Alex and Logan were right in the crosshairs of that hate.
“If they want to entrap us, they could at least try a little harder,” Alex said. “Harpies don’t like to sit in barns. Trees are higher. The harpies’ arrogance dictates that they sit in the highest spot around. Otherwise, they couldn’t look down on everyone.” That’s how you knew a call was a fake—when the person described supernaturals acting so much out of character.
Still, there had been a lot of really weird things going down tonight, so they had to check this out to make sure it wasn’t another case of monsters-going-wild.
“We’re here,” Logan announced as the car rolled to a stop.
He’d parked in front of an old farmhouse with white stone walls, faded green shutters, and a brown roof that slanted up into a high peak. Gnarled, wilted vines had spread across half of the house front, peeling the shutters off their hinges. The roof was peppered with bald spots, places where shingles had split from the rest. The house looked like no one had lived there in years, if not decades.
The barn on the other side of the muddy lawn was in even worse shape. Unlike the barn Alex had brought down earlier today, this one at least appeared stable—but that was all it had going for it. The sun-stained wood walls shone blood-red in the moonlight. Peppered with rust, its metal doors were swung wide open in mock welcome.
“I don’t sense any harpies,” Alex said. In fact, besides the two of them, there wasn’t a drop of magic anywhere within a mile of this quaint little village postcard scene.
“I can hear people hiding inside,” Logan told her.
“Then let’s go say hello.”
She followed the path to the barn, her boots slurping against the soggy ground. As soon as she and Logan entered the barn, the doors slammed shut behind them with a resounding boom. How perfectly melodramatic.
“Oh, it looks like the harpies flew off,” Alex said loudly.
Her voice echoed off the high ceiling, flooding the hollow wooden building. Most of the barn was in shadow, all except for the narrow stream of light pulsing out of the tiny lightbulb dangling from an overhead beam. Glass shattered, and the light winked out, throwing them into complete darkness. Alex rolled her eyes.
She felt Logan dart off in search of prey. Darkness bothered him as much as these flimsy attempts to unnerve them. Alex’s night vision wasn’t nearly as good, so she moved slowly across the barn. Beneath the sweet scent of slowly rotting wood, a hot, sticky stench hung heavy in the air. Sweat. Someone was nervous. Five someones from the irregular hiccups of their pale auras. They were human all right—or at least as good as. There wasn’t enough magic between the five of them to light a match.
Somewhere above, old wood creaked and groaned. Whoever that was, it wasn’t Logan. His feet practically floated over the floor, and he considered breathing while sneaking to be the epitome of unprofessionalism.
Alex drew on her magic, lighting a fire in her hand. Past the crackling orange flames, five shifting silhouettes lumbered forward with the heavy gait of a pack of zombies. If only they had been zombies. She was allowed to put down zombies. A pack of jackasses with a mind to kill her—not so much. Apparently, she was supposed to restrain hostile humans without actually touching them. That wasn’t even possible. One of these days, she was going to introduce the Magic Council to reality.
“Vile creature,” one of the humans snarled at her, lifting his knife.
The five of them were closing in on her from all directions, sinister sneers on their lips, hate burning in their eyes. They weren’t toting any magic artifacts, so it was unlikely they were Convictionite lackeys out on the hunt. They were just regular humans, people who needed someone to blame for all of the terrible things happening in the world. Fear saturated their auras like the week-old stench of rotting
“If they want to entrap us, they could at least try a little harder,” Alex said. “Harpies don’t like to sit in barns. Trees are higher. The harpies’ arrogance dictates that they sit in the highest spot around. Otherwise, they couldn’t look down on everyone.” That’s how you knew a call was a fake—when the person described supernaturals acting so much out of character.
Still, there had been a lot of really weird things going down tonight, so they had to check this out to make sure it wasn’t another case of monsters-going-wild.
“We’re here,” Logan announced as the car rolled to a stop.
He’d parked in front of an old farmhouse with white stone walls, faded green shutters, and a brown roof that slanted up into a high peak. Gnarled, wilted vines had spread across half of the house front, peeling the shutters off their hinges. The roof was peppered with bald spots, places where shingles had split from the rest. The house looked like no one had lived there in years, if not decades.
The barn on the other side of the muddy lawn was in even worse shape. Unlike the barn Alex had brought down earlier today, this one at least appeared stable—but that was all it had going for it. The sun-stained wood walls shone blood-red in the moonlight. Peppered with rust, its metal doors were swung wide open in mock welcome.
“I don’t sense any harpies,” Alex said. In fact, besides the two of them, there wasn’t a drop of magic anywhere within a mile of this quaint little village postcard scene.
“I can hear people hiding inside,” Logan told her.
“Then let’s go say hello.”
She followed the path to the barn, her boots slurping against the soggy ground. As soon as she and Logan entered the barn, the doors slammed shut behind them with a resounding boom. How perfectly melodramatic.
“Oh, it looks like the harpies flew off,” Alex said loudly.
Her voice echoed off the high ceiling, flooding the hollow wooden building. Most of the barn was in shadow, all except for the narrow stream of light pulsing out of the tiny lightbulb dangling from an overhead beam. Glass shattered, and the light winked out, throwing them into complete darkness. Alex rolled her eyes.
She felt Logan dart off in search of prey. Darkness bothered him as much as these flimsy attempts to unnerve them. Alex’s night vision wasn’t nearly as good, so she moved slowly across the barn. Beneath the sweet scent of slowly rotting wood, a hot, sticky stench hung heavy in the air. Sweat. Someone was nervous. Five someones from the irregular hiccups of their pale auras. They were human all right—or at least as good as. There wasn’t enough magic between the five of them to light a match.
Somewhere above, old wood creaked and groaned. Whoever that was, it wasn’t Logan. His feet practically floated over the floor, and he considered breathing while sneaking to be the epitome of unprofessionalism.
Alex drew on her magic, lighting a fire in her hand. Past the crackling orange flames, five shifting silhouettes lumbered forward with the heavy gait of a pack of zombies. If only they had been zombies. She was allowed to put down zombies. A pack of jackasses with a mind to kill her—not so much. Apparently, she was supposed to restrain hostile humans without actually touching them. That wasn’t even possible. One of these days, she was going to introduce the Magic Council to reality.
“Vile creature,” one of the humans snarled at her, lifting his knife.
The five of them were closing in on her from all directions, sinister sneers on their lips, hate burning in their eyes. They weren’t toting any magic artifacts, so it was unlikely they were Convictionite lackeys out on the hunt. They were just regular humans, people who needed someone to blame for all of the terrible things happening in the world. Fear saturated their auras like the week-old stench of rotting
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