poured from its skull. It stared at me, tears leaking from its dull, gray eyes. They trickled down its ruined face, dropping into the pool of blood beneath the broken body.
Bile filled my throat as my head spun.
I rolled over and heaved, emptying everything in my stomach. I retched again, then closed my eyes and tried to calm the terror that was pounding in my chest. I’d killed lots of paranormal creatures over the years.
This time, however, I’d enjoyed it.
Chapter Four
The Accidental Hero
“Better?” Mick asked.
I sipped the ice water cautiously. “Yeah. My hand is still pretty sore.” I flexed my fingers. The white scars, reminders of a previous battle, ached twice as much as normal thanks to the pounding I’d given the Mimic. “And my head is killing me. Again.”
Concern filled his face. “That’s not what I meant.”
“I’m fine.” The words came out quick and harsh.
Whether or not he was going to say anything, I’d never know because the door to Elder Devon’s office opened. A pretty young Witch popped her head out.
“The Elder will see you now.”
Mick gave me a thumbs-up, then winced and placed a hand over his knife injury. He caught me staring. “I’m fine. Go have another helping of debrief.”
“You don’t have to wait for me.”
“I wasn’t planning on it. I’m going to go check on Elsa.”
I chuckled, grateful for something light to focus on rather than the Skill hangover eating my insides. He patted my shoulder, then headed down the hall while I followed the Witch into the Elder’s office.
For a man of Devon’s lofty position, his chambers were smaller than I expected.
One of only thirteen Elders, he was a member of the elite echelon of the Delwinn Council that governed the Skilled. Unlike the hundred-some-odd basic council members, Elders were elected for life and tended to be the most powerful and political of all the ruling members. As a group they also had final authority on every matter. Granted, they usually left the day-to-day crap to the rest of the Council, opting to maintain their focus on the Really Big Stuff like wars, treaties and pay raises for themselves.
Most of the Skilled community walked on eggshells around the Elders because they were as secretive as they were powerful. Not a lot of people knew what went on behind their closed doors, but there were rumors that they had a hand in every aspect of Skilled politics. Things like negotiating land rights with the paranormals and determining which spells were considered “dark magic” and which were “boring goody-two-shoes magic.”
Personally, Elders were barely more than an annoying blip on my radar.
Part of that was because I’d interacted with a handful of them over the years at the family Homestead. Not only was the large mansion home to a huge vault full of horribly powerful magical weapons, but Dad was one of the most senior members of the Delwinn Council. Elders tended to pop by quite often for tea or to try and figure out how to rid Nature of one of the countless items we kept locked away. Having grown up around them, their rank didn’t intimidate me.
The other part was because the Elders represented everything that was wrong with our governing body. The old farts were obsessed with tradition rather than modernization. Oh sure, they’d pushed for the Reformation, but they were much more comfortable carrying a staff than a cell phone.
Remembering our past was one thing. Wearing wool robes in the sweltering heat of September was another.
The Witch presented me to the Elder, who thanked her. As she left, he offered me a seat in one of the high-backed leather chairs in front of his desk. The cushioning was thick and my sore muscles smiled as the chair enveloped me in a rich, buttery hug.
Devon looked better than he had two hours earlier. His beard was combed back into its normal, silky gray and his eyebrows were teased into submission. His still favored his bad arm, but he didn’t
Bile filled my throat as my head spun.
I rolled over and heaved, emptying everything in my stomach. I retched again, then closed my eyes and tried to calm the terror that was pounding in my chest. I’d killed lots of paranormal creatures over the years.
This time, however, I’d enjoyed it.
Chapter Four
The Accidental Hero
“Better?” Mick asked.
I sipped the ice water cautiously. “Yeah. My hand is still pretty sore.” I flexed my fingers. The white scars, reminders of a previous battle, ached twice as much as normal thanks to the pounding I’d given the Mimic. “And my head is killing me. Again.”
Concern filled his face. “That’s not what I meant.”
“I’m fine.” The words came out quick and harsh.
Whether or not he was going to say anything, I’d never know because the door to Elder Devon’s office opened. A pretty young Witch popped her head out.
“The Elder will see you now.”
Mick gave me a thumbs-up, then winced and placed a hand over his knife injury. He caught me staring. “I’m fine. Go have another helping of debrief.”
“You don’t have to wait for me.”
“I wasn’t planning on it. I’m going to go check on Elsa.”
I chuckled, grateful for something light to focus on rather than the Skill hangover eating my insides. He patted my shoulder, then headed down the hall while I followed the Witch into the Elder’s office.
For a man of Devon’s lofty position, his chambers were smaller than I expected.
One of only thirteen Elders, he was a member of the elite echelon of the Delwinn Council that governed the Skilled. Unlike the hundred-some-odd basic council members, Elders were elected for life and tended to be the most powerful and political of all the ruling members. As a group they also had final authority on every matter. Granted, they usually left the day-to-day crap to the rest of the Council, opting to maintain their focus on the Really Big Stuff like wars, treaties and pay raises for themselves.
Most of the Skilled community walked on eggshells around the Elders because they were as secretive as they were powerful. Not a lot of people knew what went on behind their closed doors, but there were rumors that they had a hand in every aspect of Skilled politics. Things like negotiating land rights with the paranormals and determining which spells were considered “dark magic” and which were “boring goody-two-shoes magic.”
Personally, Elders were barely more than an annoying blip on my radar.
Part of that was because I’d interacted with a handful of them over the years at the family Homestead. Not only was the large mansion home to a huge vault full of horribly powerful magical weapons, but Dad was one of the most senior members of the Delwinn Council. Elders tended to pop by quite often for tea or to try and figure out how to rid Nature of one of the countless items we kept locked away. Having grown up around them, their rank didn’t intimidate me.
The other part was because the Elders represented everything that was wrong with our governing body. The old farts were obsessed with tradition rather than modernization. Oh sure, they’d pushed for the Reformation, but they were much more comfortable carrying a staff than a cell phone.
Remembering our past was one thing. Wearing wool robes in the sweltering heat of September was another.
The Witch presented me to the Elder, who thanked her. As she left, he offered me a seat in one of the high-backed leather chairs in front of his desk. The cushioning was thick and my sore muscles smiled as the chair enveloped me in a rich, buttery hug.
Devon looked better than he had two hours earlier. His beard was combed back into its normal, silky gray and his eyebrows were teased into submission. His still favored his bad arm, but he didn’t
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