Read Online Hidden Dragons by Emma Holly - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Emma Holly
Tags: paranormal romance
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little bell on her collar jingled. That was funny. Cass didn’t remember hearing it yesterday.
“Aaow,” Poly insisted.
“Oh fine,” Cass said. “At your service, your highness.”
Once the cat was happy, Cass squared her shoulders to face her second source of anxiety: the dolorous Maycee portrait hall.
Her gran had been obsessed with her ancestors. Behind her back, Jin and Bridie used to call her the Mayflower Madam, a nickname they’d probably understood too well for twelve-year-olds. The tall barrel-ceilinged corridor ran the length of the penthouse, more than sufficient wall space for hanging every Maycee Gran could dig up. The earliest were near the foyer. The original farming family each had their own oil portraits, painted by Resurrection’s version of Rembrandt Peale.
As a girl, Cass had wondered how they felt—those presumably practical-minded tillers of the soil, swallowed without warning by an unfamiliar reality. They’d been the first residents of the Pocket, before faeries or demons or any of the descendants of the Stranded who’d gradually found their way to this supe haven. As the city rose, magically and otherwise, Maycees stood ready to greet newcomers, happy to show them around and sell them whatever staples they might require. Gran’s relatives had excelled at commerce from the get-go.
Cass smiled at Isaiah Maycee, the patriarch of the first Maycees, prosperous and proud in his Victorian business suit. The vibe the portrait gave off was barely there, probably coming more from the painter than Isaiah. This, she concluded, wasn’t what she’d come to find.
She drew a slow breath and focused, trailing three-quarters down the hall before her willies jumped out at her. She’d paused at a photograph of Agnes Maycee, taken during the era of beehive hairdos. It must have been new. Cass didn’t remember seeing it on previous visits. Agnes’s frosted bubble-gum pink lipstick did nothing to improve her smug half smile. Aside from not liking her expression, Cass couldn’t say what was wrong with her. The photo didn’t feel haunted; in fact, its subject might not be dead.
“Don’t care,” Cass muttered and focused herself again. She spun a camouflage around the picture, something she’d always been good at. When she was done, the picture looked like a bundle of greasy cardboard, safe to toss down the trash chute to the furnace without some janitor being tempted to rescue it.
That business taken care of, Cass fulfilled her promise to Rhona to spell a couple boxes of baby-safe detergent with extra stain-lifting power. She fixed her own breakfast next, a slightly pathetic bowl of Wheaty Charms. She ate them standing at the acre-long kitchen island, switching on Gran’s TV to keep her company.
Clearly, she needed to get a job. She’d had them when she lived Outside. Being nothing but a department store heiress was already boring her.
For two whole seconds she thought about adopting like Rhona had. That idea didn’t feel right for her. She had a maternal streak, but it wasn’t as strong as her best friend’s. Cass wanted something more like a purpose , something she’d be proud of when her long half fae life eventually wound down. Her gran had felt that way about the family stores. Cass had no clue what would inspire her.
Lost in thought, she put her empty bowl in the dishwasher. The news had come on the small TV. A human in a waitress outfit was being interviewed by a reporter. Cass was watching WQSN, so the extra energy the interviewer radiated was probably shifter.
“It was the scariest thing I ever saw,” the woman declared breathily. “Two pureblood faeries trying to kill each other with big long swords. If I hadn’t been riding the train so late, I would have missed the whole thing!”
“Did you fear for your life?” the handsome newscaster asked.
“Absolutely!” the woman said, clearly more excited than fearful now. “It was like an action movie, the way they flew
“Aaow,” Poly insisted.
“Oh fine,” Cass said. “At your service, your highness.”
Once the cat was happy, Cass squared her shoulders to face her second source of anxiety: the dolorous Maycee portrait hall.
Her gran had been obsessed with her ancestors. Behind her back, Jin and Bridie used to call her the Mayflower Madam, a nickname they’d probably understood too well for twelve-year-olds. The tall barrel-ceilinged corridor ran the length of the penthouse, more than sufficient wall space for hanging every Maycee Gran could dig up. The earliest were near the foyer. The original farming family each had their own oil portraits, painted by Resurrection’s version of Rembrandt Peale.
As a girl, Cass had wondered how they felt—those presumably practical-minded tillers of the soil, swallowed without warning by an unfamiliar reality. They’d been the first residents of the Pocket, before faeries or demons or any of the descendants of the Stranded who’d gradually found their way to this supe haven. As the city rose, magically and otherwise, Maycees stood ready to greet newcomers, happy to show them around and sell them whatever staples they might require. Gran’s relatives had excelled at commerce from the get-go.
Cass smiled at Isaiah Maycee, the patriarch of the first Maycees, prosperous and proud in his Victorian business suit. The vibe the portrait gave off was barely there, probably coming more from the painter than Isaiah. This, she concluded, wasn’t what she’d come to find.
She drew a slow breath and focused, trailing three-quarters down the hall before her willies jumped out at her. She’d paused at a photograph of Agnes Maycee, taken during the era of beehive hairdos. It must have been new. Cass didn’t remember seeing it on previous visits. Agnes’s frosted bubble-gum pink lipstick did nothing to improve her smug half smile. Aside from not liking her expression, Cass couldn’t say what was wrong with her. The photo didn’t feel haunted; in fact, its subject might not be dead.
“Don’t care,” Cass muttered and focused herself again. She spun a camouflage around the picture, something she’d always been good at. When she was done, the picture looked like a bundle of greasy cardboard, safe to toss down the trash chute to the furnace without some janitor being tempted to rescue it.
That business taken care of, Cass fulfilled her promise to Rhona to spell a couple boxes of baby-safe detergent with extra stain-lifting power. She fixed her own breakfast next, a slightly pathetic bowl of Wheaty Charms. She ate them standing at the acre-long kitchen island, switching on Gran’s TV to keep her company.
Clearly, she needed to get a job. She’d had them when she lived Outside. Being nothing but a department store heiress was already boring her.
For two whole seconds she thought about adopting like Rhona had. That idea didn’t feel right for her. She had a maternal streak, but it wasn’t as strong as her best friend’s. Cass wanted something more like a purpose , something she’d be proud of when her long half fae life eventually wound down. Her gran had felt that way about the family stores. Cass had no clue what would inspire her.
Lost in thought, she put her empty bowl in the dishwasher. The news had come on the small TV. A human in a waitress outfit was being interviewed by a reporter. Cass was watching WQSN, so the extra energy the interviewer radiated was probably shifter.
“It was the scariest thing I ever saw,” the woman declared breathily. “Two pureblood faeries trying to kill each other with big long swords. If I hadn’t been riding the train so late, I would have missed the whole thing!”
“Did you fear for your life?” the handsome newscaster asked.
“Absolutely!” the woman said, clearly more excited than fearful now. “It was like an action movie, the way they flew
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