Spectyr Read Online Free Page B

one lit with the blue fire of Aydien, holding off the larger mass of spectyrs, while she concentrated Shayst on the immediate attackers.
    A line of sweat broke out on her lip as she drained them of their strength, and in the back of her mind was the joyous hum of delight.
    Take it. Take it all. Take everything. The insidious, tempting call yammered in her head, because it felt so very, very good .
    Sorcha was so busy draining the spectyrs swarming on the ceiling, she almost missed the stragglers that were darting and blundering through the crates in the attic.
    Sorcha! Merrick, still standing motionless in the corner, howled, but she had only two hands and two Gauntlets. Though she dropped Shayst and reached for Chityre, she wasn’t quite fast enough. The spectyr came barreling out of the shadows, its jaws wide and snapping.
    She heard Merrick yell—this time physically, but she saw nothing else, because they were on her then. The nest turned everything black, and her throat became abruptly unable to utter anything at all. Sorcha scrabbled at her neck, choking. Despite everything she had learned, primitive physical reactions were impossible to deny.
    As she rolled across the floor, unable to use her Gauntlets to get more air into her lungs or summon a rune, the screaming of the damned wailed in her ears. It was the sound of the unliving calling her to them, and she was aching to go.
    Then dimly, on the edge of consciousness, she felt Merrick. He slid across the floor to her, throwing himself into the middle of the snarling, vengeful geists. A Sensitive was supposed to stay out of the melee, out of harm’s way. But her partner broke through the swarm and put his hands on her.
    The Bond flared, suddenly stronger and more important than anything hidden in shadow. Merrick was in her head, she was in his, in ways that no Deacon Bond should allow.
    Yet Sorcha didn’t care about that,ecause up against their surge of power the nest backed away. She could breathe. Gasping, with Merrick wrapped around her, she released the rune Pyet.
    The attic was full of flame, blessed cleansing fire that flickered and danced in the polished brass of the Tinker’s craft. The spectyrs wailed loud enough to rupture normal human eardrums, shriveling as the geist power that held them captive was burned away.
    Together, she and Merrick got all of them—all bar one.
    “Wait!” Her partner called, but she was already up and chasing the fleeing geist. This one was not going to hang about and be sent back to the black embrace of the Otherside. It flashed away from her, phasing out and passing through the crates, before heading for the far brick wall.
    “Sorcha!” Her partner’s voice chased after her, but she refused to acknowledge him as she dashed after the spectyr. Damn it, after weeks of inactivity, she wasn’t about to let any of the undead get away from her.
    Sorcha raised her right hand, spread her Gauntleted fingers, and called Voishem. The air bent around her, twisting, breaking into the space between things. Brick, stone or wood could not stop her now.
    On the heels of the geist, Sorcha slipped through the wall and into the adjoining attic. The Bond, though, held tight, and she still shared Merrick’s sight. In fact, once through the wall, the influence of those cursed weirstones was mercifully dampened.
    This second attic was completely empty except for two crates by the far window. It was full of enough dust that Sorcha was surrounded by dancing motes, and for an instant she was confused by the flicker of light. The spectyr she half expected to have moved on was in fact huddled at the far end of the new room, crouching in shadow. All of her training as a Deacon told her this was very strange behavior for this kind of geist.
    Though her heart was pounding, this was the one remaining problem from the whole vicious nest. She wasn’t afraid of it. Still, she kept her Gauntlets raised as she approached the cloaked form. Stopping two feet