The Faceless Woman Emma Hamm (ebook reader screen TXT) 📖

he dissolved into ravens. They all took flight in the same cluster she’d seen in the trees when the flames had licked at her knees. It hadn’t been an unkindness of ravens. It had been one faerie staring at her through pieces of himself.

“Dramatic,” Lorcan grumbled. He flattened himself on a large rock, the sun dancing across his glossy black fur. “Faeries always like to put on a show.”

“Ridiculous creatures. Think he’ll be back soon?”

“If he went through the effort to shape-shift, it’s unlikely.”

“Good.”

She stretched out on her belly next to the cat and let the sun warm her tired bones. The pack weighed down on her ribs, but she didn’t care anymore. Her entire body pulsed with relief at being able to pause for a few moments.

Walking hadn’t always been this hard. Or maybe she’d never walked this far in her life. Either way, her feet felt like they were going to fall off and her thighs quivered just standing still.

How did the faerie do it? He wandered through the fields without a care, whistling sometimes or plucking grass from the ground to weave in his hands. It was like he didn’t feel the same fatigue she did.

“They’re impressive, aren’t they?” Lorcan asked. He rolled onto his back, the white starburst on his chest glowing.

“Who?”

“Faeries.”

“I’ve yet to see him do anything impressive.”

“Bursting into a flock of ravens doesn’t do it for you?”

“An unkindness,” she whispered.

“What?”

“It’s not a flock of ravens. It’s an unkindness of ravens, like a murder of crows.”

Lorcan snuffled, almost as if he were mimicking laughter. “I don’t know which one I prefer.”

“I do.” Aisling rolled over onto her side and scrubbed his belly. “I’ll take neither of them and live a much happier life.”

“Don’t,” he grumbled, wiggling under her hand. “Stop it, Aisling, it tickles!”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I can’t hear you. What did you say?”

His claws shone brilliantly as he unsheathed them and placed them dangerously close to the back of her hand. “I will scratch you.”

“You have to get up and get me a bird anyway.”

“The sacrifice? Again?”

She nudged his side, poking at his soft underbelly until he rolled to his feet grumbling. “Yes, the sacrifice. I can’t cast a spell without one.”

“I’m not sure other witches would agree with you.”

“And I’m certain every witch would agree with me. Faeries might do things differently, but witches have to get the job done in creative ways. So go find a grouse or something similar in the bushes and bring it back. I’ll work on the rune frame.”

“I don’t like the mess you make when you do this.”

“Lorcan, you eat these birds raw all the time.”

“Well, it all seems like a terrible waste.”

She snorted. “I’ve told you before. I am not giving you the remains of the bird. It absorbs a lot of magic, and I have no idea what might happen if you eat it.”

“Like turning into a human?”

Poor Lorcan. He wanted to turn back into a human desperately, but magic wasn't that easy. Witches could use one of their lives as a cat and usually had no issue turning back into their previous form, but Lorcan was stuck. He didn’t know why or how. Aisling had a feeling it was because he didn't really want to turn back. Life was significantly harder as a human.

He raced off into the undergrowth, grumbling the entire way. She shook her head at his antics. Lorcan liked to help, no matter how much he complained. And catching a grouse would distract him from the black magic she was about to perform. He hated black magic.

Aisling slowly tugged the pack from her shoulders and groaned. Her back felt like it was on fire, tingles racing down the long lengths of muscle and embedding in her back.

The Unseelie’s bag clanked when it hit the stone beside her.

“I wonder,” she murmured.

Curiosity had always plagued her. It whispered in her ear to investigate, to look at things she shouldn’t, touch that which was not hers.

She searched the shadows for any hint of the Unseelie. He wasn’t so stupid that he trusted her with his pack, was he? He didn’t know her at all, and leaving a witch with access to everything he carried…

She did not hesitate as she ripped at the ties. What kind of man was this Unseelie? If he wasn’t going to expand on his history, then she would find out herself.

Some food, spare clothes, a belt, along with other odds and ends filled the pack to the brim. Most of the weight came from the food, although heavy gems encrusted the belt.

She pulled it from the folds of fabric. It was pretty, not functional. So many gems all carefully placed in a pattern that resembled the night sky. She’d never seen such crystal-clear stones.

Aisling ran a finger over the pattern. He had grown up in a wealthy family, and though it shouldn’t have surprised her, it did. She had thought perhaps he was like her—a cast off, a forgotten son, a boy sent away because his family didn’t want him.

The belt suggested otherwise.

She let it slide back into the pack and dug through the pack farther. Just when she was about to give up, a glint at the bottom caught her eye.

A cord became tangled in her fingers. A silver key with a gray moonstone embedded at the top hung from the end. Aisling lifted it to the light and gasped.

She’d never seen a stone so smooth. It was a good omen, albeit a dangerous one. Gray moonstones were stones for perceiving beyond the veil. They saw through glamour, lies, even the future itself if decisions were hazy.

“So,” she murmured, “you know more magic than healing, Unseelie.”

She dropped the key back into the pack, fearful of the sudden desire to continue touching it. Moonstones always vibrated with magic, yearning to be used even though they showed things the user didn’t want to see. They were vindictive when they wished to be.

Her arm shook as she forced herself to release the