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  DEDICATED TO MY MOTHER,

  WHOSE LOVE OF

  Masterpiece Mysteries

  IS PARTIALLY TO BLAME FOR WHY MY STORIES

  TURN OUT THE WAY THEY DO.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Publishing a second book is a whole different beast from the first. It took about five years of tinkering for City of Broken Magic to emerge. While drafts for The Monstrous Citadel have been around almost as long, the changes to book one and the sudden influx of publishing knowledge have affected it greatly. The real work of it has been crammed into about a year. Quite frankly, I kitchen-sinked it. This completed version is thanks to the tireless work of my editor, Jennifer Gunnels, who helped me find the most important pieces and helped me polish them into the narrative they were meant to be. My sincere thanks also goes to my agent, Peter Rubie, who helped guide me through this literary version of the “sophomore slump,” and called to make sure I was okay when he saw the sheer amount of edits on draft one.

  There’s also a crowd of people I didn’t know well enough to thank in book one, so I’ll remedy that now: Thank you to June Clark, who steered me through author presence and helped me build my website; thank you to my publicist, Lauren Jackson, who focused on book presence and helped me make my first real appearance, at the Wisconsin Book Festival; thank you to Natalie Naudus and the Macmillan Audio team, who turned City of Broken Magic into an audiobook and therefore fulfilled a wish I’ve had since my childhood road trips (now if only I could connect it to my old car radio!); thank you to cover artist Tony Mauro, because it’s one thing for the debut book you’ve worked so long on to have a cover, but it’s a dream to have a cover that looks so fantastic; thank you to my copyeditor, whom I didn’t interact with directly but who saved me from phrasing mistakes I hadn’t even noticed; thank you to the Tor team at large, for all the work they’ve put into pitching and delivering this series so far; thank you to my grandmother, who immediately went out and bought twelve copies of book one; thank you also to Boswell Book Company in Milwaukee, for giving her the opportunity to buy those twelve books, for listening to her bragging about the author, and for earlier introducing said author to fantastic independent bookstores.

  Last but not least, thank you, reader. Every writer has a fear that their work isn’t good enough, or that the only people who’ll end up reading it are their family members. You’ve proven my worries wrong in the best way.

  It’s been a long and exciting road to The Monstrous Citadel. I hope you enjoy it.

  Lux Beacon, November 11, 1233

  AMICAE RIOTS

  The friendly city of Amicae descended into chaos following a massive infestation. Amicae has long believed that infestations cannot penetrate their city walls, but these delusions were rudely swept away on November 5th by a damaged Pit and ensuing swarm. With their Sweeper department crippled and consisting of only three persons—now only two—Amicae was ill-equipped to handle the event. Assistance from Puer and Terrae Sweepers allowed them to repel the infestation, but not before the city was evacuated and many lives were lost. The death toll is yet unknown but growing as citizens sweep through the streets and protests for truth become violent. Lux head Sweeper Olga Verbaun says that while painful to hear, this protest is necessary. “Amicae has lied to itself for too long,” she explained yesterday morning, after a routine safety demonstration at a local school. “Ignorance of a problem is not safety. With its location Amicae can’t afford to pretend invulnerability. It’s a miracle the city hasn’t been destroyed already.” Verbaun is a crusader for public awareness to locate and minimize damage done by infestations. When asked if she had any advice for the Sinclair Sweepers of Amicae, she replied, “I hope that they’re able to recover quickly. Even with Amicae finally aware of the danger, two is a very small number for Sweepers. If even one falters, the city will fall.”

  Canis Trekker, November 16, 1233

  EYES OPENED

  This past week Amicae’s Council was forced to come clean regarding the existence of infestations. “The wall policy” has been the bane of city relations for decades, but with its demise Canis and surrounding cities hope for better communication and trade with our befuddled neighbor. Despite this, Canis’s head Sweeper has misgivings. He advises that Canis businessmen stay on their toes and, if possible, handle any Amicae dealings remotely. Sweepers warn that infestation activity is rising fast again, and who would wish to be stranded in a doomed city?

  Avis Wings, November 19, 1233

  SWEEPERS IN MOURNING

  Last evening Sweepers gathered at the reflection pool to grieve for those lost to Amicae’s Falling Infestation. Amicae’s tragedy has one of the highest death tolls in recent memory. Avis’s head Sweeper stresses the importance of recognizing the losses of other cities, not only as an act of compassion, but to impress upon our own citizens the danger we face. He wishes Amicae, especially new head Sweeper Laura Kramer, the best of luck.

  Amicae Dead Ringer, November 26, 1233

  SWEEPERS RIDICULED, BUSINESS AS USUAL

  Despite destroying an infestation running rampant in the First Quarter, Head Sweeper Laura Kramer has been lambasted by the general populace for “gross negligence.” For what, one may ask—for not responding to no less than 3,000 telephone calls from paranoid citizens in a single day? Only one of these proved valid and the police department has investigated every other call. For property damage, perhaps? Testimony from foreign Sweepers and even previous Amicae records show that damage goes hand in hand with Sweeping. You are pleased if a roof caves in on mobsters during a fight, but if the same happens during the eradication of a monster that would destroy other buildings, eat any who cross its path, and spread its offspring through the city until it can feed on everything you love from the inside out—this is where you draw the line? At least a mobster will leave you a body to bury. The Ringer bids you review your priorities immediately.

  Amicae Sun, November 28, 1233

  HEAD SWEEPER FIRED

  Amid the turbulence of recent events, the Council has chosen to remove Laura Kramer from the head Sweeper position. At 20 years old she was not the youngest head Sweeper in Amicae’s history—see Clae Sinclair’s 15—but citizens expressed doubt in her ability to uphold the office. Many push for her to be removed from the Sweepers altogether, claiming that she should have done everything in her power to spread the truth. Councilwoman Victoria Douglas pointed out to these protestors that the situation was beyond Kramer’s, or even Sinclair’s, control. She further stated that we must bolster our Sweepers in any way we can; to fire Kramer would mean our only Sweeper is not yet 20 and not yet employed for four months, a recipe for cert
ain disaster. Efforts are under way to recruit more Sweepers, and Juliana MacDanel of Puer has been appointed as new head Sweeper. MacDanel, 35, has worked as a Sweeper since her school days and came highly recommended by her city.

  Amicae Dead Ringer, November 28, 1233

  AMICAE NEVER LEARNS

  Once again the public bends its ear to the very problem. Who will you trust, Amicae: the Council who deliberately chose not to warn you and caused the very destruction you’re screaming over, or the person who risked life and limb to save you from your nightmares? Congratulations. You’ve thrown your hero to the wolves.

  1

  BACKLASH

  Laura’s dismissal had been a shock, initially. It came on the tail end of an infestation, just as reported in the Amicae Sun. Damage had been done, yes, but it hadn’t been anywhere near as bad as what she’d done to the army barracks in September, or even what she and Clae had done to a residence in August. Where those incidents had been either picked at or overlooked entirely, stories about this one had ballooned. It couldn’t be blamed on mobsters or another far-fetched reason, not now in Amicae’s “age of truth.” As good as it was to have people who knew about infestations, in this instance it proved extremely annoying. When infestations came up now, the public reacted in hysterics. Citizens wrote to the papers, bemoaning her ineptitude: Why couldn’t she have just not damaged anything? Why couldn’t she have prevented the infestation from coming at all? Why hadn’t she done her civic duty and shared the truth with everyone from the start? Okane suggested that maybe she should avoid the papers for a while, but she ignored him. If she was head Sweeper, she’d do this right. She needed to know what everyone was saying, so she could give them a proper and well-educated fuck you in case she ever met one of these idiots in person. (“- - - sound like Clae,” he’d informed her, and even his lack of “you” sounded exasperated.)

  Part of her was viciously pleased when the Dead Ringer newspaper rose to her defense, but mostly she felt squeamish. Anyone with a brain knew that the Dead Ringer was run by the Mad Dogs mob. The Mad Dogs helped Sweepers during the Falling Infestation, but that had been basic self-preservation. With their own fleet of Sweepers far outnumbering the Sinclairs, there was no need for them to dig in their heels like this. Laura had a bad feeling that the Mad Dogs would come knocking on her door with a debt she’d never asked for. Furthermore, the obvious new link between Sweepers and Mad Dogs was a nightmare in publicity. Albright had since redirected any phone calls to the shop, but after the first Dead Ringer article a woman called the Sweepers and accused Laura of assisting the Mad Dogs in bombing a business on the east side and killing her son. Adding insult to injury, the bombing in question had been undertaken by Blackwater, a completely different mob. The very next day, the Dead Ringer churned out a page reading, You don’t even know which mob you hate! Why do you think you know enough to judge an organization you didn’t even know existed?

  Laura had braced herself for a rebuke from the Council. Sure enough, she received a letter with the Council’s phoenix stamp. Inside it simply read:

  Due to recent circumstances, we have agreed that you are no longer suitable to hold the position of head Sweeper.

  Below it were signatures from multiple Council members. Councilwoman Victoria Douglas hadn’t graced the letter with her signature or approval, but majority ruled. Laura was demoted. She might have been biased, but she was still convinced this was a petty dismissal. There was no benefit for Amicae in removing the most veteran member of such a small Sweeper department, and Clae had remained in power for twelve years under the same tactics. Worse, there was no one to replace her with. The only Council-approved option was …

  “Juliana MacDanel’s been authorized for full citizenship.”

  In the here and now, December 5, 1233, Okane paged through another newspaper. It still took him a while to read everything, but he took in all the words with eyes she vowed never to compare to silver coins. “The Sun’s done a highlight on her in celebration.”

  Laura’s head lay in the middle of a newspaper halo. She turned to look at him, scrunching the pages of today’s Dead Ringer.

  “A highlight? Like they do for film stars?”

  “Yes. I don’t see how they had the opportunity to do this kind of interview unless they paid for the telephone call,” said Okane. “It says she enjoys dogs, playing Aces, and eating Ralurian potato peels. When advertisements listed that as a delicacy, I thought it was a joke.”

  “I’m still not convinced it isn’t.” Laura felt tempted to sink lower in her slouch, but there wasn’t anyplace lower to go when one’s face was plastered to the counter. She had no doubt this interest in Juliana MacDanel was engineered: a way to soothe the public, make Amicae feel like the Council was answering their call, all while endearing the Sweepers to them like the friendly entourage of a film star. “If they’re trying to make the head Sweeper into a mascot, I’ll admit I’m not a good fit for the job.”

  Okane eyed her reproachfully. “There’s no way she would know the job better than - - - do.”

  “With twenty years on the job, she would,” said Laura. “Knowing layout isn’t everything. She’ll probably learn quickly.”

  “I still think - - -’re more suitable,” said Okane.

  Laura snorted. “Look at it this way. If the head Sweeper’s going to be a media darling, that cuts back on her Sweeping time. She’ll be in an interview, and I’ll be on the extermination. I won’t have the title, but I’ll still be the real power here. So long as I can keep Sweeping, that’s enough for me.”

  It was a lie, but admitting that felt petulant. She’d reach for any silver lining she could at this point. Okane seemed to be even more upset about this than she was, but luckily she was spared any additional arguing by a knock at the door. While strange during business hours, the gesture meant it must be one of two people. Okane waved at the large windows, and the visitor creaked the door open.

  The police chief, Heather Albright, stepped in. She carried her black helmet under one arm, freeing dark red hair to fall in a frazzled braid down her back. Her glasses half hid the dark circles under her eyes, the sheaf of paper under her other arm presumably to blame. At one time her presence might’ve been odd, but ever since the disaster she dropped by to check on them multiple times a week. Whether this was because she worried over losing a vital cog in the city machine or actually felt concern for their personal well-being Laura didn’t know, but she appreciated the attention. She’d expected Albright to drop by, but the man who sidled in behind her, hands in the pockets of his overcoat and a pipe held loosely between his teeth, wasn’t familiar. He stood behind and off to Albright’s side, close enough to observe but not in the way, and seemed very used to this spot. Albright didn’t so much as look at him, instead fixing her tired gaze on the Sweepers.

  “Good afternoon. Has business been well today?”

  “Not really,” said Laura. “No one came in, even for recycling.”

  “After the incident I didn’t think we’d need so many warnings printed, but I’ll ask for another round in the papers,” Albright muttered. “That should send them hurrying in.”

  Laura smiled. “Did you need something today, Chief Albright?”

  “Just giving you some news.” She brandished the papers. “For one thing, we’ve got the politics hammered out on this problem of yours. Might want to thank Douglas. She nearly turned the case into a crusade.”

  The idea of the stern, elderly councilwoman charging into battle surprised Laura, but then again she’d never met Victoria Douglas. “How did it turn out?”

  “Clae Sinclair’s will is going to be carried out as intended. Whether or not it was used for public service, all Sweeper equipment is privately owned, so the Council and city can’t claim it.” She muttered something about a gray area of whether Pits were considered private property, something the Council had argued over in the process. “And whoever inherits his estate gets all of it, since Sweepers are tax-free. T
he Council loved that. Bottom line: there’s a lot more up for grabs and possibly yours, but that’s all up to the estate administrator carrying it out.”

  “Good. I wouldn’t trust the Council with it,” said Laura. She’d read more than enough about the early days when the Council had used Gin to pay off any small debt, and her personal experiences with their orders hadn’t been enjoyable. “Do you know how long an administrator should take?”

  “I wouldn’t know. I’ve never had to deal with them.” Albright turned to look at the man, who’d drifted toward the counter to inspect the Kin. “Rhodes, how much time does it take for them to do their job?”

  The man straightened up from squinting at a flask, pushing his hat back on thick auburn hair. “Depends,” he said, in a slow drawl. “If there’s organized documentation, they could be in and out in no time. If there’s not, you may have to deal with them for a while. Don’t worry, though. They don’t take nearly as long as people seem to think.”

  Albright nodded her approval before plucking a small page from her papers and setting it on the countertop. Laura leaned over to see it better and recognized it as a telegram.

  “In addition, your new boss is coming soon.” The mention made Laura’s stomach twist; half shame for her horrendously botched job and following dismissal, half dread for the newcomer. “Personally, I think it’s unnecessary. As far as I’m concerned you did the right thing. Clae Sinclair certainly wouldn’t have done any different. You prevented a massive loss of life, and—”

  “And the Council doesn’t want another Clae,” said Laura. “I’m not happy about it, but there’s nothing I can do. Besides, I have faith in whoever Puer’s head Sweeper picks out.”