The Hunter's Prey (The Fay Morgan Chronicles Book 5) Read Online Free
Author: Katherine Sparrow
my eyes and wondered if we should return to my store. But truly, the thought of any more spell-making today made me want to cry.
Merlin and I took our food to a sun-warmed picnic bench and ate.
“Look at your hand,” Merlin said.
The one I wasn’t eating with, the one with pins, was extended out fully.
“The pins pull ever harder to our destination,” I told Merlin.
“Aye, close now, for if we walk much further, we’ll be swimming in the deep,” he said, blotting his face with a paper napkin. He nodded and got a vague look on his face that I knew meant he was searching the area for magic. For anything that might give us some clue as to what we neared.
I did the same.
There was nothing but slight magical tendrils floating through the air. They felt like the types of specific magic tethered to various sorts of unders, but they were exceptionally diluted and not strong enough that I could discern any true information from them.
We walked on, and my calves and the soles of my feet had a nice ache to them, so different than the cramped muscles of inaction I'd suffered most days since we'd fallen into our regimen of preparing to go to Hell.
A cool breeze blew down the street, full of sea brine and the musky scent of seaweed. We passed houses with four-door garages and entrances with mini-turrets. It was a peculiarity of this modern age, in this country that had never even had its own monarchy, that the wealthy wanted their own castles and built their domains accordingly. Never mind that actual castles were all built with different forms of slave labor. Everyone of power thought they deserved to be kings and princesses, damn the reality of history. That thought led me back to Lila, serving the Queen and King of Hell. All thoughts had a way of leading back to her.
We walked through the winding roads lined with houses, until we stood at the top of a long, downward block that ended at a cul de sac. Beyond it was Puget Sound. The four pins in my hand pulsed and shifted, urging me to hurry.
When we reached the bottom of the hill, we stood on the sidewalk and faced a wide empty lot that sat overlooking the water, full of blackberry vines lush with fruit and English ivy that crept everywhere.
“Perhaps this is some kind of joke? Some magical goose chase?” But as I said those words, I didn’t believe them. The vague traces of magic were thicker here, and set my teeth on edge. And nothing about the poster we’d found in Pike Place had seemed like a joke.
“An empty lot,” Merlin said thoughtfully. He squinted into the tangled vines and bushes. “It's large. Sitting on the water. Undeveloped.”
“Unlikely,” I agreed.
Merlin set his black satchel down on the sidewalk, opened it up, and peered within.
I never ceased to envy that infinity bag.
“Where is it? Come on now. Where are you?” he mumbled.
The problem was, of course, that it was too big on the inside and Merlin was many things but never tidy.
“I know it is in here somewhere,” he said, reaching in all the way up to his shoulder.
I fought the desire to glance over his shoulder and look at all that lay inside, but there was some honor amongst wizards and witches. A person's spelled objects were personal.
Still muttering, Merlin pulled out a knotted piece of driftwood that looked utterly ordinary at first glance. At second glance? Merlin murmured “ Even the very wise cannot see all ends ,” and the driftwood grew bright and orangey with a well-made dispersion spell.
He cocked it behind his head and threw it high into the empty lot.
It flew and then bounced off some invisible membrane not five feet in front of us. Where the bough hit the membrane, it shone silver. That spot of silver grew and spread across the membrane, showing it to be a dome that stretched over the lot and all the way down to the water.
Merlin began to take a step forward. I put a hand on his arm and reached into my pocket for a piece of rose quartz. I held it up so it
Merlin and I took our food to a sun-warmed picnic bench and ate.
“Look at your hand,” Merlin said.
The one I wasn’t eating with, the one with pins, was extended out fully.
“The pins pull ever harder to our destination,” I told Merlin.
“Aye, close now, for if we walk much further, we’ll be swimming in the deep,” he said, blotting his face with a paper napkin. He nodded and got a vague look on his face that I knew meant he was searching the area for magic. For anything that might give us some clue as to what we neared.
I did the same.
There was nothing but slight magical tendrils floating through the air. They felt like the types of specific magic tethered to various sorts of unders, but they were exceptionally diluted and not strong enough that I could discern any true information from them.
We walked on, and my calves and the soles of my feet had a nice ache to them, so different than the cramped muscles of inaction I'd suffered most days since we'd fallen into our regimen of preparing to go to Hell.
A cool breeze blew down the street, full of sea brine and the musky scent of seaweed. We passed houses with four-door garages and entrances with mini-turrets. It was a peculiarity of this modern age, in this country that had never even had its own monarchy, that the wealthy wanted their own castles and built their domains accordingly. Never mind that actual castles were all built with different forms of slave labor. Everyone of power thought they deserved to be kings and princesses, damn the reality of history. That thought led me back to Lila, serving the Queen and King of Hell. All thoughts had a way of leading back to her.
We walked through the winding roads lined with houses, until we stood at the top of a long, downward block that ended at a cul de sac. Beyond it was Puget Sound. The four pins in my hand pulsed and shifted, urging me to hurry.
When we reached the bottom of the hill, we stood on the sidewalk and faced a wide empty lot that sat overlooking the water, full of blackberry vines lush with fruit and English ivy that crept everywhere.
“Perhaps this is some kind of joke? Some magical goose chase?” But as I said those words, I didn’t believe them. The vague traces of magic were thicker here, and set my teeth on edge. And nothing about the poster we’d found in Pike Place had seemed like a joke.
“An empty lot,” Merlin said thoughtfully. He squinted into the tangled vines and bushes. “It's large. Sitting on the water. Undeveloped.”
“Unlikely,” I agreed.
Merlin set his black satchel down on the sidewalk, opened it up, and peered within.
I never ceased to envy that infinity bag.
“Where is it? Come on now. Where are you?” he mumbled.
The problem was, of course, that it was too big on the inside and Merlin was many things but never tidy.
“I know it is in here somewhere,” he said, reaching in all the way up to his shoulder.
I fought the desire to glance over his shoulder and look at all that lay inside, but there was some honor amongst wizards and witches. A person's spelled objects were personal.
Still muttering, Merlin pulled out a knotted piece of driftwood that looked utterly ordinary at first glance. At second glance? Merlin murmured “ Even the very wise cannot see all ends ,” and the driftwood grew bright and orangey with a well-made dispersion spell.
He cocked it behind his head and threw it high into the empty lot.
It flew and then bounced off some invisible membrane not five feet in front of us. Where the bough hit the membrane, it shone silver. That spot of silver grew and spread across the membrane, showing it to be a dome that stretched over the lot and all the way down to the water.
Merlin began to take a step forward. I put a hand on his arm and reached into my pocket for a piece of rose quartz. I held it up so it
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