Total pages in book: 162
Estimated words: 151630 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 758(@200wpm)___ 607(@250wpm)___ 505(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 151630 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 758(@200wpm)___ 607(@250wpm)___ 505(@300wpm)
If this is a dream, maybe I don’t want to wake up. It’s the first time I believe someone wants to help me.
“I did, and I respected the hell out of him,” Harry says. “We’ll take down Myrddin for him, too, me darlin’.”
The idea of taking down the wizard… Maybe there is something I want more than peace. But it won’t work. “Even if you can teach me how to get out of here, we can’t get to Iceland. I would go back into the foster care system. I don’t have money or ID or anything like that.”
His smile widens, and there’s an impish quality to the expression. “Oh, don’t worry about dat none, girl. I’ll teach you one more thing. I’ll teach you how to steal. We’ll be right and fine. I’ll teach you how to talk to those ghosties, too. You and me will be all right, Shy. I promise. I’ll take care of you.”
I sniffle and look back at the prophet. There is only one way to go. “What do I have to do?”
Gray’s eyes soften. “All you have to do is welcome him in. Your soul is unique in all the world. Your soul has a space Harry can reside in. But he needs an invitation, and you’ll both be a little out of it afterward. Hold on to who he is and why he’s here. You do the same, Harry.”
I’m desperate. This might be a trap. I’m not foolish. I know there are creatures willing to prey upon the weak, and I am so weak now.
If there’s no hope, then I don’t care what happens. I can take this chance or stay here all of my days. Waste away until I don’t even remember who I used to be, where I came from. “You are welcome, Harry Wharton.”
There’s the slightest feel of tension in my chest and then the world goes hazy and I’m not sure what’s happening. Darkness fills my eyes and I fall back. The last sight I see is the water ghost moving in, looming above me like she’s trying to find a way in, too.
When I wake, I’m lying on my bed with the vaguest recollection of a visitation. But I can’t quite remember from who.
“Shy? Are you there? It’s Harry.”
I force myself to sit up and put a hand on my chest. It’s warm but not in an unpleasant way. I feel…stronger. Like some place that was empty is now filled.
Harry. Harry Wharton. He’s going to help me. I can hear Harry in my head. His lyrical accent is warm and friendly, and suddenly I’m not so alone. “You made it.”
I can feel the man smile. “I did, darlin’. And now we’re going to get you out of here. I’ll do everything I can.”
I feel far more centered than before, like whatever we did dispelled the effects of the drugs. I can think again. And be sarcastic. “I wish you could get rid of the Drowning Woman.”
“I don’t think she’s here,” Harry says. “I saw something odd before, but it’s gone now.”
I turn and he’s right. For the first time in over a year, she’s not here.
I breathe a sigh of relief and start to listen to my new mentor.
Chapter One
Frelsi, the rebel encampment, Iceland
Six years later
Shy
I remember when I saw my first ghost. I call her the Drowning Woman. It was one year after my entire family was murdered by Myrddin’s witches. I’m fairly certain he didn’t do the deed himself. He was busy killing vampires at the time. A group of psychics would be easy to kill as long as he found a way to dampen their powers of prophecy. It was my auntie who saw into the future. It’s funny the things you remember years later. She’d been sick for weeks. It’s how I know the whole idea that Myrddin simply took advantage of the mistakes the queen and king made is false. He might have not planned for the king to fall into his trapped painting, but he intended to take over. Why else would he have cursed the only woman in the world who might have been able to see his plans?
Up until that moment, I had not a hint of power. My cousins manifested early. So did my sister. I worried I was going to be the only Davis without power.
And then I was simply the only Davis.
I should have died with them. We lived in this rambling old house in the woods. We were close enough that we could get to Dallas within an hour, but far enough out that it felt like the country. I miss the house with its sounds and smells and rich laughter coming from every room. When I close my eyes, I’m there, surrounded by obnoxious siblings and cousins. By wise aunts and uncles, and my parents who loved me. I can still smell my mother’s cooking. She used to say her caramel cake recipe came from a famous and very dead pastry chef she met in her travels.