Read Online Nightlord: Sunset by Garon Whited - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Garon Whited
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shatter doors… whatever you wish.”
“So you’re saying I can do what? Work magic?”
“You did once, yes. But you needed no rituals, no diagrams, and no arcane accoutrements. You once drew a thousand small fragments of energy from a thousand people to fuel a spell.”
I thought about it, distantly, as an abstract problem. I can see now how punchy I had to have been; I can only plead industrial-grade shock and a sharp sense of unreality. The incredible—the impossible—was happening to me at high speed and I had a slight case of subconscious denial, I think. Without that sense of unreality to shield me, I’d have been in a corner somewhere, gibbering quietly.
“Those would help as focusing agents for the direction and efficient transformation of energy,” I mused. “I’ll have to give that some thought…”
She chuckled at me and turned back to her makeup.
“What’s so funny?” I asked.
“You’ve gone down that road before, my love. You are right, as I understand it.”
“Really? What can you tell me?”
“Alas, nothing. I do not have that power. I am only strong and fast and keen in my senses.”
“You forgot ‘ravishing in beauty and enchanting in charms’.”
“Did I? I suppose I did,” she admitted, pretending to be coy.
I stood behind her and looked at her in the mirror. Kissing the top of her head, I looked at myself and rubbed my jaw.
“You know, I’m going to have to get a razor over here, someday.”
“Bottom drawer, on the right.”
“Woman, do you think of everything?”
“Everything I can.”
I looked in the drawer and found a straight razor. I felt a little queasy; I’ve never liked having sharp objects at my throat. I’m used to an electric, too. Still… I have this hopped-up ability to heal… What the hell.
So I soaped up and tilted my head to shave. I found I was a lot better at it than I had any right to expect; maybe it had something to do with the angularity of my jaw or the boosted senses of a dayblood. Not a nick. And a shave as close as anything I’d ever done.
Sadly, it also got me dragged back to bed. Nothing like a nice, close shave it seems. I spent a goodly chunk of the day there, too.
Okay, all of it. Travis had been quite correct about my physical limitations while “dead,” but I like to think I made up for it during the daylight. I guess I did, because we went out for more lessons that evening.
WEDNESDAY, JUNE 15 TH
S he was right; sunrise came like a nasty swarm of glowing insects crawling in and out of my pores—but I didn’t feel quite so icky afterward. I guess I’m adjusting.
I stretched, as close to catlike as I’ve ever managed, and felt three inches taller as a result. We hunted, last night, after a fashion. Something Sasha had called “the smorgasbord of life.” It involved going out to a club, extending tendrils all around us, and sweeping them, winglike, through masses of people. Or we could hold these invisible nets still and watch little bits of energy siphon away as people walked through. It was like taking a single bite from every plate at a formal dinner. I think the term I want is “replete.”
I felt grand . I could have danced and sung, if I could dance and sing. I was as cheerful as a new bride and felt as shiny as a brand-new gold double-eagle. You could have made me poster child for the Happy Campers Association.
Good start to the morning, I thought.
Sasha was nowhere to be seen, so I got up to go looking; I found her in the shower, washing off the morning yuck. Even at its mildest, the morning switch is still like breaking into a fevered sweat. If one has been pretty badly pounded the night before, it can be a lot worse. Sunset isn’t quite as bad—the body is dying, not trying desperately to come back into a living balance.
So we washed. Everyone should have a shower partner. It may not go more quickly,
“So you’re saying I can do what? Work magic?”
“You did once, yes. But you needed no rituals, no diagrams, and no arcane accoutrements. You once drew a thousand small fragments of energy from a thousand people to fuel a spell.”
I thought about it, distantly, as an abstract problem. I can see now how punchy I had to have been; I can only plead industrial-grade shock and a sharp sense of unreality. The incredible—the impossible—was happening to me at high speed and I had a slight case of subconscious denial, I think. Without that sense of unreality to shield me, I’d have been in a corner somewhere, gibbering quietly.
“Those would help as focusing agents for the direction and efficient transformation of energy,” I mused. “I’ll have to give that some thought…”
She chuckled at me and turned back to her makeup.
“What’s so funny?” I asked.
“You’ve gone down that road before, my love. You are right, as I understand it.”
“Really? What can you tell me?”
“Alas, nothing. I do not have that power. I am only strong and fast and keen in my senses.”
“You forgot ‘ravishing in beauty and enchanting in charms’.”
“Did I? I suppose I did,” she admitted, pretending to be coy.
I stood behind her and looked at her in the mirror. Kissing the top of her head, I looked at myself and rubbed my jaw.
“You know, I’m going to have to get a razor over here, someday.”
“Bottom drawer, on the right.”
“Woman, do you think of everything?”
“Everything I can.”
I looked in the drawer and found a straight razor. I felt a little queasy; I’ve never liked having sharp objects at my throat. I’m used to an electric, too. Still… I have this hopped-up ability to heal… What the hell.
So I soaped up and tilted my head to shave. I found I was a lot better at it than I had any right to expect; maybe it had something to do with the angularity of my jaw or the boosted senses of a dayblood. Not a nick. And a shave as close as anything I’d ever done.
Sadly, it also got me dragged back to bed. Nothing like a nice, close shave it seems. I spent a goodly chunk of the day there, too.
Okay, all of it. Travis had been quite correct about my physical limitations while “dead,” but I like to think I made up for it during the daylight. I guess I did, because we went out for more lessons that evening.
WEDNESDAY, JUNE 15 TH
S he was right; sunrise came like a nasty swarm of glowing insects crawling in and out of my pores—but I didn’t feel quite so icky afterward. I guess I’m adjusting.
I stretched, as close to catlike as I’ve ever managed, and felt three inches taller as a result. We hunted, last night, after a fashion. Something Sasha had called “the smorgasbord of life.” It involved going out to a club, extending tendrils all around us, and sweeping them, winglike, through masses of people. Or we could hold these invisible nets still and watch little bits of energy siphon away as people walked through. It was like taking a single bite from every plate at a formal dinner. I think the term I want is “replete.”
I felt grand . I could have danced and sung, if I could dance and sing. I was as cheerful as a new bride and felt as shiny as a brand-new gold double-eagle. You could have made me poster child for the Happy Campers Association.
Good start to the morning, I thought.
Sasha was nowhere to be seen, so I got up to go looking; I found her in the shower, washing off the morning yuck. Even at its mildest, the morning switch is still like breaking into a fevered sweat. If one has been pretty badly pounded the night before, it can be a lot worse. Sunset isn’t quite as bad—the body is dying, not trying desperately to come back into a living balance.
So we washed. Everyone should have a shower partner. It may not go more quickly,
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