Read Online Hunt the Moon : Cassandra Palmer #5 by Karen Chance - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Karen Chance
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Sort of a Bates Motel pastiche, which was usually a little disturbing. But tonight, it fit my mood perfectly.
Pritkin followed me out. He didn’t say anything, just handed me a cold Coke he’d dug up from somewhere. I guess the tea wasn’t ready.
I took it without comment, feeling absurdly grateful. I didn’t really want to talk. I’d wanted him here, but I wasn’t sure why. Maybe just to have someone to drink with. Actually, that sounded pretty good at the moment. I sat on the seat of the chaise and he sat on the foot, and we just drank at each other for a while.
After a few minutes, he leaned back against the railing, like maybe he wanted a backrest, and I shifted my feet over to make room. But I guess I didn’t shift far enough, because a large, warm hand covered my right foot, adjusting it slightly. And then it just stayed there, like he’d forgotten to remove it.
I looked at it. Pritkin’s hands were oddly refined compared to the rest of him: strong but long fingered, with elegant bones and short-clipped nails. They always looked like they’d wandered off from some fine gentleman, one they’d probably like to get back to, because God knew they weren’t getting a manicure while attached to him.
There were potion stains on them tonight, green and brown, probably from the earlier encounter. I wondered if they’d wash off skin faster than hair. Probably.
I laid my head back against the plastic slats and looked up at the horror-movie sign. A breeze blew over the balcony, setting the wind chimes tinkling faintly. It was still hot, but I found I didn’t mind so much.
“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?” he finally asked.
“How do you know anything is?”
He shot me a look. “You’re up at one a.m. after a day that would have put most marines down for the count. You’re pale and restless. And something unknown tried to kill you a few hours ago and almost succeeded. Have I missed anything?”
Actually, yes, he had, but I didn’t want to talk about it.
I rolled the can around in my palms, trying to cool off, which might have worked if it hadn’t already gotten warm. I put it down, but then I didn’t have anything to do with my hands. And that wasn’t good, because any minute now, they were going to start shaking again.
I picked up a battered old tarot deck off a side table. “I’m fine,” I told him tersely.
“Of course you are. You’re one of the strongest people I know.”
It took me a second to process that, because he’d said it so casually. Like he was talking about the weather or what time it was. Only Pritkin didn’t say things like that. His idea of a compliment was a nod and to tell me to do whatever it was I’d just done over again. Like that was usually possible.
But that had sounded suspiciously like a compliment to me.
God, I must look bad.
I flipped the deck for a while. It was old and faintly greasy, but it felt good in my hand. It felt right.
Pritkin looked a question at me. “It’s . . . sort of a nervous habit,” I told him.
He held out a hand, and I passed the cards over. He turned the pack around a few times, concentrating. “It carries an enchantment.”
“A friend had it done for me as a birthday present, a long time ago. It’s . . . a little eccentric.”
“Eccentric?”
I took the deck back. I didn’t try to do a spread—that was just asking for trouble. I merely opened the top and a card popped out—thankfully, only one. Otherwise, they tried to talk over each other.
“The Moon reversed,” a sweet, soothing voice told me, before I shoved it back into the pack.
“Was that . . . it?” Pritkin asked, looking a bit nonplussed.
“It doesn’t do regular readings,” I explained. “It’s more like . . . like a magical weather vane. It gives the general climate for the coming days or weeks.”
“And what kind of weather can we be expecting?”
“The Moon reversed indicates a pattern or a cycle that is about to repeat
Pritkin followed me out. He didn’t say anything, just handed me a cold Coke he’d dug up from somewhere. I guess the tea wasn’t ready.
I took it without comment, feeling absurdly grateful. I didn’t really want to talk. I’d wanted him here, but I wasn’t sure why. Maybe just to have someone to drink with. Actually, that sounded pretty good at the moment. I sat on the seat of the chaise and he sat on the foot, and we just drank at each other for a while.
After a few minutes, he leaned back against the railing, like maybe he wanted a backrest, and I shifted my feet over to make room. But I guess I didn’t shift far enough, because a large, warm hand covered my right foot, adjusting it slightly. And then it just stayed there, like he’d forgotten to remove it.
I looked at it. Pritkin’s hands were oddly refined compared to the rest of him: strong but long fingered, with elegant bones and short-clipped nails. They always looked like they’d wandered off from some fine gentleman, one they’d probably like to get back to, because God knew they weren’t getting a manicure while attached to him.
There were potion stains on them tonight, green and brown, probably from the earlier encounter. I wondered if they’d wash off skin faster than hair. Probably.
I laid my head back against the plastic slats and looked up at the horror-movie sign. A breeze blew over the balcony, setting the wind chimes tinkling faintly. It was still hot, but I found I didn’t mind so much.
“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?” he finally asked.
“How do you know anything is?”
He shot me a look. “You’re up at one a.m. after a day that would have put most marines down for the count. You’re pale and restless. And something unknown tried to kill you a few hours ago and almost succeeded. Have I missed anything?”
Actually, yes, he had, but I didn’t want to talk about it.
I rolled the can around in my palms, trying to cool off, which might have worked if it hadn’t already gotten warm. I put it down, but then I didn’t have anything to do with my hands. And that wasn’t good, because any minute now, they were going to start shaking again.
I picked up a battered old tarot deck off a side table. “I’m fine,” I told him tersely.
“Of course you are. You’re one of the strongest people I know.”
It took me a second to process that, because he’d said it so casually. Like he was talking about the weather or what time it was. Only Pritkin didn’t say things like that. His idea of a compliment was a nod and to tell me to do whatever it was I’d just done over again. Like that was usually possible.
But that had sounded suspiciously like a compliment to me.
God, I must look bad.
I flipped the deck for a while. It was old and faintly greasy, but it felt good in my hand. It felt right.
Pritkin looked a question at me. “It’s . . . sort of a nervous habit,” I told him.
He held out a hand, and I passed the cards over. He turned the pack around a few times, concentrating. “It carries an enchantment.”
“A friend had it done for me as a birthday present, a long time ago. It’s . . . a little eccentric.”
“Eccentric?”
I took the deck back. I didn’t try to do a spread—that was just asking for trouble. I merely opened the top and a card popped out—thankfully, only one. Otherwise, they tried to talk over each other.
“The Moon reversed,” a sweet, soothing voice told me, before I shoved it back into the pack.
“Was that . . . it?” Pritkin asked, looking a bit nonplussed.
“It doesn’t do regular readings,” I explained. “It’s more like . . . like a magical weather vane. It gives the general climate for the coming days or weeks.”
“And what kind of weather can we be expecting?”
“The Moon reversed indicates a pattern or a cycle that is about to repeat
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