The Hunter's Moon (The Secret Warrior Series) Read Online Free Page B

dark brown cover was embossed with a wolf and a moon. The unintelligible script was penned by hand. Was it written in Shawnee?
    Witches on TV favored Latin, like in the Witches of East End, and every other show. Whatever language this was, she wondered more about the meaning behind the strange text.
    Were the Wapicoli into magic?
    Holy Moly . Maybe Miriam really was a witch.
    “Here, drink.” She broke into Morgan’s wild conjectures.
    If she noted Morgan’s focus on the book, she made no comment. Rather, she held out a blue pottery mug with herbal tea steaming inside. “This will lessen your pain. It’s steeped from partridge berries, willow, and birch bark.”
    Again, she spoke matter-of-factly. The plant names so familiar to Miriam meant nothing to her. The woman could poison her, and she’d never know.
    Morgan hesitated.
    “I sweetened it with honey,” Miriam coaxed, as if she were a reluctant five-year-old.
    “I’m sure it’s delicious.” Not the least bit certain, she took the cup and sipped.
    The taste wasn’t too bad. Honey enhanced the wintergreen flavor and diminished the bitterness, she assumed from the bark. She wouldn’t request a refill, but under Miriam’s watchful eye she drained the brew.
    Nodding her satisfaction, Miriam collected the cup and basin. “Rest. I shall return later with food.”
    Morgan slumped onto the couch. “Thank you.”
    “ Megwich ,” Miriam prompted.
    “What?”
    “Our word for thank you.”
    “Oh. Megwich. ” Was Morgan staying here long enough to learn the lingo?
    “ Gitchee . Good. I’m happy to help you.” Miriam slipped from the room.
    Apparently, Morgan would be here more than the day or two she’d expected. Gitchee seemed an odd word choice for good, but who was she to debate their language?
    She snuggled under the wool blanket Miriam had given her, colored orange, red, and yellow like the autumn forest. Doggone owl .
    Rather than gaze up into the bird’s unwavering stare, she shut her eyes. No need to ask where Jimmy was. Jackson had conducted the always hungry boy to the kitchen first thing. It adjoined the main room, but seemed farther away because of the vastness of the lodge. In the distance, she detected the endless stream of questions from Jimmy, and Jackson’s patient, at times noncommittal, reply.
    No matter how hospitable he and Miriam were, and the instantaneous attraction Morgan felt toward Jackson, there was something odd about this place. Apart from the unsettling thought that she was staying indefinitely, and Aunt M. really ought to be notified, she sensed strange vibes—and not only from all the wolf carvings.
    Where had the rest of the family gotten to? Half a dozen were said to reside under this roof: Jackson, his grandmother, father, uncle, aunt, cousin, and grandfather. Apparently, other family members came and went like a sort of commune. How was it all of them except Miriam were out? If any remained within these walls, they were exceedingly quiet.
    At this hour of the day, most people gathered for supper or ate fast food in front of the TV. The Wapicoli didn’t strike her as the sort to be delayed at soccer practice or piano lessons, plus it was remote here. Too dark to be out firing arrows at thunderbirds.
    What the heck were those things, anyway? Some kind of Native American dragon? What else lurked in these woods?
    Maybe Vikings weren’t as farfetched as she’d thought.
    Easy . Rest now , a voice seemed to whisper.
    Must be in her head. Troubling questions dimmed as the dull ache eased. The herbal brew must’ve worked its magic.
    Magic was the word for Wapicoli Lodge. If such a thing were real. She’d never thought so until, maybe, this moment…
    Exhaustion overcame her and she dozed off, stirring drowsily at the sense of a shadow passing by the couch.
    Was the owl on the wing? If so, he glided silently by.
    No ! She was so tired. Praying he didn’t peck her, she tugged the blanket over her head and fell back to