Spirit of the Fae (Dragon's Gift The Dark Fae #4) - Linsey Hall Page 0,3

answer. I twisted the doorknob, but it didn’t move.

My heart thundered, and I shot Tarron a worried look.

He shrugged, then smashed his shoulder into the door. It took only one powerful blow, and the wood cracked. The door crashed inward. He slipped in first, his stance that of a fighter ready to attack.

There was no one inside. At least, not in this foyer. I looked back out the door and across the white field. The winged reapers weren’t approaching.

I stepped forward to find Aethelred, and Tarron held out a hand. “Wait.”

I turned to him. “What? We have to find Aethelred.”

“Let me try to heal your arm. That looks bad.”

I looked down at the black shadow that spread from my elbow. This was the first second we’d had where we weren’t running, and I finally noticed it. Damn, it hurt like hell.

Tarron hovered his hand over my arm, his brow furrowed. Normally, I’d feel warmth from his healing magic.

I looked up at him. “I feel nothing.”

He cursed. “My magic doesn’t work anymore. Not even a quiver.”

Shit.

“And this wound is bad,” he said.

“I know.” I could feel its dark magic.

Please don’t spread.

“Let’s look for Aethelred,” I said.

He nodded, and we both turned, going straight to the living room where Aethelred usually spent his time.

“Aethelred!”

There was no answer.

The living room was empty. The faded old furniture was all white and gray, like the entire afterworld. An eerie silence filled the space. Not even a dust mote floated in the air.

Totally empty.

So was the kitchen.

Tarron searched the other rooms on the first floor that I skipped. When I met him at the base of the stairs, he shook his head. “Nothing here.”

“Damn it.” I turned to the stairs and began to climb, my heart racing. “He has to be here. He has to.”

“Wouldn’t that make him dead, though?” Tarron asked.

“Oh fates, I hope not.” I had no idea what any of this meant.

Fear iced my skin as I searched all the rooms on the top floor. When I found them empty, I thought I would vomit.

He wasn’t there.

Did that mean he was dead or not dead?

An emptiness spread inside me. Fear for Aethelred and something else. Like a piece of me was missing.

I gasped, stumbling and clutching the wall at the top of the stairs.

“Mari, are you okay?”

“No.” I felt empty inside. “I feel ill. My magic…”

I tried to call upon my seeker sense to find Aethelred, but got nothing. No matter how hard I tried, it stayed dormant inside me.

What little magic I’d had left seemed to have disappeared.

Tarron tried to rub my back, but his hand pressed right through. “I feel it, too. An effect of this place. We’ll fix it. I swear.”

I nodded, shoving the panic down deep. We would fix this. I’d settle for no less.

“What about the roof?” Tarron asked. “Aethelred could be there.”

“Might as well.” Aethelred’s roof was steeply pitched like most of the houses in Darklane, but unless he was in the garbage bin out back—shit, I didn’t need my mind going there—it was the last place we could look.

Tarron and I searched the upper floor for a rooftop access. The whole place was cluttered with knickknacks and ancient furniture, but we finally found what we were looking for in the back-right corner of the house. A narrow set of stairs wound their way up to a hatch.

I raced up the stairs and pushed on the hatch, then scrambled through, feeling the eerie wind whistle through my hair.

There—sitting in a lawn chair in the middle of a flattened portion of the roof—was Aethelred. I could only see him from behind, but his velour tracksuit and his long white hair were a dead giveaway.

“Aethelred!” I hurried forward, and he turned.

His eyes widened in his heavily lined face. “Mordaca!”

I dropped to my knees by his chair, trying to grab his arm. My hand passed right through. “Are you all right? Are you dead?”

He didn’t look quite dead. He was partially white like we were, but there were flashes of color—blue for his tracksuit and eyes.

He frowned at me, bushy white eyebrows drawing together. “No. But you don’t look well.”

“I think I’m partially dead.”

He nodded, his mouth pursed. “You’re slightly transparent. This is definitely not normal.”

“We’re in an afterworld.” My mind raced, recalling the details of the place. Winged reapers, rowan berries, stags, faerie lights. “I think it may be a Fae afterworld.”

There were many afterworlds, each corresponding with the different religions and magical species. The Christians had their heaven,