Persie Merlin and the Witch Hunters - Bella Forrest Page 0,54

reliving the heat that had emanated from my abductor in his monster form. He hadn’t been a djinn, in the end, but Genie’s words poked at something in the back of my mind, albeit in a delayed reaction. Nathan had worked all night to figure out what was wrong with the pixies. Maybe there was something in his books that related to my abductor, a detail he might’ve missed, since he was looking for the cure and not the cause.

Breaking out of Genie’s embrace, I rushed over to the stack of books on the coffee table. “Nathan, how did you figure out that you had to use that tonic?”

“I remembered seeing a similar effect somewhere.” He took off his glasses as he walked over, wiping them on his T-shirt, which meant he was deep in thought. “I referred to some texts on ‘ripple curses.’ As in, they ripple out of the source, to cause harm to those around them. The distance normally isn’t far—a few feet or so.”

“That’s why he growled. He needed us to come closer,” I thought aloud, grabbing the nearest book and flicking through the pages. “Which book did you look at?”

Nathan nodded. “The one in your hand.”

“What’s going on?” Genie sat in the chair opposite and leaned forward intently. “Did you remember something?”

“Not exactly, but I need to know what damage this guy can do when he’s turned monster.” I scanned the index for the “ripple curse” chapter and flipped to it, then ran my eyes across the page until I found what I was looking for. “Here!”

Nathan looked over my shoulder, putting his glasses back on. “What?”

“It’s a list of monsters capable of these curses.” I prodded a finger at two words that leapt from the page: Far Darrig. “Is this what I think it is?”

“Chaos help me, how could I have missed that?” he gasped. “Yes, I believe so. That’s the anglicized spelling of ‘Fear Dearg.’ I’m such an idiot—I only looked at how the effects of such curses could be remedied. I must’ve been too tired to notice the connection.”

I read the section, my heart hammering:

The ‘Far Darrig’

Also referred to as the ‘Red Man’ or ‘Rat Boys’—these are creatures of legend, for the most part, capable of crippling any living being with pure terror. They are known to bring nightmares into the waking world. There have been reports of them replacing babies with changelings; however, such incidents are widely disputed. They are malevolent and mischievous phantoms, though the red cap and coat of legend—the features that have given this being the moniker of ‘Red Man’—are thought to be a misinterpretation or a false memory left behind in victims. Those who have not succumbed to the dread-inducing influence of the Far Darrig have described them as beings of red mist and flaming eyes, the tumbling mist resembling a flowing, hooded cape that trails in every direction. It is thought that the cape may be an allusion to the red coat and cap, though unaltered accounts are difficult to find.

When other bestial forms are touched by the Far Darrig’s Chaos, many side effects have been observed: insanity, mood swings, violent behavior, lethargy, amnesia, and blindness. Some Far Darrig have been known to drain victims of their energy sources.

My heart lurched as the pieces slotted together. With dread sinking into the pit of my stomach, I kept reading, aloud this time. “These monsters are designated threat level indigo on the Eyles Scale. What does that mean?”

Nathan let out a sigh. “Holden Eyles is a famed monster researcher, known for ranking monsters by the perceived danger of their unique abilities. It’s how we gauge the potential risk when sending hunters out into the field. He used the rainbow to categorize, with red being the lowest threat level and indigo being the highest. It’s a Geiger counter for monsters.”

“‘Although the Far Darrig usually prefer to toy with victims using mental influence,’” I carried on, a cold sweat tingling at the back of my neck, “‘they have been known to utilize physical attacks, by means of concentrated blasts of energy. It is not known what result such attacks may have, as only one individual has ever survived. Saoirse O’Connell, attacked on May 21st, 1987, in Donegal, Ireland. She was found and transferred to a secure magical facility, where diagnostics showed she was only 25 years old. This news shocked the supervising physicians, as she had the body and mind of an 80-year-old suffering from advanced dementia. She died just