Dark Secrets - Linsey Hall Page 0,3

three of us hurried down the stairs, spilling out onto the street. Fortunately, the rain had slowed to a faint drizzle, and the early afternoon sun was trying to peek through the clouds.

“So all you could see was a section of the city wall?” Seraphia asked.

“Yeah. I don’t think I was even supposed to see that much. There’s a spell on this book that’s meant to stop a seer’s vision, I think.”

“But you’re not a seer,” Mac said.

“I think that’s why I can see part of what the book wants to hide.”

“What are you, exactly?” Seraphia asked.

“Um…”

She held up her hands, an apologetic look on her face. “Sorry, sorry. It’s rude of me to ask.”

“The truth is, I don’t know what I am, exactly.”

“Let’s get a move on,” Mac said.

I smiled at her, grateful for her ability to deftly move the conversation off me.

Seraphia nodded enthusiastically.

I turned and headed down the street, following the tug of magic that pulled me toward the edge of the city. We hurried along winding streets dotted with a variety of shops built hundreds of years earlier, their Tudor fronts—dark wooden beams, white plaster, and glittering mullioned windows—holdovers from the age of Elizabeth I. The windows of these businesses displayed potions, weapons, spells, books, and restaurant tables set with smoking cocktails. People laughed and talked inside, magic sparking around them.

Here and there, huge trees grew out of the pavement, ancient relics of the past that had remained undisturbed for centuries. Fairy lights glittered around the branches.

The vision of the wall directed me to the gate preferred by my friends and me—one of many entrances to the city, a magical portal that led directly to the Haunted Hound pub, where Mac worked with Quinn. Before we reached the gatehouse, I was drawn to the right, and I made for an alley that was dim and dusty despite the watery sunlight.

“I don’t go down here much,” Mac said.

“Me neither.” Seraphia stuck close to us as we entered the narrow space.

I led the way down the seemingly endless passage of brick and stone. The cobblestones beneath my feet were uneven, and the walls were without windows or doors.

“This must be the narrowest street in town,” I said.

“And long.” Mac moved closer to me and peered around my shoulder.

We hurried down the corridor, the walls of the buildings on either side nearly scraping against my jacket. About fifty meters later, we arrived at a clearing that separated us from the city wall.

“Ah, No Man’s Square,” Mac said.

“What is that?” I inspected the space. There were many clearings around town, most of them situated in front of the guild towers that punctuated the city walls at irregular intervals. In most such areas, shops and restaurants filled the buildings at the edge of the clearing, but here, the buildings were abandoned and boarded up.

“There’s no guild tower in this square.” Mac pointed to an empty expanse of wall that pulled at me strangely. “This area is deserted. There may have been shops and restaurants here once, but not in my lifetime.”

The grass in the square was damp and scraggly, with wildflowers blooming in patches. The vegetation looked weak and limp, as though struggling to suck nutrients from the oppressive air.

The city wall, constructed of massive stones, rose tall and beckoned. “Where are we in relation to the gate that leads to the Haunted Hound?”

“Not far,” Mac said. “It’s to our left a few hundred meters, as the crow flies.”

“Are there any guild towers between here and there?” I asked.

“No. The closest guild tower is to our right, and it’s another few hundred meters away.”

“So nothing really happens here.” I eyed the statue of a man in the middle of the square. It was an ancient stone thing, worn and battered by time and the elements.

A bird sat on top of its head, black and regal.

“Is that Eve’s raven?” I asked.

Mac tilted her head. “Maybe. But don’t ask her.”

Our fae friend was followed everywhere by a black raven she claimed not to see. I’d learned the hard way that she got plenty annoyed if you asked her about it.

“Who was that guy?” I asked.

“Councilor Rasla.” There was a slight edge to Mac’s voice. “Bloke’s been dead a few hundred years, but he was the one who put the strict guild rules into place.”

“That everyone must join one?” I asked. “No weirdos allowed in Guild City?”

“That’s the one.” Mac’s lips twisted.

“Jerk.”

“It explains why all the local birds are using his head for a