Slaying Monsters for the Feeble - Annette Marie Page 0,10
sorrow swirled around him, a vulnerability I’d never seen before. Here, in this endless mist, his fearless confidence had been stripped away. His aggression, his defiance, his sarcasm and insults … all had faded to reveal what hid beneath.
His head lifted, then turned. His crimson eyes looked into me, through me. His hand drifted upward, fingers stretching toward me.
“Let’s begin!”
At the loud declaration, I jerked backward with a gasp. The vision of white mist disappeared, replaced by the crystal ball, black velvet cloth, and noisy pub. The man beside the projector was talking, a laser pointer directed at the screen where a colorful line chart zigzagged.
“Robin.” Zora touched my arm. “Are you okay?”
I panted in shuddering breaths. My hand was fisted around my sweater, gripping the infernus underneath. “I—I think so.”
“My dear,” Rose whispered keenly, “you fell instantly into the crystal’s energy! What did you see?”
My gaze darted from the orb back to Rose. “What … what did you see?”
“The crystal darkened to the deepest shade of pitch—a warning of grave danger.” She placed her hand on the orb. “But you experienced the séance—you saw the crystal’s message. What vision did you experience?”
“I didn’t see any black,” I hedged, releasing my sweater and the infernus.
“Do not be shy!” Rose exclaimed. “Tell me! With my expert guidance, you experienced a true—”
“And,” the presenter at the front called, staring pointedly in our direction, “if you all want to look this way, you’ll see a fifty-eight percent reduction in incidents when the team spent ten minutes or more on their hazard assessment.”
Zora snorted and tipped her chair back, balancing it on two legs. Flushing, I fixed my attention on the projector, ignored Rose’s probing gaze, and did my best to push the crystal ball’s vision out of my mind.
Chapter Four
The bus’s doors clanked and hissed open. Amalia and I stepped down onto the sidewalk. My cousin tossed her blond hair over her shoulder and marched away.
As the bus accelerated, I trotted a few steps to catch up to the tall, long-legged apprentice summoner. She glowered at me and stormed onward into the afternoon gloom, the sun hidden behind a thick blanket of gray clouds.
“It isn’t my fault you missed the meeting yesterday,” I pointed out.
“You should’ve warned me they’d give me a stupid punishment. Meeting minutes? Come on!”
I shrugged as we followed the sidewalk along a curving street lined with gated properties.
“Saturday evenings aren’t exactly convenient!” she added angrily. “And Christmas is, what, nine days away? Why can’t they cut us some slack?” Her steps slowed, a grimace pulling at her full lips. “I guess I should get used to a guild that takes regulations seriously.”
I didn’t know a thing about her previous guild, but my last one—not counting the Grand Grimoire—had been a sleeper guild, meaning all its members were non-practicing mythics. My obligations had ended with paying the membership fee and attending a yearly check-in. The Crow and Hammer, on the other hand, required a monthly meeting and regular reviews by the guild officer assigned to supervise us.
Tugging my coat tighter against the icy wind, I extended my stride as much as my short legs would allow.
“It’s weird being back,” Amalia murmured, hitching her purse up her shoulder. “I feel like I’m going home, but …”
She trailed off as we stopped in front of a pair of wrought-iron gates, the decorative balusters crisscrossed with yellow police tape. The driveway stretched up an easy slope to what remained of the house. Where a two-story mansion had once sprawled was now a hollow, blackened skeleton. Charred studs supported the partially collapsed roof.
“Well …” Amalia said heavily. “This looks hopeless.”
“We don’t have any better leads,” I mumbled.
Together, we approached the gates. Amalia rolled one open, tearing a few strips of police tape, and squeezed into the narrow gap. I ducked through the opening after her and we followed the paved drive to the house.
Planting her hands on her hips, Amalia surveyed the ruins of her home. The garage had crumbled to the ground, the debris heaped on scorched metal that had once been luxury cars.
“All right. Our best bet is Dad’s office. After that, his bedroom.”
I eyed the blackened studs framing the front door, which lay face down in the foyer. “Is it safe to go in there?”
She shrugged. “It hasn’t caved in yet.”
She marched up the steps and ripped the tape off the doorway. Inside, a thick layer of ash and black debris coated the floor and crunched under our shoes. Studs were