Blood, Smoke and Mirrors (2010) Read Online Free PDF Page B

silence here was especially eerie, only the low whispered hush of wings and swishing of tails occupied the room. The sound of tails made me take a closer look at the assembled group. Faeries take the form of whatever they want, whenever they want. Not all prefer the delicate wings Portia sports. Some take on animal features, elemental or even demonic aspects. Whatever catches their fancy, really. I don't think anyone's ever seen the original form of a faerie, if the faeries even remember what they were at all.
    I remembered not to stare at the council, which would have been really rude, and kept my gaze lowered to stare somewhere around their feet. They were dressed in their finest, glittering and shining bright enough to be their own light source. As I studied the latest in faerie formal footwear I noticed an additional, unexpected pair of shoes standing behind the council and off to the side: a scuffed pair of black combat boots. Despite my better judgment, my curiosity got the better of me and I let my gaze travel upwards. Black duster, black pants, black shirt--the man almost blended completely into the shadows around him, which normally would've hinted at a sorcerer, but I knew the faerie council wouldn't trust one to stand behind them within fireball range.
    It had to be a guardian, and my heart sank as I realized it was Lex. There was a casual air about him as he stood with his hands in his coat pockets, and the rest of his appearance complemented his laid-back manner. Unlike last night, his shoulder-length light brown hair was unbound and extra stubble lined his jaw. Lex was watching me, and he gave me an encouraging smile. Flustered, I tore my gaze away, concentrating instead on the figure kneeling with its head bowed low in front of the trio of thrones.
    The person's face was hidden by the hood of a long black cloak. Yuck, must be a sorcerer . Sorcerers tend to lean toward wardrobes befitting wizards in fantasy stories--long robes, pointy hats, gnarled wooden staffs topped with crystals and the like. Someone really needs to tell them that they are not Gandalf, and they need to join the twenty-first century with the rest of us. I noticed a slender man in a dark gray business suit standing behind the sorcerer, but I didn't recognize him either.
    Once we reached the other candidate I knelt as well, trying to look as graceful as I could manage.
    "Greetings, Catherine Marie Morrow," a voice in front of me intoned. I flinched at the sound of my True Name--usually I go by Catherine Baker. I've gone to great lengths to hide my True Name from the magical world, and here it was being shared in front of every damn faerie in the hemisphere. Great. My reaction was to be expected, but out of the corner of my eye I noticed the black-cloaked figure had flinched as well. I turned my head toward him as he looked toward me. I peered into the depths of that black hood and recognized him, much to my immediate shock, and my brain shut down as my mouth took over.
    "Aw, hell no," I growled. Leaping to the side, I knocked him off his feet and pinned him to the floor, and the man glared up at me with a mix of shock and hatred. "'Lo, Dad."
    I heard something like the rustling of a thousand wings at once and everything around me went black.
    Chapter Three
    Throughout my life there have been several times when I woke up and swore that my entire body hurt. Generally I knew the sources of the agonizing pain: moving furniture, an unusually brisk self-defense class, too much drinking. That pain was nothing compared to the complete and utter ache that dragged me back to consciousness, my mind kicking and screaming in protest the entire way.
    I blinked my bleary eyes open and discovered a thick layer of blur covered everything above me. Concussion was my first thought, and I reached up to check the status of my broken head. My fingertips brushed my eyelashes and I realized my glasses were missing, which revealed the source of the blurriness. I fished