Read Online Hush (Dragon Apocalypse) by James Maxey - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: James Maxey
Tags: Fantasy
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with my other hand to tear the insect loose.
Before my fingers could close upon it, the mosquito placed its mouth against the small pearl of blood that sat upon my knuckle. Nearly microscopic jaws snapped open, and a glass pipette thrust down into my ghost blood, drawing the bead up into its belly.
The jaws clicked shut. The noise was too faint to truly hear, but in my imagination it echoed like the lonely clang of dungeon doors.
I recovered my wits sufficiently to flick it with my fingers. The blow tore the insect from my skin. As it tumbled, the tiny mosquito spread its wings and took flight. I was none the worse for wear, save for a small smear of blood where the creature had feasted. I watched it buzz a drunken path across the deck, unseen by the assembled Romers. I cast one last glance at Infidel. Though my instincts were to stay at her side, I threw myself into the air, narrowing my eyes to concentrate on my ever-accelerating target. I didn’t know why it wanted my blood or where it was going. Despite my normally inquisitive nature, I honestly didn’t want to learn. I had to stop this thing.
CHAPTER FOUR
AN EXCEPTIONALLY UGLY BIRD
T HE MOSQUITO DOVE over the edge of the railing. I gave chase as it flitted above the stinking tide. The bay of Commonground emits an open-sewer aura under the best of conditions, but since the tsunami churned up the muck it’s been especially gag-inducing. The mosquito was barely a foot above the water, darting around pilings and between boats and their anchor chains with an agility that would have shaken me if I’d been a bat or a bird. I ghosted through these obstacles as if they weren’t even there.
The fact that this mystery bug had touched me meant that I could touch it back. I gave it a good swat with my right hand. It darted to avoid the blow, but the tip of my middle finger managed to clip its wing, sending it into a tail spin as it neared the hull of a boat. To my chagrin, it passed straight through the tar-impregnated wood without leaving a scratch.
I flew into the ship’s hold, spotting the mosquito easily in the pitch black interior, despite the jumbled maze of barrels and crates. The thing was glowing with an internal magic that my phantom eyes could easily track. At any rate, even if I hadn’t been able to see it, I could have followed the high-pitched buzz of the mosquito’s golden wings.
The mosquito zipped out of the hold, then shot strait up, disappearing though the pier above. I emerged onto a boardwalk crowded with bodies. Now that night had fallen, the denizens of the city were out in force. Cutthroats and whores stumbled groggily along the pier, searching for breakfast at a time when law-abiding men sought out supper. The area was crowded with ramshackle shacks slapped together by river pygmies, who cooked plantains, turtle eggs, and crabs on charcoal grills stoked to ruby heat. Dark amber rum with a whisper of coffee was the beverage of choice for this clientele, and I felt a pang of longing as I caught a whiff of the much cherished elixir.
I lingered for a fraction of a second, distracted by the aroma, and spotted faces of former friends among the crowd. Ol’ Scummy Stone was sitting on a bench, drinking from a silver flask he’d won from me in a game of darts. Scummy was in his sixties and had survived for decades in this rough-and-tumble town using the same strategy I’d employed, which was to be obsequious enough that no one had reason to kill you, but not so pathetic that you aroused actual hatred. Further down the planks I saw Rose Thirteen; by this point she’d had twenty husbands, but her name had gotten locked down after she botched the job of poisoning husband thirteen and had to finish him off with a hatchet in the door of the Drunken Monkey Saloon. Her hair was streaked with gray now, but she still had the same lushness of figure that had caught so many men in her orbit. Despite her propensity toward murder, she was welcome
Before my fingers could close upon it, the mosquito placed its mouth against the small pearl of blood that sat upon my knuckle. Nearly microscopic jaws snapped open, and a glass pipette thrust down into my ghost blood, drawing the bead up into its belly.
The jaws clicked shut. The noise was too faint to truly hear, but in my imagination it echoed like the lonely clang of dungeon doors.
I recovered my wits sufficiently to flick it with my fingers. The blow tore the insect from my skin. As it tumbled, the tiny mosquito spread its wings and took flight. I was none the worse for wear, save for a small smear of blood where the creature had feasted. I watched it buzz a drunken path across the deck, unseen by the assembled Romers. I cast one last glance at Infidel. Though my instincts were to stay at her side, I threw myself into the air, narrowing my eyes to concentrate on my ever-accelerating target. I didn’t know why it wanted my blood or where it was going. Despite my normally inquisitive nature, I honestly didn’t want to learn. I had to stop this thing.
CHAPTER FOUR
AN EXCEPTIONALLY UGLY BIRD
T HE MOSQUITO DOVE over the edge of the railing. I gave chase as it flitted above the stinking tide. The bay of Commonground emits an open-sewer aura under the best of conditions, but since the tsunami churned up the muck it’s been especially gag-inducing. The mosquito was barely a foot above the water, darting around pilings and between boats and their anchor chains with an agility that would have shaken me if I’d been a bat or a bird. I ghosted through these obstacles as if they weren’t even there.
The fact that this mystery bug had touched me meant that I could touch it back. I gave it a good swat with my right hand. It darted to avoid the blow, but the tip of my middle finger managed to clip its wing, sending it into a tail spin as it neared the hull of a boat. To my chagrin, it passed straight through the tar-impregnated wood without leaving a scratch.
I flew into the ship’s hold, spotting the mosquito easily in the pitch black interior, despite the jumbled maze of barrels and crates. The thing was glowing with an internal magic that my phantom eyes could easily track. At any rate, even if I hadn’t been able to see it, I could have followed the high-pitched buzz of the mosquito’s golden wings.
The mosquito zipped out of the hold, then shot strait up, disappearing though the pier above. I emerged onto a boardwalk crowded with bodies. Now that night had fallen, the denizens of the city were out in force. Cutthroats and whores stumbled groggily along the pier, searching for breakfast at a time when law-abiding men sought out supper. The area was crowded with ramshackle shacks slapped together by river pygmies, who cooked plantains, turtle eggs, and crabs on charcoal grills stoked to ruby heat. Dark amber rum with a whisper of coffee was the beverage of choice for this clientele, and I felt a pang of longing as I caught a whiff of the much cherished elixir.
I lingered for a fraction of a second, distracted by the aroma, and spotted faces of former friends among the crowd. Ol’ Scummy Stone was sitting on a bench, drinking from a silver flask he’d won from me in a game of darts. Scummy was in his sixties and had survived for decades in this rough-and-tumble town using the same strategy I’d employed, which was to be obsequious enough that no one had reason to kill you, but not so pathetic that you aroused actual hatred. Further down the planks I saw Rose Thirteen; by this point she’d had twenty husbands, but her name had gotten locked down after she botched the job of poisoning husband thirteen and had to finish him off with a hatchet in the door of the Drunken Monkey Saloon. Her hair was streaked with gray now, but she still had the same lushness of figure that had caught so many men in her orbit. Despite her propensity toward murder, she was welcome
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