the Dresden Files
“Benedict Jacka writes a deft thrill ride of an urban fantasy—a stay-up-all-night read.”
—Patricia Briggs, #1 New York Times bestselling author
of the Mercy Thompson series
“Jacka puts other urban fantasists to shame. . . . A stellar blend of thoughtful philosophy and explosive action populated by a stereotype-defying diverse cast.”
—Publishers Weekly (starred review)
“A fast-paced, high-stakes adventure. . . . The real power of Jacka’s series comes from the very human journeys and revelations to be found for each character in the course of this story.”
—RT Book Reviews
“Tons of fun and lots of excitement. . . . [Benedict Jacka] writes well, often with the ability to bring places to life as much as his characters, especially the city of London.”
—SF Site
“[An] action-packed story with witty dialogue. . . . A wonderfully witty and smart hero who’s actually pretty awesome in a fight.”
—All Things Urban Fantasy
“Benedict Jacka is a master storyteller. . . . A brilliant urban fantasy that is so professionally polished and paced that you barely remember to come up for air.”
—Fantasy Faction
“Everything I love about an urban fantasy: action, magic, an interesting new world, and a character that I really liked.”
—Under the Covers Book Blog
Books by Benedict Jacka
The Alex Verus Series
FATED
CURSED
TAKEN
CHOSEN
HIDDEN
VEILED
BURNED
BOUND
MARKED
FALLEN
ACE
Published by Berkley
An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC
1745 Broadway, New York, NY 10019
Copyright © 2019 by Benedict Jacka
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.
ACE is a registered trademark and the A colophon is a trademark of Penguin Random House LLC.
ISBN: 9780440000587
Ebook ISBN: 9780440000594
First Edition: September 2019
Cover photo: London skyline by Martin Jones / Alamy Stock Photo
Cover design by Judith Lagerman
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.
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Contents
Praise for the Alex Verus novels
Books by Benedict Jacka
Title page
Copyright
chapter 1
chapter 2
chapter 3
chapter 4
chapter 5
chapter 6
chapter 7
chapter 8
chapter 9
chapter 10
chapter 11
chapter 12
chapter 13
chapter 14
chapter 15
About the Author
chapter 1
“You don’t have to do this,” Anne said.
We were in Canonbury, one of the districts within Islington. It’s one of London’s upmarket areas—not on the level of Westminster or Chelsea, but a long way from cheap. London has a lot of places like Canonbury, old expensive terraced houses crammed into winding tree-lined streets, with small parks in between where people walk their dogs. For the most part, mages don’t visit them. It’s true that mages are more common in cities, but there are close to ten million people in London, and that’s enough to dilute the mage population pretty heavily, even if they wanted to spread out, which they don’t. So they cluster, and the areas in between fall off their radar, to the point where the average mage knows about as much about the residents of Canonbury as the average resident of Canonbury knows about mages. It’s symmetrical, I suppose.
Right now we were standing under a sycamore tree, looking across the street towards a house on the other side. It was a July evening, with the sun setting behind the rooftops, and the air was still and warm. From around us, voices and chatter drifted up, the sounds of traffic coming from the main roads nearby. Anne had led me here by a roundabout route, taking a path down an old canal lined with benches and willow trees. It had been a pretty walk and I’d enjoyed it, but I had the feeling it had been a delaying tactic.
“Neither do you,” I told her.
“Yes I do,” Anne said. “You don’t have to.”
“Would you really prefer to go in on your own?” I asked. “Anyway, look on the bright side. You’re not going on trial this time.”
“That’s what you think.” Anne thought for a minute. “How long will we have?”
“Until we get the go signal?” I asked. “Call it about a twenty percent chance for the next hour, forty percent for one to two hours, twenty percent for later, and twenty for never.”
“So that’s a forty percent chance of being stuck here all night.”
I leant in and kissed the side of Anne’s head. “Come on. Are we really going to come this far, then turn around and leave?”
Anne sighed. “I suppose not.”
We crossed the street and walked up the steps to the house. It was on the large side for a terrace, with bay windows. Anne rang the bell and as we stood waiting, we heard footsteps approaching from the other side.
The door swung open, light and noise spilling out into the summer evening. From down the hallway I could hear the sound of chatter and raised voices. The woman who’d opened the door was in her fifties with greying hair, and wore an evening dress and a pearl necklace. “Oh good, you’re here. We were starting to think you wouldn’t make it. Alex, wasn’t it? Do come in. Anne, the coats are going in the hall.”
I sat at the dinner table and felt out of place.
There were seven others in the dining room. The woman who’d greeted us was sitting at the head of the table, presiding over the meal. At her right side was her husband, a thin, melancholy-looking man currently focused on drinking his soup. Occupants three through six were the two daughters and their partners. Number seven was Anne.
“. . . just can’t understand how anyone like that can get elected,” the younger daughter was saying. “I mean . . . no? Just no?”