Read Online Back Door Magic by Phaedra Weldon - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Phaedra Weldon
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it, Jackie would have taken it. "You'll be
all right? Need groceries? Though," she looked her daughter up and
down. "You could stand to lose a few pounds."
Brenda stared at the floor.
"Well, that's good. Okay—I'm gone. You just
go ahead an sign those papers, Brenda, and we'll both be well in
the green.' She waved and clacked back to the front of the store
where she disappeared behind the door.
Brenda took in a deep breath, clutched at
the counter with both hands, and then exhaled.
"Yes, quite an exhausting woman, isn't she?
Thought she'd never leave."
Brenda gave a slight squeal and spun around,
shoving the edge of the counter into the small of her back—close to
her kidney.
The blue eyes were standing in front of her.
They belonged to a nice long face, with a perfectly shaped nose and
full lips. Pale skin.
His hair was dark and short, but suited his
face which sported a perfectly shaped nose and full lips. Pale
skin. Very wiry in dark pants, shirt and black suit jacket.
"Oh, sorry, I'm not in the habit of
startling my saviors," he said, and she heard the accent that time.
English—Surrey? Maybe a little bit of Liverpool? Soft and melodic.
"I'm sorry—it's just that I'm in the middle of a very—" He looked
down at his right side, where Brenda saw a red stain spreading over
his fibers of his dark shirt, making it stick to his skin. She
could see the blood even clearer on his fingers as he pressed his
long-fingered hand to his side. "Uhm…a very tetchy situation."
His eyes glazed over, and he nearly fell.
Brenda went out ot him and moved under his left shoulder, the side
that wasn't bleeding. "What happened?" She hated the flat, nasal
sounding voice she had in comparison to his. "Were you shot?"
"Yes, and no," he said and stumbled with her
as she guided him to the table she'd been sitting at earlier. With
a grunt, Brenda eased him into the chair and then pushed the papers
away.
She frowned at the wound. He didn't look too
good. Very pale.
Bone pale.
"What can I do?"
His eyes opened then, and though she saw
intelligence there, she also saw the pain she'd seen before at the
stairwell. "Do? Why, my dear Brenda, you can heal me."
Heal? Me? "Heal you?" she shook her head and
took a step back. "I'm worry mister—" Did he say his name? "Mister,
but I'm not a healer. I'm supposed to be a magician, but I'm really
not any good at that, either."
With a nod the stranger smiled. It was a
very nice smile, and would have lit up his whole face if it wasn't
for the shadow of pain she saw just beneath the surface. "Actually,
you're a lot better than you think." He winced. "And though
confidence is something you do lack the skills in, I'm afraid I
don't have the luxury of time right now to teach them to you, so,"
he bent over for a few seconds and his breathing became
labored.
"Oh, damn," Brenda ran her fingers through
her hair. "Look, what's your name? I can't call you 'hey you' all
the time.'
"Edward," he managed to say in the middle of
another wince. "Edward Darlington. Yes, yes. That will do this
time. Now, speaking of time, we don't have much. The door is locked
and the outside looks vacant. So grab the wormwood, the St. John's
root, and some of the Dragon's Blood Rede from that shelf over the
necromancer tomes."
She blinked at him. "Edward—I didn't
understand—"
"Brenda," he smiled again. "Just let your
hands guide you. Please hurry—I'm not going to be conscious much
longer."
Let my hands guide me?
Geez! She turned and ran to the designated
shelf. Luckily, Granny had things labeled, and she was able to
gather the bottles of each of the items Edward asked for. She set
them on the table in front of him.
"Good, good," he said. He was sitting funny
in the chair. "Now—you need a small amount of mandrake oil—and I
mean small. Maybe a dab and that's it. Too much, and I'm dead
anyway."
She found it on a different shelf and
grabbed it—then paused as her gaze rested on a large green marble
mortar and pestle, a
all right? Need groceries? Though," she looked her daughter up and
down. "You could stand to lose a few pounds."
Brenda stared at the floor.
"Well, that's good. Okay—I'm gone. You just
go ahead an sign those papers, Brenda, and we'll both be well in
the green.' She waved and clacked back to the front of the store
where she disappeared behind the door.
Brenda took in a deep breath, clutched at
the counter with both hands, and then exhaled.
"Yes, quite an exhausting woman, isn't she?
Thought she'd never leave."
Brenda gave a slight squeal and spun around,
shoving the edge of the counter into the small of her back—close to
her kidney.
The blue eyes were standing in front of her.
They belonged to a nice long face, with a perfectly shaped nose and
full lips. Pale skin.
His hair was dark and short, but suited his
face which sported a perfectly shaped nose and full lips. Pale
skin. Very wiry in dark pants, shirt and black suit jacket.
"Oh, sorry, I'm not in the habit of
startling my saviors," he said, and she heard the accent that time.
English—Surrey? Maybe a little bit of Liverpool? Soft and melodic.
"I'm sorry—it's just that I'm in the middle of a very—" He looked
down at his right side, where Brenda saw a red stain spreading over
his fibers of his dark shirt, making it stick to his skin. She
could see the blood even clearer on his fingers as he pressed his
long-fingered hand to his side. "Uhm…a very tetchy situation."
His eyes glazed over, and he nearly fell.
Brenda went out ot him and moved under his left shoulder, the side
that wasn't bleeding. "What happened?" She hated the flat, nasal
sounding voice she had in comparison to his. "Were you shot?"
"Yes, and no," he said and stumbled with her
as she guided him to the table she'd been sitting at earlier. With
a grunt, Brenda eased him into the chair and then pushed the papers
away.
She frowned at the wound. He didn't look too
good. Very pale.
Bone pale.
"What can I do?"
His eyes opened then, and though she saw
intelligence there, she also saw the pain she'd seen before at the
stairwell. "Do? Why, my dear Brenda, you can heal me."
Heal? Me? "Heal you?" she shook her head and
took a step back. "I'm worry mister—" Did he say his name? "Mister,
but I'm not a healer. I'm supposed to be a magician, but I'm really
not any good at that, either."
With a nod the stranger smiled. It was a
very nice smile, and would have lit up his whole face if it wasn't
for the shadow of pain she saw just beneath the surface. "Actually,
you're a lot better than you think." He winced. "And though
confidence is something you do lack the skills in, I'm afraid I
don't have the luxury of time right now to teach them to you, so,"
he bent over for a few seconds and his breathing became
labored.
"Oh, damn," Brenda ran her fingers through
her hair. "Look, what's your name? I can't call you 'hey you' all
the time.'
"Edward," he managed to say in the middle of
another wince. "Edward Darlington. Yes, yes. That will do this
time. Now, speaking of time, we don't have much. The door is locked
and the outside looks vacant. So grab the wormwood, the St. John's
root, and some of the Dragon's Blood Rede from that shelf over the
necromancer tomes."
She blinked at him. "Edward—I didn't
understand—"
"Brenda," he smiled again. "Just let your
hands guide you. Please hurry—I'm not going to be conscious much
longer."
Let my hands guide me?
Geez! She turned and ran to the designated
shelf. Luckily, Granny had things labeled, and she was able to
gather the bottles of each of the items Edward asked for. She set
them on the table in front of him.
"Good, good," he said. He was sitting funny
in the chair. "Now—you need a small amount of mandrake oil—and I
mean small. Maybe a dab and that's it. Too much, and I'm dead
anyway."
She found it on a different shelf and
grabbed it—then paused as her gaze rested on a large green marble
mortar and pestle, a
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