Read Online The Earl's Childe by T. J. Wooldridge - Free Book Online

fast as I could, barely remembering to breathe.
    When I was done, my lungs were sore, so I leaned on Mum’s desk and took a few deep breaths. My dad closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, undoubtedly struggling to process the huge info dump I’d laid on him.
    â€œWhat, exactly, does vowing allegiance mean?” His eyes remained closed, but his fingers had moved to massaging both his temples, and he was tapping his heel.
    â€œI don’t know. I thought Mum would.”
    Dad took a deep breath and slowly let it out through pursed lips. Then, he quickly straightened up and looked at me with so much energy in his face I couldn’t help but flinch. “Would Tom know?”
    â€œProbably, I guess.” I don’t know why, but I felt leery of saying even that to my dad.
    As he zipped to Mum’s pile of books and slid the worn A Wicca Guide to Faerie off the top of her pile, where I’d left it last night, that wary instinct kicked me even harder in the gut. “What was the spell you and Rowan planned to use to summon him that time you ended up sneaking out to Faerie with Tom?”
    â€œUm…” I felt paralyzed. There was still anger in his tone, but way more than that. So many feelings, I couldn’t even begin to pick them apart.
    â€œHeather?” He looked from the book to me, and I felt pinned by his gaze. He handed me the book. “Show me.”
    Swallowing the ill taste that was now creeping from my stomach to my throat, I turned to the spell and handed him the book.
    In a blur of motion, he snatched a sticky-note from Mum’s desk, marked it, and held out the book to me again. “Now, show me the second spell he told you to use that night to prove his intentions.”
    â€œWh-what?” The sick feeling now was on the back of my tongue.
    He spoke more slowly—almost at normal speed—but that didn’t tone down the sharpness of his voice or his posture or his every movement. “Turn to the spell that he showed you when he wanted to prove he could be trusted.”
    Seeing my dad like this, being at the end of this level of intensity, gave a complete smackdown to my own emotions and energy. I almost felt like I was under a spell myself as I gingerly took the book, turned to the right page, and handed it back to him.
    He marked that page as well, and then proceeded to read each spell. Neither was very long, but part of me almost expected the book to start smoking, as if he were holding it under a magnifying glass before the sun.
    After he read through the second spell, he closed the book, tucking it under his arm. With a nod for me to follow him, he headed to the kitchen. I glanced to the folded blanket beside Dad’s desk, where Isis sometimes slept. The brindled greyhound pair, when they were a pair, had always been Dad’s dogs, and they’d usually stuck close to him when he had bad mood swings. But it was nice outside, and greyhounds need lots and lots of running, so Dad had probably sent her out in the gardens to play. I jealously wished she were here, even though I couldn’t imagine what she might do to help, besides whining or groaning pitifully at Dad.
    Sighing, I followed him to the kitchen, where he was gathering spell components. It wasn’t until Dad got to the candles on the top shelf of the linen cabinet that I found my voice. “Tom doesn’t like the smell of lavender,” I choked out, remembering Tom telling Rowan and me this when we’d tried to summon him. I also remembered he hadn’t been all that pleased about us trying to summon him, but the look on my dad’s face kept me from mentioning that.
    Dad nodded. “Unscented.” He held up a tapered candle briefly before adding it, and a candlestick, to the pile of stuff in his arms.
    He paused at the kitchen doorway and quickly inventoried everything he carried, then turned his almost-painful-to-experience gaze back to me.