Read Online Scary Cool (The Spellspinners) by Diane Farr - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Diane Farr
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“Who they aren’t? So you’ve narrowed it down? ”
“A bit.” His expression was faintly mocking. “ From all of humanity, w e’ve eliminated forty-nine possibilities. Ev ery living spellspinner .”
My palms were sweating. I shoved my hands into my skirt pockets. “So I’m the daughter of dead spellspinners ?”
I could feel Lance fighting an impulse to put his arm around me. My eyes sought his. Even in the midst of heart-pounding anxiety, it was nice to feel waves of sympathy coming from him. From anyone, I supp ose, but especially him. It was… unexpected.
“Honey, that’s the mystery,” he said, in the soothing tones one employs to calm a shrieking toddler. “We gathered at Spellhaven a few weeks ago—all of us. When the Council calls, you don’t say no. They don’t call us together that often.” I picked up an image from Lance’s mind: a solemn group of pale-skinned people sitting around a cam pfire in the woods. Eyes glitterin g like many-colored jewels in the firelight. Eyes studying each other, minds groping for truth, reading each other’s thoughts and emotions until all were convinced. Nobody was hiding any thing. No male had fathered me. N o female had borne me.
Lance saw that I had viewed his memory, and nodded. “I wish I could tell you who you are, Zara,” he whispered. Regret showed in his green, green eyes ; he hated to tell me this . I would have known that even if I couldn’t read his mind. “But I can’t. We don’t know where you came from . That’s the simple truth. ”
“But …” I cleared my throat. “But that’s not possible.” I turned to Rune. “Is it? I mean, spellspinners don’t just happen. Do they?”
Rune looked troubled. “Ordinarily, I would say no. They don’t. We monitor our bloodlines very carefully. Spellspinners don’t procreate willy-nilly; we’re not even fertile unless there’s an opening in our circle, and when that happens—when one of the Council dies—the rules are very strict. Only the couple chosen by the Council may bear fruit.” He spread his hands lightly, palms up. “ Yet here you are.”
Lance leaned forward, frowning. “There must be an explanation. ”
“Indubitably,” said Rune dryly. “But what is it? ”
Chapter 6
We didn’t solve the riddle of my existence , but Lance thinks the afternoon was well spent anyhow. Rune isn’t quite on my side, not entirely, but at least—having met me—he would feel a pang of regret at having to witness my destruction. I am no longer an abstract thing to him, a rogue spellspinner living among the sticks and putting everyone in danger. He has had me in his house. I have sat on his sofa and drunk his grape soda. I’m real to him now.
Rune, it turns out, is quite the respected figure in spellspinnerdom . He is too young to be on the a ctual Council, but he’s important in his own right . He’s the unofficial keeper of spellspinner history. He’s l ike the amateur genealogist in every family, the one who labels the photographs and keeps track of all the cousins. Spellspinners don’t have a written history. T he race is far too cautious , too secretive, to write anything down. But tales persist, handed down through people like Rune, and every so often the accumulated wisdom comes in handy. Now is one of those times.
Or would be, if it actually led to any answers. The one I care most about is just as elusive as ever: we’re no closer to figuring out who my parents were.
What ended my afternoon at Lance’s apartment was my phone emitting its text-message burble. I knew it would be Meg, eager to tell me about her afternoon with Alvin, but just glancing at the screen woke me up; it was after 4:00 p.m. “Holy smokes,” I exclaimed. “I’ve got to get home.”
Rune and Lance immediately rose to their feet like a pair of Victorian dancemasters . Where do spellspinners learn their manners?
“What a pity,” said Rune. “ There is still much to
“A bit.” His expression was faintly mocking. “ From all of humanity, w e’ve eliminated forty-nine possibilities. Ev ery living spellspinner .”
My palms were sweating. I shoved my hands into my skirt pockets. “So I’m the daughter of dead spellspinners ?”
I could feel Lance fighting an impulse to put his arm around me. My eyes sought his. Even in the midst of heart-pounding anxiety, it was nice to feel waves of sympathy coming from him. From anyone, I supp ose, but especially him. It was… unexpected.
“Honey, that’s the mystery,” he said, in the soothing tones one employs to calm a shrieking toddler. “We gathered at Spellhaven a few weeks ago—all of us. When the Council calls, you don’t say no. They don’t call us together that often.” I picked up an image from Lance’s mind: a solemn group of pale-skinned people sitting around a cam pfire in the woods. Eyes glitterin g like many-colored jewels in the firelight. Eyes studying each other, minds groping for truth, reading each other’s thoughts and emotions until all were convinced. Nobody was hiding any thing. No male had fathered me. N o female had borne me.
Lance saw that I had viewed his memory, and nodded. “I wish I could tell you who you are, Zara,” he whispered. Regret showed in his green, green eyes ; he hated to tell me this . I would have known that even if I couldn’t read his mind. “But I can’t. We don’t know where you came from . That’s the simple truth. ”
“But …” I cleared my throat. “But that’s not possible.” I turned to Rune. “Is it? I mean, spellspinners don’t just happen. Do they?”
Rune looked troubled. “Ordinarily, I would say no. They don’t. We monitor our bloodlines very carefully. Spellspinners don’t procreate willy-nilly; we’re not even fertile unless there’s an opening in our circle, and when that happens—when one of the Council dies—the rules are very strict. Only the couple chosen by the Council may bear fruit.” He spread his hands lightly, palms up. “ Yet here you are.”
Lance leaned forward, frowning. “There must be an explanation. ”
“Indubitably,” said Rune dryly. “But what is it? ”
Chapter 6
We didn’t solve the riddle of my existence , but Lance thinks the afternoon was well spent anyhow. Rune isn’t quite on my side, not entirely, but at least—having met me—he would feel a pang of regret at having to witness my destruction. I am no longer an abstract thing to him, a rogue spellspinner living among the sticks and putting everyone in danger. He has had me in his house. I have sat on his sofa and drunk his grape soda. I’m real to him now.
Rune, it turns out, is quite the respected figure in spellspinnerdom . He is too young to be on the a ctual Council, but he’s important in his own right . He’s the unofficial keeper of spellspinner history. He’s l ike the amateur genealogist in every family, the one who labels the photographs and keeps track of all the cousins. Spellspinners don’t have a written history. T he race is far too cautious , too secretive, to write anything down. But tales persist, handed down through people like Rune, and every so often the accumulated wisdom comes in handy. Now is one of those times.
Or would be, if it actually led to any answers. The one I care most about is just as elusive as ever: we’re no closer to figuring out who my parents were.
What ended my afternoon at Lance’s apartment was my phone emitting its text-message burble. I knew it would be Meg, eager to tell me about her afternoon with Alvin, but just glancing at the screen woke me up; it was after 4:00 p.m. “Holy smokes,” I exclaimed. “I’ve got to get home.”
Rune and Lance immediately rose to their feet like a pair of Victorian dancemasters . Where do spellspinners learn their manners?
“What a pity,” said Rune. “ There is still much to
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