Read Online Hexomancy by Michael R. Underwood - Free Book Online
Authors: Michael R. Underwood
Tags: Fantasy
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social outlet, Ree didn’t have anything more useful to do than catch up on some shut-eye, so she crashed, lightsaber on her bedside table, just in case.
She dreamed about rooftop duels and long shifts staring at the door, nodding off, then being torn apart by razor-sharp tarot cards.
Buzzing woke Ree from a stone-dead sleep. She clawed for her phone, then jumped several steps toward awake when she saw a text from Priya. It was a group MMS to the Rhyming Ladies.
It was 3:25 AM, and the text was brand-new.
EMERGENCY MEETING, my place. Bring booze.
Chapter Six
The Friend Signal
Ree messaged back as fast as her fingers could type, muscle memory leveraged hard enough that she avoided the typos.
Whoa, what’s going on?
The response from Priya came within seconds.
Just come over, please?
A minute later, as Ree was dressing, Anya piped in.
I’m on my way. ETA 30 min. Have Jager, will travel.
Ree threw on last night’s clothes, stuffed the lightsaber back into her jacket, and flew out the door with a bottle of Pinnacle whipped-cream vodka.
She wasn’t unfamiliar with 4 AM, thanks to her magical superhero lifestyle, but that was usually at the end of her day, not halfway through her night, stumbling with bed-head and a bottle of liquor stuffed into her coat.
There were only a few things that would prompt emergency meetings of the Rhyming Ladies at 3:45 AM without explanation, and very few of them were good.
Priya lived far enough crosstown that Ree had to either jog for a half hour or take a cab, which she knew would be plentiful if she went deeper into the U-District.
An entirely unaffordable $13 cab ride later, Ree buzzed at the front door to Priya’s apartment, a fourth-floor walkup in a shadier part of town, three blocks from a park that was largely ceded to drug dealers after nightfall.
Priya buzzed her up, and after a far-too-tiring tromp up the stairs, Ree found herself at Priya’s door. Her friend had a shawl drawn around her shoulders. Her makeup was smeared—she’d been crying. The seamstress-engineer was dressed for a night on the town, her brown-black hair tied up and back with gear-bedecked pins, several locks loose as if she’d been . . . well, as if she’d been in a fight, frankly.
Ree’s defensive instincts went into overdrive. She’d been out with Drake. What the hell would have gotten her into a fight?
“Thanks for coming,” Priya said, sniffing back tears. Ree stepped inside, set the bottle on the foyer table, and grabbed her friend to deploy her most comforting hug.
“Pri, what happened?”
Priya closed the door and stepped back. Priya’s studio apartment was two-thirds workshop, one-third actual apartment. Couch and table were mounded over with machinery, bolts of cloth, and several types of sewing machines. She was a perfect complement to Drake in the Steampunk world, her head as much in the clouds about projects as he was.
Ree handed over the bottle, and Priya filled glasses with ice and poured the vodka three fingers to the glass. This was serious fucking business, if Priya was in heavy-pour mode.
“Drake and I were out at a Steampunk maker-space for a meet-up, art show, performances, all that stuff,” Priya said, perching on one of her worktables, leaving Ree the uncovered seat. “It was a full schedule, so we didn’t get out until after three.”
Ree took a long swig of the sweet vodka, resigned to the fact that her whole day was going to be triage mode, even more than she’d expected. This was a breakup story or she was Elmer Fudd.
“We were walking back from Fane and Douglas and a trio of guys in hats and coats blocked us off on the sidewalk and pushed us into the alley.” Priya took a slug from her drink. “The bigger two had knives, but the little guy in the middle had a gun, probably a .22.”
Priya hugged herself with one hand, defensive body language telling Ree just how scary the encounter must have been. Priya’s focus waned; her eyes glossed
She dreamed about rooftop duels and long shifts staring at the door, nodding off, then being torn apart by razor-sharp tarot cards.
Buzzing woke Ree from a stone-dead sleep. She clawed for her phone, then jumped several steps toward awake when she saw a text from Priya. It was a group MMS to the Rhyming Ladies.
It was 3:25 AM, and the text was brand-new.
EMERGENCY MEETING, my place. Bring booze.
Chapter Six
The Friend Signal
Ree messaged back as fast as her fingers could type, muscle memory leveraged hard enough that she avoided the typos.
Whoa, what’s going on?
The response from Priya came within seconds.
Just come over, please?
A minute later, as Ree was dressing, Anya piped in.
I’m on my way. ETA 30 min. Have Jager, will travel.
Ree threw on last night’s clothes, stuffed the lightsaber back into her jacket, and flew out the door with a bottle of Pinnacle whipped-cream vodka.
She wasn’t unfamiliar with 4 AM, thanks to her magical superhero lifestyle, but that was usually at the end of her day, not halfway through her night, stumbling with bed-head and a bottle of liquor stuffed into her coat.
There were only a few things that would prompt emergency meetings of the Rhyming Ladies at 3:45 AM without explanation, and very few of them were good.
Priya lived far enough crosstown that Ree had to either jog for a half hour or take a cab, which she knew would be plentiful if she went deeper into the U-District.
An entirely unaffordable $13 cab ride later, Ree buzzed at the front door to Priya’s apartment, a fourth-floor walkup in a shadier part of town, three blocks from a park that was largely ceded to drug dealers after nightfall.
Priya buzzed her up, and after a far-too-tiring tromp up the stairs, Ree found herself at Priya’s door. Her friend had a shawl drawn around her shoulders. Her makeup was smeared—she’d been crying. The seamstress-engineer was dressed for a night on the town, her brown-black hair tied up and back with gear-bedecked pins, several locks loose as if she’d been . . . well, as if she’d been in a fight, frankly.
Ree’s defensive instincts went into overdrive. She’d been out with Drake. What the hell would have gotten her into a fight?
“Thanks for coming,” Priya said, sniffing back tears. Ree stepped inside, set the bottle on the foyer table, and grabbed her friend to deploy her most comforting hug.
“Pri, what happened?”
Priya closed the door and stepped back. Priya’s studio apartment was two-thirds workshop, one-third actual apartment. Couch and table were mounded over with machinery, bolts of cloth, and several types of sewing machines. She was a perfect complement to Drake in the Steampunk world, her head as much in the clouds about projects as he was.
Ree handed over the bottle, and Priya filled glasses with ice and poured the vodka three fingers to the glass. This was serious fucking business, if Priya was in heavy-pour mode.
“Drake and I were out at a Steampunk maker-space for a meet-up, art show, performances, all that stuff,” Priya said, perching on one of her worktables, leaving Ree the uncovered seat. “It was a full schedule, so we didn’t get out until after three.”
Ree took a long swig of the sweet vodka, resigned to the fact that her whole day was going to be triage mode, even more than she’d expected. This was a breakup story or she was Elmer Fudd.
“We were walking back from Fane and Douglas and a trio of guys in hats and coats blocked us off on the sidewalk and pushed us into the alley.” Priya took a slug from her drink. “The bigger two had knives, but the little guy in the middle had a gun, probably a .22.”
Priya hugged herself with one hand, defensive body language telling Ree just how scary the encounter must have been. Priya’s focus waned; her eyes glossed
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