Fatal Sight (Harbingers Of Death Book 2) LeAnn Mason (animal farm read .txt) 📖

my belt, or slid in a concealed panel of my sports bra. There was a hiding spot in every outfit if not many. If I ever happened to be in a dress — gods forbid — I could strap one to my thigh.

But I couldn’t just stab a random human — especially if I didn’t want any harbingers to show up to reap him. Hence, the old ‘nads’ trick made its reappearance in my repertoire.

Don’t get caught — by anyone. That lesson would always be numero uno in my book.

Twisting the lock, I hiked my bag over a shoulder and pulled the door. Owlish looks greeted me from the centers of several faces as the good Samaritans all gaped, waiting for the crazy girl’s explanation… “There was a spider. A big one. Huge,” I explained, pierced eyebrows tugging skyward, eyes round.

“Are you okay?” a man asked, the only one in the gaggle of women clumped in the middle of the rundown ladies’ room. I pushed past to the sinks.

“Oh, yeah. Thank you.” I forced a light laugh. “Sorry about that. I just hate spiders.” I shivered dramatically. “I guess I was louder than I thought. I’m sorry.” The ramble blithely spewed forth. Batting my eyelashes for good measure and smiling like a bimbo, I sold my story like an award-winning actress.

Disoriented, the horde turned to head back toward the door, shaking their heads and murmuring their discontent about my overreaction.

“Too much metal in her face; must be getting lead poisoning,” I heard a woman say as the door closed behind the group. I couldn’t tell which had said it, but it didn’t matter. Their opinions didn’tmatter. They didn’t matter.

The druid mattered.

I pulled out my phone and stared at it, warring with myself about making a call I swore I wouldn’t. I wanted reassurance, to know I was doing the right thing. Okay, so maybe I wanted to hear his silky, accented voice…

He’d wanted me to leave. I couldn’t expect he wanted to hear from me. “Nope, not doing it. I’m not going to be that chick.” Shaking the weakness from my mind, I pulled up the app for the rideshare company and requested a ride. The vision had given me the address of the druid’s home, so I put that as my destination.

Not ten minutes later, I was pushing out of the vehicle, my eyes fixed on the charming brick home before me.

Liarona Murphy, whose name and address I’d garnered from my ill-fated vision, lived in a very posh neighborhood, and although it was the middle of the day, I was surely being watched. People that had houses like these didn’t need to work a nine-to-five.

The walk was long with extensive gardens lining it on either side. It should have been a charming and bright welcome, but there was a heavy stone in my gut that pushed further up my throat with every step I took toward the grand entrance.

Crossing into the exposed foyer, I didn’t bother creeping. Anyone in here knew exactly where I stood. As soon as I crossed the threshold, I could no longer keep my urge contained. My wail spilled out in a low but solid moan through tightly sealed lips. I kept my eyes peeled, making sure to rove the space for assailants.

The scene was exactly like my vision, and the small bit of hope that the woman in my mind hadn’t been the druid fled as my lament turned into a full-fledged banshee scream.

It was happening right now as I stepped into Liarona’s home. And as I moved forward, the sound abated, and I knew I was too late.

I knew where I’d find her, so I plowed in vain hope through the large living room. Casting about in case she was here, not where I least hoped to find her, I took in the tastefully decorated in creams except for the splashes of vibrant color strategically placed throughout the space: a large, framed painting of undulating and swirling waters above the free-stacked, rock fireplace mantle, the hearth roaring with a lit fire. A large planter sat in the corner, complete with thriving green foliage.

My eyes swung to the unexplored side of the kitchen as I entered. The large granite bartop was clear of clutter and adorned with only a small globe-like fishbowl. A singular dark blue swath of long fins fluttered nervously around the little plants he shared his home with. I didn’t want to pull my eyes from the little flailing fish, didn’t want to confirm both of our fears.

Still impersonating a human car alarm, I allowed my eyes to trail down the edge of the cabinet to the slate-tiled floor and Liarona’s pale, lifeless body staring back at me.

No!

My banshee urge had warned me she was dying right as I made my way to her, but seeing the proof that she was gone, that I couldn’t save her, was devastating. After another few stunned, wailing moments, I finally tapered off. Dragging in several deep, recentering breaths, still standing over the poor woman, I couldn’t help the selfish despair about what her death meant for me. “Why?” I asked the room in exasperation. “Why now? Why me?”

Gods, could nothing go right for me? My hand slipped beneath my waistband to press on the runic tattoo on my hip as I stared at the — literally — dead-end of my only hope at getting it repaired. I was doomed to scream until I could track down another druid… if there were any others. If that hadn’t been the last of her kind like I was.

“Just kill me now and put me out of my misery,” I ranted to the empty room.

An ominous tingle started at the base of my spine, shivering its way to the top of my silver head, and I stiffened, feeling suddenly like something wasn’t right… besides the body. It wasn’t an empty room.

“Well, now, if you’re offering...”

This time, my scream was unrelated to the death before me and entirely related