Shamus "Shame" Flynn is a Death magic user with a smart mouth and a bad attitude. His job riding a desk while keeping an eye on the city's humdrum magic users isn't making his mood any better. Sure, the most dangerous magic was locked away for good three years ago, but that doesn't mean people have stopped trying to access the old, deadly powers.

Everything has a cost. And every act of magic exacts a price from its user---maybe a two-day migraine, or losing the memory of your first kiss. But some people want to use magic without paying, and they Offload the cost onto innocents. When that happens, it falls to a Hound to identify the spell's caster---and Allison Beckstrom is the best there is.

My life was going just fine by most standards. I ran a successful business in a tight-knit magical community, and lived just blocks from a beautiful lake and series of hiking trails. Then Selene showed up. According to some magical code I inherit my aunt's ancient familiar; a grumpy ten-pound cat with a broken filter. She fancies herself something of a saber-toothed tiger, and claims to have wrestled the thread of her ninth life from the hands of the Fates themselves—although, I'm pretty sure that last part isn't true. Almost positive.

Mary Frances Talbot—Frankie—is a necromancer, probably. Hard to say since she never met her parents. She can see the dead, talk to the dead, and a few other things that aren't strictly legal. It's fine. No worries. As long as she doesn't get caught. The whole not getting caught thing was going well until Samuel Harrow blew back into town wearing a Savannah Police Department uniform. He might be a witch, but he hates magic. He's not a fan of Frankie either. Which explains why he's her ex.

Werewolves are hunting me. I was just an ordinary girl waiting tables in a small-town bar. I had no idea magic was real. That was, until I backed my car over a werewolf a couple of times. In my defense, the wolf was trying to murder me, and I was all out of mace.