Read Online Return of the Hunters (The DeathSpeaker Codex Book 4) by Sonya Bateman - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Sonya Bateman
Tags: Coming of Age, witch, Ghost, Fae, God, shapeshifter, dark urban paranormal thriller voodoo elf fairies werewolf New Orleans Papa Legba swamp bayou moon magic spells supernatural seelie unseelie manhattan new york city evil ancient cult murder hunter police detective reluctant hero journey humor family
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lot wrong.
Eternal night, but not dark. Grass and leaves shading from green to blue to purple to red. And the massive, steel-blue moon, hung in a starless velvet sky.
At least this exciting little adventure had one advantage. I could already feel my spark recharging, building in me like a hungry flame.
And part of me felt right at home.
When I finally managed to stop staring, I turned to find the portal closing. Denei and Bastien stood on either side of Zoba, who could barely stand. The other four, including Reun, carried the bags. Isalie had given me a small backpack for the stuff they’d bought me. I’d already swapped my sneakers for the boots before we crossed over.
I remembered the marshes.
“Hoo- ee ,” Rex said. “This some crazy shit. Look like Mardi Gras threw up all over this here field, no?”
“Hush.” Senobia shivered and crossed her arms, panning her gaze across the horizon. Then she looked to the left and froze wide-eyed. “What the hell’s that?”
I looked, hoping that wasn’t sprites. And I failed to be relieved when it turned out to be something else—something I’d never seen before.
But I could guess what it was.
“The Mists.” There was a rough catch in Reun’s voice. “I’d no idea they were so close,” he said. “We must move quickly. This way.”
I barely noticed them start across the field without me. I was transfixed.
I’d heard about the Mists. From Taeral first, and then from Nyantha, the ancient Fae who’d known the DeathSpeaker before me and taught me how to speak to the dead without causing myself crippling pain. She called them agents of change. Said they took things—like people or cottages, or entire forests or villages—that never came back. And anyone who got caught in them died. Kelwyyn, the previous DeathSpeaker, had ended his life by walking into the Mists.
I’d pictured lots of really dense fog, like a scene from a horror movie or something. But this was…more.
The Mists were vibrant green. A thick, roiling wall of emerald cloud, cutting across the landscape and rising to blot the sky. It didn’t advance, but there was constant movement, swelling and spilling over, an impossibly huge tidal wave in slow motion. Almost like it was breathing. Occasional jagged, silent bolts of green light flashed intricate pathways just beneath the surface.
DeathSpeaker. Come to me…
The whisper pounded through my head like ocean surf. And despite every bit of sanity in me screaming to stop, I found myself taking a step toward that wall of green. Then another, and another.
Because the Mists had something important to tell me.
Quickly! There is little time…
“Gideon!”
That voice was outside my head. It was enough to tear my gaze away, just in time for Reun to tackle me to the ground.
He was a lot heavier than he looked.
“Ow,” I mumble-wheezed into the grass. “Really unnecessary, Reun. Get off.”
“Was it?” The crushing weight eased, and I coughed out a few unsteady breaths while Reun stood. “You were about to walk into the Mists.”
I frowned as I pushed to my feet. “No, I wasn’t.”
“Really. Then what in the name of the gods were you doing?”
Good question. I had no idea what I would’ve done, but for some reason, I’d sensed that I wasn’t in any danger. I also knew there was no chance of explaining that in a way that made sense—because it seemed crazy even to me. “Nothing,” I finally said. “Guess I just wanted a closer look.”
“At the Mists?” Reun made a horrified face, like I’d just announced I was going to slaughter a dozen puppies. “Are you not aware of what they do? Your predecessor, Mad Kelwyyn—”
“Yeah. I know.” Nyantha told me about him, too. He had a damned good reason for being mad. He’d somehow figured out a way to destroy souls with a single word, which he’d done exactly once, to save Arcadia from an evil sorcerer. Then the Fae in charge decided he was too powerful, so they killed his
Eternal night, but not dark. Grass and leaves shading from green to blue to purple to red. And the massive, steel-blue moon, hung in a starless velvet sky.
At least this exciting little adventure had one advantage. I could already feel my spark recharging, building in me like a hungry flame.
And part of me felt right at home.
When I finally managed to stop staring, I turned to find the portal closing. Denei and Bastien stood on either side of Zoba, who could barely stand. The other four, including Reun, carried the bags. Isalie had given me a small backpack for the stuff they’d bought me. I’d already swapped my sneakers for the boots before we crossed over.
I remembered the marshes.
“Hoo- ee ,” Rex said. “This some crazy shit. Look like Mardi Gras threw up all over this here field, no?”
“Hush.” Senobia shivered and crossed her arms, panning her gaze across the horizon. Then she looked to the left and froze wide-eyed. “What the hell’s that?”
I looked, hoping that wasn’t sprites. And I failed to be relieved when it turned out to be something else—something I’d never seen before.
But I could guess what it was.
“The Mists.” There was a rough catch in Reun’s voice. “I’d no idea they were so close,” he said. “We must move quickly. This way.”
I barely noticed them start across the field without me. I was transfixed.
I’d heard about the Mists. From Taeral first, and then from Nyantha, the ancient Fae who’d known the DeathSpeaker before me and taught me how to speak to the dead without causing myself crippling pain. She called them agents of change. Said they took things—like people or cottages, or entire forests or villages—that never came back. And anyone who got caught in them died. Kelwyyn, the previous DeathSpeaker, had ended his life by walking into the Mists.
I’d pictured lots of really dense fog, like a scene from a horror movie or something. But this was…more.
The Mists were vibrant green. A thick, roiling wall of emerald cloud, cutting across the landscape and rising to blot the sky. It didn’t advance, but there was constant movement, swelling and spilling over, an impossibly huge tidal wave in slow motion. Almost like it was breathing. Occasional jagged, silent bolts of green light flashed intricate pathways just beneath the surface.
DeathSpeaker. Come to me…
The whisper pounded through my head like ocean surf. And despite every bit of sanity in me screaming to stop, I found myself taking a step toward that wall of green. Then another, and another.
Because the Mists had something important to tell me.
Quickly! There is little time…
“Gideon!”
That voice was outside my head. It was enough to tear my gaze away, just in time for Reun to tackle me to the ground.
He was a lot heavier than he looked.
“Ow,” I mumble-wheezed into the grass. “Really unnecessary, Reun. Get off.”
“Was it?” The crushing weight eased, and I coughed out a few unsteady breaths while Reun stood. “You were about to walk into the Mists.”
I frowned as I pushed to my feet. “No, I wasn’t.”
“Really. Then what in the name of the gods were you doing?”
Good question. I had no idea what I would’ve done, but for some reason, I’d sensed that I wasn’t in any danger. I also knew there was no chance of explaining that in a way that made sense—because it seemed crazy even to me. “Nothing,” I finally said. “Guess I just wanted a closer look.”
“At the Mists?” Reun made a horrified face, like I’d just announced I was going to slaughter a dozen puppies. “Are you not aware of what they do? Your predecessor, Mad Kelwyyn—”
“Yeah. I know.” Nyantha told me about him, too. He had a damned good reason for being mad. He’d somehow figured out a way to destroy souls with a single word, which he’d done exactly once, to save Arcadia from an evil sorcerer. Then the Fae in charge decided he was too powerful, so they killed his
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