Magic Bitter, Magic Sweet Read Online Free

quite pale as well. And yet—yes—he is translucent. The light passes through him, and I see a vague outline of the other side of the grove beyond his form. My breath catches. What sort of ethereal creature is this, haunting these sparse woods in the full light of day?
    A sudden coolness runs through my limbs and pinches my throat. I take a step back. I didn’t think I made a sound, but he notices me then, and his eyes—I can’t describe his eyes. They are a color I have never before seen. I can only say they are pale like the rest of him.
    Those eyes droop for half a breath before growing wide and round. He zooms forward so quickly I lose sight of him. I stumble back from the woods’ edge, my heart in my throat as he appears before me, his face close to mine. His hands jut forward as though to grab my shoulders, but he is as ephemeral as a specter, and they pass right through me.
    “Your name!” he shouts, breathless. “Your name, tell me your name!”
    I reach out to grasp something—anything that can steady me—but my hands meet only empty air. I trip over myself and drop to one knee.
    “Please!” he cries.
    I stare into those eyes, those strange eyes, and slowly rise. “I-It’s Maire,” I croak.
    The ghost leans away. His eyes roll back as he closes them, and a breath I cannot feel escapes his chest. “You have not forgotten,” he says, his voice smooth and . . . I’m not sure. He doesn’t have an identifiable accent, but his voice is different nonetheless. “Thank the gods. There is still time.”
    “Forgotten?” I repeat, and the yawning gap in my mind swallows me, freezing the blood in my skin even though my belly burns hotter than an oven. “You know my name? You know who I am?”
    Before he can reply—before I can ask more—a blast of shrieking birds and breaking branches assaults my ears. I hesitate to break away from this man-spirit, from his strange words and the twisting sensation they incite in me, but the cries are sudden and coarse, dangerous. I sprint back toward the bridge and look out over the woodlands. An enormous murder of crows rises into the sky, raining leaves and feathers all about them, cawing and clawing at the blue.
    The ethereal creature turns and peers west, but not at the crows. A frown twists his lips, and his hands form hard fists at his sides. He says something that sounds like a curse in tone, but I can’t pick out its phonetics.
    “What?” I ask, my now-cold fingers clutching for my chest, though I’m not sure from where my heart is beating.
    He looks at me, sorrowful, but with a hardness to his pale lips and eyes. He is more difficult to see now, as though he’s become more of a mirage than a spirit. “I cannot save you from this.”
    I shake my head. “What do you mean?”
    He says only one word before fading into the ether: “ Run .”

CHAPTER 2
    The crows fly overhead, turning into dark, fleeing specks. I rush forward to the space the ghost had filled and pass my hand through it. I feel nothing.
    “Wait!” I cry, but no trace of him remains.
    The heavy chimes of shrine bells ring, pulsing through my torso like a second heartbeat. I hold my breath.
    Then I hear the screams.
    My heart leaps into my throat as I run back over the bridge and to the lane, peering west. The mercantile is that way. Arrice. I sprint down the road, moving between the ruts made by wagon wheels. A few of the men in our small militia run from houses and storefronts half-armed. Beyond them a cloud of red dust grows as a storm, bolstered by the thunder of hundreds of horse hooves. People run before it, flying into buildings, falling to the ground.
    My hands and face turn cold. Marauders. Bandits in Carmine.
    I heed the ghost and run back for my shop.
    The marauders ride horses. They pour into the village like water into sand, penetrating it from all angles. Their mounts are all colors and sizes, but every rider looks the same—dark clothed and bareheaded, black sashes tied over