War and Famine: An Urban Fantasy Novel (Revelations Book 2) Read Online Free Page B

have words to describe.”
    “He could be wrong. His judgement is likely clouded because it’s his daughter,” Ian replied. His voice was calm, more so than it’d been in the entire time since the battle.
    Amy bit her lip. She’d had a similar thought but couldn’t bear to think Sabastin might be wrong. The way he looked at his daughter was enough to break her heart into tiny pieces. She couldn’t imagine what would happen if she woke up and wasn’t herself. She was going to give him the benefit of the doubt. She knew it was stupid but felt she owed him that much. After all, he had helped them win.
    “I’m going to take your silence as confirmation that you agree with me.” Ian exhaled slowly and the temperature in the hallway fell a couple degrees. “Still, I suppose we ought to wait and see. We are in the middle of his demon hunter base. If something goes wrong, there’s got to be some kind of gizmo to keep her bound and gagged somewhere around here.”
    Amy sure hoped he was right as she turned down the last corridor. If both Ian and Sabastin turned out to be wrong, they were in a ton of trouble. Up ahead, light spilled out from a doorway. It was almost oppressively bright in the mostly dark hallway, and even though Amy had visited Sabastin here many times, she always felt like an intruder when she approached.
    Still, Sabastin could spare a few minutes to help them deal with Vidar and his wolf. If he couldn’t, she wasn’t sure who could.
     

Caden 02:01
    The walls of Caden’s almost exceptionally small room were bare except for two objects. The first was a relatively reserved picture of John Calvin above his simple, neatly made bed. The second was a black-framed, red-worsted embroidery of the saying, “Feed My Lambs.” It hung on the wall above the only other piece of furniture in the room, a plain wooden desk that had belonged to his grandfather prior to the man’s death a few years ago.
    Caden stood in the middle of his gray carpet, trying to decide what to do. He still had ideas rattling around in his head from his workout in the gym’s pool. He needed to let those ideas out before he forgot them, but for some reason, he couldn’t quite muster the energy.
    Still, he’d been told real writers treated writing like it was their job. They didn’t write just when the muse struck them. Real writers had bills, after all. And, just like with his swimming, there was no way he was going to get better without practice.
    He sighed, trying to muster up the will to work on another draft of his book and opened his closet door. Just like every time he opened it, he found his closet still very well organized. The left half of it was all but consumed by a large solid oak bookcase. The bottom two shelves were devoted to an extensive set of encyclopedias, he’d admittedly never opened. These, along with the bookshelf, were also a gift from his late grandfather. The newest one was from nineteen seventy three.
    The rest of the shelves contained various novels, many of which were classics and nonfiction books. He’d read almost all of them at least a dozen times and filled many of them with his notes. Those notes corresponded to a stack of spiral bound notebooks on the top shelf where he’d deconstructed the stories in the vain hope of learning what made each book tick. After all, how was he supposed to become a writer if he didn’t understand the craft?
    Along the opposite wall, hung several shirts organized by color from dark to light. It always reminded him of a rainbow that stretched from black to white.
    The only other object in the closet was a battered, wooden chair, which Caden removed before quickly shutting the door. He placed it in front of his desk and sat down. He pulled a small blue notebook and a nubby wooden pencil from the top drawer. He had a variety of mechanical pencils, and if he was being honest, he actually preferred them, but there was something about using an old wooden pencil that made him