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    Disrupt Magic: part of Spells Gone Awry, an Uncollected Anthology: Uncollected Anthology
    Disrupt Magic: part of Spells Gone Awry, an Uncollected Anthology: Uncollected Anthology
    Disrupt Magic: part of Spells Gone Awry, an Uncollected Anthology: Uncollected Anthology
    Ebook58 pages37 minutes

    Disrupt Magic: part of Spells Gone Awry, an Uncollected Anthology: Uncollected Anthology

    By Kristine Kathryn Rusch

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    About this ebook

    Pascal protects magical items for Abracadabra Inc. But when he finds his latest job thwarted by disruptive magic, he decides to find its source.

    Because Pascal knows how much powerful magic runs through Paris. Old magic. New magic. Wild magic. Dangerous magic, all.

    Pascal thinks he knows what he will find when he tracks the magic’s creator. But what he finds might prove only the beginning.

    “Kristine Kathryn Rusch is one of the best writers in the field and ‘Dragon’s Tooth’ does not disappoint…Rusch gives us a delightful tale here!”

    —SFRevu on Dragon’s Tooth: An Abracadabra Inc. Novella

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherWMG Publishing
    Release dateApr 18, 2017
    ISBN9781386165286
    Disrupt Magic: part of Spells Gone Awry, an Uncollected Anthology: Uncollected Anthology
    Author

    Kristine Kathryn Rusch

    USA Today bestselling author Kristine Kathryn Rusch writes in almost every genre. Generally, she uses her real name (Rusch) for most of her writing. Under that name, she publishes bestselling science fiction and fantasy, award-winning mysteries, acclaimed mainstream fiction, controversial nonfiction, and the occasional romance. Her novels have made bestseller lists around the world and her short fiction has appeared in eighteen best of the year collections. She has won more than twenty-five awards for her fiction, including the Hugo, Le Prix Imaginales, the Asimov’s Readers Choice award, and the Ellery Queen Mystery Magazine Readers Choice Award. Publications from The Chicago Tribune to Booklist have included her Kris Nelscott mystery novels in their top-ten-best mystery novels of the year. The Nelscott books have received nominations for almost every award in the mystery field, including the best novel Edgar Award, and the Shamus Award. She writes goofy romance novels as award-winner Kristine Grayson, romantic suspense as Kristine Dexter, and futuristic sf as Kris DeLake.  She also edits. Beginning with work at the innovative publishing company, Pulphouse, followed by her award-winning tenure at The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction, she took fifteen years off before returning to editing with the original anthology series Fiction River, published by WMG Publishing. She acts as series editor with her husband, writer Dean Wesley Smith, and edits at least two anthologies in the series per year on her own. To keep up with everything she does, go to kriswrites.com and sign up for her newsletter. To track her many pen names and series, see their individual websites (krisnelscott.com, kristinegrayson.com, krisdelake.com, retrievalartist.com, divingintothewreck.com). She lives and occasionally sleeps in Oregon.

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      Book preview

      Disrupt Magic - Kristine Kathryn Rusch

      Disrupt Magic

      Disrupt Magic

      An Abracadabra Incorporated Story

      Kristine Kathryn Rusch

      Contents

      Disrupt Magic

      Newsletter Signup

      About the Author

      Also by Kristine Kathryn Rusch

      Spells Gone Awry, an Uncollected Anthology

      The Suffrance of Shark Gods

      Avenge Me

      Releasing the Spell

      Tear Away (A Crossroad City Tale)

      Coconut Cream Magic

      The Fixer

      Nine Lives

      Disrupt Magic

      Pascal liked to surprise thieves . He didn’t need to be onsite. He could easily do his work from his basement in his underwear, never ever leaving the apartment, and subsisting on food deliveries and the kindness of his doorman.

      But, in truth, his doorman wasn’t kind, and Pascal preferred it that way. He also preferred breaking a few heads whenever he worked, which was why he stood on the narrow cobblestone street just off the Rue St. Honoré, back against the ancient white brick wall, one foot pressed against it as he lit a cigarette beneath the Ne Fumez Pas sign.

      For as long as he had lived in Paris, which seemed like half his life, he had taken advantage of that Gallic urge to flaunt rules—even though he was only one-quarter French himself. He had come here because he could pass for a native, his French fluent, his accent Parisian, and it was much better after years than it had been when he arrived.

      The city had settled in his bones. He noted that whenever he smoked beneath a no-smoking sign, something he might never have done because of his tight-assed American upbringing.

      It felt like he had shed all of that in the years he’d lived here. He barely saw the things that shocked American tourists, things that had shocked him during his first summer here, so very long ago.

      He shook the match and dropped it to the sidewalk beneath the display window for a high-end men’s clothier. The clothes were ridiculous—yellow shorts, striped shirts, and loosely draped scarves. The mannequins looked like boys who were too frail to play rugby, but wanted to. The only thing he had in common with them was the flat cap he had pulled by its brim over his face. His was black, wool, expensive. Theirs were more expensive and probably made of some chic material that didn’t keep off the rain.

      Not that it mattered: the white mannequins had no faces which was, he had to admit, the way he saw white people much of the time.

      He kept his head bent just enough that the CCTV camera across the street would find him as faceless as the mannequins. His clothing was dark—black pants, black boots, a black leather jacket that had seen better days—nothing to distinguish him from half the other men on the streets of Paris this late on a Thursday evening. Anyone who looked out of the expensive apartments above the shops would think he had stopped under the clothing store’s awning to wait out the rain.

      It was coming down hard now, cold and bitter for April. Whoever sang about April in Paris really hadn’t been here much. He’d lit the cigarette as much to keep his hands warm as well

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