Casting Spells Read Online Free PDF

probably be married right now and expecting our fourth or fifth child. And I guess you could say if Dane had been even one-quarter as decent as his brother, I might be living an entirely different life right now.
    But cruelty had never been a turn-on for me and I was glad when Dane started spending more time in the faerie realm than the earthly plain doing his mother’s dirty work. Their mother, the terrifying Isadora, wielded enormous power in their world and craved it in ours as well.
    Dane was hot-tempered and selfish. Gunnar was easygoing and loyal. Janice once said that I made him sound like a golden retriever but that wasn’t how I meant it. He had a good heart and a good soul, and I would have given all my hand-painted silk to find a way to make it work between us, but the hard truth of the matter was I didn’t love him the way he loved me and I probably never would.
    As the only nonmagick taxpayer in Sugar Maple, I pretty much operated on a need-to-know basis and that position had served me well when it came to navigating the tricky waters between the real world out there and the world our ancestors had created. They called it plausible deniability in Washington. Up here we just called it common sense.
    “Come on,” Gunnar said, glancing back toward the Inn. “We’d better get out of here before Colm comes out for a smoke.”
    We quickly moved across the yard and driveway, then fell into step when we reached Osborne.
    “This is getting to be a habit,” I said lightly as I pulled my scarf more closely around my neck. “Third night in a row you’ve walked me home from work.”
    “Not that you’re counting or anything.”
    “So what’s up, friend?” I asked. “Why the escort service?”
    Unlike most Fae of my acquaintance, Gunnar wasn’t good at emotional camouflage. “I heard the banshee wail.”
    I couldn’t help it. I laughed out loud. “You did not.” It sounded like something from a cheesy horror movie.
    “Last night. Three minutes to midnight.”
    “After a few margaritas I usually hear U2.” He didn’t laugh with me so I regrouped and tried again. “You probably were having a bad dream.”
    “I was wide awake.”
    “I told you to quit reading Stephen King before bed.”
    Again nothing. He didn’t even crack a smile.
    Call me a wimp, but I wasn’t a big fan of banshee talk. Things that went bump in the night, horror movies, your average circus clown could all give me the screaming heebie-jeebies. Which, considering where I live, was pretty ironic. “Come on, Gunnar. I know this is Sugar Maple but I don’t think anyone here has ever heard a banshee. I mean, are you even sure banshees exist?”
    “I heard one the night before your mother died.”
    “I really wish you hadn’t told me that.”
    “I wish I hadn’t heard it.” He unwound the cashmere scarf I had knitted for him from around his neck and draped it across my shoulders.
    “How far away was it last night?”
    He hesitated. “It was windy. I couldn’t—”
    “Tell me, Gunnar.”
    “Close,” he said. “Very close.”
    I pulled in some icy air. “Okay, so let’s say for the moment that you did hear a banshee’s wail. Nobody dies in Sugar Maple, at least not in the mortal sense. That would mean it has to be an outsider.”
    “Not necessarily.”
    My heart was pounding so hard I could barely speak. I knew the answer in my bones but I needed for him to say it. “Who else could it be?”
    “You’re half-mortal, Chloe.”
    I flexed an imaginary bicep. “I’m healthy as a horse,” I said. “I don’t ski. I almost never drive. Unless I fall onto a stash of double points, I think I’m good for a few more years.” I waited for him to laugh or smile or at least acknowledge my attempt at humor but his expression remained grim. “Okay,” I said, “now you’re really scaring me.”
    A train whistle blew in the distance, followed by mournful hooting from somewhere nearby.
    “Maybe you heard an owl,” I said.