Read Online shadowrun 40 The Burning Time by Stephen Kenson - Free Book Online
Authors: Stephen Kenson
Tags: Fiction, General, Science-Fiction, Fantasy fiction, Fantasy, Contemporary, Action & Adventure, Twenty-first century
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looking for, a way to smother all her feelings and make her forget about them, at least for a while.
She was still berating herself for being an idiot. Sure, she’d been attracted to Talon from the first time they’d met, very attracted, in fact. But when she found out that nothing could ever come of it, she had tried to put her romantic feelings aside so they could be just friends.
That had turned out to be a lot harder than she’d imagined, especially with the two of them working together all the time. Still, she thought she’d been handling it well enough. Then Talon thought he saw the ghost of the long-dead love of his life. Was that possible?
Hell, she told herself, if the other magical stuff Talon could do was possible, why not that? After all, he was a wizard. Universities taught courses in applied magic, her parents had left an Ireland ruled by elves, and the bartender serving her looked like something out of a fairy story to scare little kids. If she could accept all that, why not ghosts?
The answer was obvious. It was because of the identity of this particular ghost and the feelings it had stirred up in Talon, that’s why. He was hurting; anyone could see that. She knew that Talon thought he’d finally laid the pain of his grief to rest, but did you ever really get over losing someone you love so much?
She looked into her glass and swirled the scotch around the ice cubes. Maybe because she never saw Talon get serious with anyone else, she’d let herself indulge the possibility that one day he’d come around and see what was right there in front of him. Now his lover was back from the dead.
God, I’m jealous of a ghost, she thought bitterly. How pitiful is that? She couldn’t believe she’d gone to Dr. Mac to inquire about changing into someone Talon could love the way she loved him. The whole thing was insane. She didn’t want to be a man, but Talon would never want her as a woman. . .
"Frag him," she muttered, taking a long swig of her scotch. Frag him for being so nice, so oblivious, and so damned unavailable. She set the glass back down on the bar, wishing she had something to hit.
"Ariel?" someone said from behind her, and she immediately recognized both the voice and the accent.
She froze for a second, then turned around slowly. Now she was the one who was seeing ghosts.
"Ian?" she murmured.
Standing there was Ian O’Donnel, looking for all the world almost unchanged since she’d last seen him ten years ago. Though he had to be over forty, he looked as fit as a much younger man. His hair was the same reddish brown, but with a bit more gray than Trouble remembered. He had the same warm smile and neatly trimmed beard, and he still dressed more like he belonged in the Old West than in twenty-first century Boston. Tonight he wore battered jeans, a pullover shirt, military-style boots, and a long duster that showed telltale signs of armor beneath.
"Ariel Tyson, as I live and breathe," he said. He hadn’t lost his Irish brogue or the sparkle in his eyes that she’d always found so attractive.
"Ian, what are you doing here?"
"Well, it’s a semi-free country," he said, "and I came in for a drink. May I?" He gestured toward the stool next to her and, when Trouble nodded, he sat down, resting his elbows on the bar.
"It looks like you’re ahead of me," he said, indicating her empty glass. He turned to the bartender. "Scotch neat, and another for the lady."
When their drinks arrived, Ian raised his glass. "Here’s to old times," he said, tapping his glass against hers.
"Funny you should say that," Trouble said. "I was just talking about you to someone."
"A boyfriend?" he asked, arching one eyebrow.
Ariel couldn’t help but chuckle. "No." She cast her eyes downward. "Just a friend."
"And did you tell your friend how much it broke my heart to see you go?"
"Ian, I—"
He laid a hand over hers. "I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. It’s just. . .it’s been such a long time and.
She was still berating herself for being an idiot. Sure, she’d been attracted to Talon from the first time they’d met, very attracted, in fact. But when she found out that nothing could ever come of it, she had tried to put her romantic feelings aside so they could be just friends.
That had turned out to be a lot harder than she’d imagined, especially with the two of them working together all the time. Still, she thought she’d been handling it well enough. Then Talon thought he saw the ghost of the long-dead love of his life. Was that possible?
Hell, she told herself, if the other magical stuff Talon could do was possible, why not that? After all, he was a wizard. Universities taught courses in applied magic, her parents had left an Ireland ruled by elves, and the bartender serving her looked like something out of a fairy story to scare little kids. If she could accept all that, why not ghosts?
The answer was obvious. It was because of the identity of this particular ghost and the feelings it had stirred up in Talon, that’s why. He was hurting; anyone could see that. She knew that Talon thought he’d finally laid the pain of his grief to rest, but did you ever really get over losing someone you love so much?
She looked into her glass and swirled the scotch around the ice cubes. Maybe because she never saw Talon get serious with anyone else, she’d let herself indulge the possibility that one day he’d come around and see what was right there in front of him. Now his lover was back from the dead.
God, I’m jealous of a ghost, she thought bitterly. How pitiful is that? She couldn’t believe she’d gone to Dr. Mac to inquire about changing into someone Talon could love the way she loved him. The whole thing was insane. She didn’t want to be a man, but Talon would never want her as a woman. . .
"Frag him," she muttered, taking a long swig of her scotch. Frag him for being so nice, so oblivious, and so damned unavailable. She set the glass back down on the bar, wishing she had something to hit.
"Ariel?" someone said from behind her, and she immediately recognized both the voice and the accent.
She froze for a second, then turned around slowly. Now she was the one who was seeing ghosts.
"Ian?" she murmured.
Standing there was Ian O’Donnel, looking for all the world almost unchanged since she’d last seen him ten years ago. Though he had to be over forty, he looked as fit as a much younger man. His hair was the same reddish brown, but with a bit more gray than Trouble remembered. He had the same warm smile and neatly trimmed beard, and he still dressed more like he belonged in the Old West than in twenty-first century Boston. Tonight he wore battered jeans, a pullover shirt, military-style boots, and a long duster that showed telltale signs of armor beneath.
"Ariel Tyson, as I live and breathe," he said. He hadn’t lost his Irish brogue or the sparkle in his eyes that she’d always found so attractive.
"Ian, what are you doing here?"
"Well, it’s a semi-free country," he said, "and I came in for a drink. May I?" He gestured toward the stool next to her and, when Trouble nodded, he sat down, resting his elbows on the bar.
"It looks like you’re ahead of me," he said, indicating her empty glass. He turned to the bartender. "Scotch neat, and another for the lady."
When their drinks arrived, Ian raised his glass. "Here’s to old times," he said, tapping his glass against hers.
"Funny you should say that," Trouble said. "I was just talking about you to someone."
"A boyfriend?" he asked, arching one eyebrow.
Ariel couldn’t help but chuckle. "No." She cast her eyes downward. "Just a friend."
"And did you tell your friend how much it broke my heart to see you go?"
"Ian, I—"
He laid a hand over hers. "I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. It’s just. . .it’s been such a long time and.
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