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

“From where did Tom enter last night? I thought I’d covered every door and window with salt. Did it not work?”
    â€œM-my room. I-I brushed the salt away, but I put it all right back when he left.”
    Dad frowned at me, for what felt like a month, then turned and climbed the back stairs so quickly I pretty much had to run to keep up. He was already waiting outside my door, tapping his foot, when I reached the top of the curved stone stairs that came up by his and Mum’s room.
    At least, even in his super-manic state, he wasn’t going to just run into my room.
    I bowed my head as I walked by him, giving a little nod that he could follow, but really just wanting to avoid his eyes.
    He started setting things up in the empty area near the middle of the room I shared with Lily. I leaned on the foot of my bed, feeling my heart pound. This wasn’t the first manic mood I’d seen my dad in. Not even close to the first.
    The only other time I’d seen him so frighteningly manic, though, was when Jessica, Lily’s mum, had kidnapped her… and then lost her. I sincerely thought Dad was going to kill someone—anyone who got in the way of him getting over to the States and finding my sister.
    The only other time I’d ever thought that he might kill someone was when he faced off with Ehrwnmyr. And Ehrwnmyr had believed it, too. He still thought my dad would kill him.
    No one ever wants to think of their dad like that.
    After about the twelfth swallow of burning sour in my mouth, I finally found my voice again. “I think we should wait for Mum, right?”
    â€œYour Mum’s not going to be back for hours, and I want some answers from that damned cat now.”
    This was not good at all. Unlike Mum, Dad never outright swore in front of us kids.
    â€œBut Mum knows more about faerie, yeah? And…she might be able to get more answers quicker.”
    My dad didn’t even answer that. It always took forever for Mum to get to the point of something. I was grasping for any reason to make him hold off on whatever he was planning to do.
    â€œIt might be better to wait, just to make sure the spell works?”
    Now he looked at me. “Had you done any spells before this summer? Ever?”
    â€œNo…but we didn’t even do the summoning spell—”
    â€œYou did the other spell. And some projection vision spell last night, no?”
    â€œTom helped. Both times.”
    Dad hesitated, and I held out hope he might wait for Mum. He scrunched his lips. “I forgot paper. Do you have some in here? A clean white sheet.”
    I didn’t remember that from the summoning spell. Where was he getting this from?
    â€œThere’s some in the library.”
    â€œGet it for me, and a pencil. A pencil. Not a pen.”
    I balked.
    He looked up at me. “Now, Heather.” His voice managed to be both calm and charged at the same time. I scooted from my room like he’d lit a firecracker under my behind and retrieved some computer paper and a pencil.
    Placing the paper on the floor, he drew a large circle on it. “Clear the salt from your windowsill and open your window.”
    Taking a deep breath, I did as he asked.
    â€œNow, come sit beside me.”
    I did so.
    He lit the candle and began the summoning incantation.
    When I cast the whole two spells I’d ever cast in my life, both times it felt like a gentle wind around me, along with a fuzziness, like static electricity on a balloon.
    I also remember the time Mum cast the protection spell to help Rowan not be afraid of goblins. It felt like church, just after a song was sung. Powerful.
    With just the first words Dad began to recite, it felt very different.
    Wind whipped—literally, whipped, making the curtains and sheets snap—around my room. Rather than the soft fuzz of static electricity, it felt like a web of tiny pops on every part of my skin. The air felt hard .
    I don’t even