Read Online Marcii (The Dreadhunt Trilogy Book 1) by Ross Turner - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Ross Turner
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What was he hiding?
Had he been one of the priests she’d seen at the church?
Had he slaughtered one of those cats and drawn upon his place of worship in the poor creature’s blood?
She prayed not.
Alexander had sounded so firmly against Tyran’s cruel rule only the other day; Marcii hoped to God that hadn’t changed.
Or, perhaps, was it something worse than that?
If he hadn’t been a part of that group, if he was resisting Tyran, had he made himself a target?
Suddenly, before either of them could speak again, a rushing flurry of movement answered all of Marcii’s questions as once.
The narrow, wooden door to Alexander’s home, the door that he had been so nervously glancing at, flung suddenly wide open. Within but a moment out bustled the figure of a woman who clearly looked as though she had no business being there.
Actually, quite on the contrary, her being there was in fact her only business that night, but that was beside the point.
She was skimpily dressed, wearing nothing but a short red dress and sharp high heeled shoes. It was clear even in the meagre light that her lashings of makeup had been hastily applied beneath her bleached hair. She clutched a few belongings to her almost bare chest, as if someone might at any moment rip them away from her. And her eyes, filled with the certainty of much experience, surveyed the sight of Alexander and Marcii before her with a level, calculating gaze.
Alexander’s face dropped merely at the sight of her.
Though Marcii did not know his wife all that well, Alexander knew that the young Dougherty would recognise for certain that the skimpily dressed woman on his doorstep was most certainly not Mrs Freeman.
Without a word, seeing them and freezing for barely a moment, the blonde haired, underdressed whore barged past Marcii and took off down the street. All but fleeing from her night’s work, discretion was at least half the nature of her business and she feared being caught out by an angry wife more than most things.
Whilst her business was perhaps unsavoury, Marcii decided, it was not with the woman that the blame rested.
Her hard, reproachful eyes turned back to Alexander, her father’s dear friend, whom still had not moved. His gaze dropped to the floor beneath his feet in shame and he wore an expression that is more commonly seen on the faces of guilty children.
Now, it seemed, things were falling into place.
Alexander had had nothing to do with what she and Kaylm had seen at all, Marcii now realised.
He had been somewhat preoccupied with other matters…
Alexander saw the realisation in her eyes and panicked, not knowing what to say or do.
“Marcii…” He attempted, but faltered.
All words were futile.
He wasn’t a target.
He didn’t care about those who were.
He was more concerned about his affair.
Yet again though, Marcii was not granted the opportunity to reply. Another figure appeared from the night, though this time, fortunately for Alexander, from the opposite direction down the street to which the whore had fled.
“Alexander…?” A soft voice sounded from behind him, carrying her tone off through the cold night.
His wife appeared at his side and her expression changed from surprise to shock as she set her eyes upon Marcii, for she suspected, as most did nowadays, that terrible things happened in the dark of the night.
She didn’t know the half of it, clearly, and Alexander looked impossibly racked with guilt.
“Oh! Marcii!” His wife exclaimed slightly. “What are you doing out so late?”
For a moment Marcii didn’t answer, and instead she glanced between Alexander and his wife with eyes hard and piercing. For the life of her
Had he been one of the priests she’d seen at the church?
Had he slaughtered one of those cats and drawn upon his place of worship in the poor creature’s blood?
She prayed not.
Alexander had sounded so firmly against Tyran’s cruel rule only the other day; Marcii hoped to God that hadn’t changed.
Or, perhaps, was it something worse than that?
If he hadn’t been a part of that group, if he was resisting Tyran, had he made himself a target?
Suddenly, before either of them could speak again, a rushing flurry of movement answered all of Marcii’s questions as once.
The narrow, wooden door to Alexander’s home, the door that he had been so nervously glancing at, flung suddenly wide open. Within but a moment out bustled the figure of a woman who clearly looked as though she had no business being there.
Actually, quite on the contrary, her being there was in fact her only business that night, but that was beside the point.
She was skimpily dressed, wearing nothing but a short red dress and sharp high heeled shoes. It was clear even in the meagre light that her lashings of makeup had been hastily applied beneath her bleached hair. She clutched a few belongings to her almost bare chest, as if someone might at any moment rip them away from her. And her eyes, filled with the certainty of much experience, surveyed the sight of Alexander and Marcii before her with a level, calculating gaze.
Alexander’s face dropped merely at the sight of her.
Though Marcii did not know his wife all that well, Alexander knew that the young Dougherty would recognise for certain that the skimpily dressed woman on his doorstep was most certainly not Mrs Freeman.
Without a word, seeing them and freezing for barely a moment, the blonde haired, underdressed whore barged past Marcii and took off down the street. All but fleeing from her night’s work, discretion was at least half the nature of her business and she feared being caught out by an angry wife more than most things.
Whilst her business was perhaps unsavoury, Marcii decided, it was not with the woman that the blame rested.
Her hard, reproachful eyes turned back to Alexander, her father’s dear friend, whom still had not moved. His gaze dropped to the floor beneath his feet in shame and he wore an expression that is more commonly seen on the faces of guilty children.
Now, it seemed, things were falling into place.
Alexander had had nothing to do with what she and Kaylm had seen at all, Marcii now realised.
He had been somewhat preoccupied with other matters…
Alexander saw the realisation in her eyes and panicked, not knowing what to say or do.
“Marcii…” He attempted, but faltered.
All words were futile.
He wasn’t a target.
He didn’t care about those who were.
He was more concerned about his affair.
Yet again though, Marcii was not granted the opportunity to reply. Another figure appeared from the night, though this time, fortunately for Alexander, from the opposite direction down the street to which the whore had fled.
“Alexander…?” A soft voice sounded from behind him, carrying her tone off through the cold night.
His wife appeared at his side and her expression changed from surprise to shock as she set her eyes upon Marcii, for she suspected, as most did nowadays, that terrible things happened in the dark of the night.
She didn’t know the half of it, clearly, and Alexander looked impossibly racked with guilt.
“Oh! Marcii!” His wife exclaimed slightly. “What are you doing out so late?”
For a moment Marcii didn’t answer, and instead she glanced between Alexander and his wife with eyes hard and piercing. For the life of her
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