Harvest of Changelings Read Online Free

two months ago, and a month ago, and a slightly revised version last week. He just nodded at each item as he twisted the bed sheets with his hands, telling himself to be calm, just be calm, take slow, deep breaths, count to ten, be calm . . .
    â€œWell, Ben? Get busy!”
    He got busy.
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    Our son, Malachi Lucius Tyson, was born four hours later, just before dawn. When he came out, head first, there was a tremendous explosion of light. He slid into my hands all wet and slippery and hot. I had never felt (and have yet to) a healthy baby so hot before. I cut the cord and wrapped him in a wet towel, steam rising into my face.
    He was the most beautiful baby I have ever seen.
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    Ben thought it was Malachi’s crying the next night that woke him. He sat up quickly and rolled out of bed. The baby was fast sleep. Ben stood, one hand on the crib, listening. He could hear Malachi breathing, and then softer, yet in the same rhythm, Valeria. He heard the faint tick of the clock on the dresser. And a thump in the living room that shouldn’t be there, followed quickly by another, dull and heavy on the floor. A bird—a bat against the window—could he have possibly left the window open?
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    I still remember what I was thinking, trying to make sense out of an impossible noise. I still remember wishing I had a baseball bat or a tennis racquet as I went down the hall to check, feeling foolish.
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    They stood by a picture of Faerie Valeria had hung in Ben’s living room, right above the table where she had set the terrarium with the little dragon. There were two of them, shadows blacker and darker than anything Ben had ever seen. Their shadows swallowed light. Ben watched as the moonlight was sucked up into their darknesses. The nearer one sniffed and turned, and looked directly at Ben, its eyes dark red fires. It took one step forward, its claws scratching on the wood. Ben stepped backward. The Fomorii had come; they had gotten through after all. And it was in the middle of the night and Ben was stark naked.

    The nearest Fomorii took another step toward Ben and spat on the floor. The spit hissed like water tossed into a frying pan. Then it cracked a whip. Sparks flew and Ben felt the air in the room suddenly grow hotter and closer. A few more steps closer and he knew the whip would have left a burn on his chest. The monster cracked its whip again and this time caught Ben on his leg. He screamed and the two Fomorii started walking slowly toward him, one behind the other, backing him down the hall. Why should they be afraid of one naked human when they were winning battles against the lords of Faerie?
    Faerie. Nails, iron, the blood metal. He knew they were from yet another universe, but maybe, just maybe. The ten-penny nails were still in his jacket pocket, right where he had left them months ago. Behind Ben, about six feet away, was the bedroom door, a white rectangle, the light contained inside the doorframe, as if someone had caged the light. Had Valeria set the wards? But he had been able to go out—did the wards know him, let him come and go? Could they keep out the darkness? The jacket—where was it?—his closet.
    The Fomorii were less than five feet away. He saw them clearly: crests erect, black scales, yellow fangs, yellow claws, those red eyes. He took another step backward; the Fomorii matched it. The bedroom was less than three feet away. Ben could hear Malachi screaming. He took another step backward, felt something give, and he was inside. The Fomorii stood at the door, stopped by the light. He glanced to be sure Valeria had the baby and he bolted for the closet and the jacket and the nails.
    â€œI forgot to set all the wards. I was too tired; I forgot; I thought we were safe. I can’t hold them much longer—I just don’t have the strength ...”
    He didn’t even look at her as he frantically searched for the nails. When Ben found them in his jacket pocket, he