Dead Magic Read Online Free PDF

spotted Mirabella. The little girl scurried out of the tree line with an armload of wood. Depositing the wood in a pile just beside a small fire, she propped her hands on her hips and harrumphed. She hadn't noticed he was awake yet, she was that intent on her job. Apparently deciding the fire wasn't right, Mirabella took a bit of wood from the pile and carefully pushed it into the fire. She bent so close to the flames that he feared she'd get singed.
    "Hello, Miss Mirabella," he said, levering himself onto one elbow.
    Gasping, she whirled to face him. "Mr. Winslow!"
    She charged forward, throwing herself onto him and nearly sending him back down. Surprised, Winslow caught her with one arm, realizing a second later that she was hugging him. Not only hugging him, as she buried her face in his shoulder, but crying.
    Awkward and uncomfortable, Winslow gave her little form a tight squeeze and tried to murmur something reassuring. "Did you build that fire all by yourself?"
    She nodded against his shoulder and tightened her arms around his neck. Her voice was muffled when she spoke, "I used Mommy's matches. She'll be mad when she wakes up."
    Winslow spotted the still unconscious mother near his feet. "No, no. I'm sure she'll be very proud of you. How's your hand?"
    Mirabella sniffled and pulled away from him. Tilting her head to the side, she gave him a puzzled look. "It's been better since I moved you."
    He blinked in surprised. Normally he had to be conscious of accessing his magic, but as Mirabella showed him her hand it was clear that she was healed. She turned it over, stretching out all of her fingers, each little bone set perfectly where it should be. Winslow focused inward, suddenly afraid that he'd spent the last of his Talent without meaning to, but he recognized the healthy purr of his rejuvenated magic and relaxed.
    "You really are a Witch-Born, aren't you." Mirabella's green eyes were wide with wonder.
    "I am." Winslow carefully sat up. His fractured leg throbbed to life and he grimaced. With one hand on the aching limb, he commanded his Talent to mend the wounds.
    Several soft, unsettling pops resounded from his body as bones shifted, correcting themselves. He felt each one of them and did his best not to swear in front of the girl. The sudden relief from pain left him shaky, but he winked at Mirabella anyway. She gave him a wobbly smile before glancing at her mother.
    "She woke up but didn't talk," Mirabella shifted on her feet nervously. "Can you help her?"
    Winslow patted Mirabella's shoulder and moved to kneel beside the mother. She looked alarmingly pale and pasty, strong bones in a broad face that bordered masculine. He'd thought at first that there were too many shadows playing across her features, but realized that her lips really were tinged blue.
    With a deep breath, he splayed his hands over her chest and belly and summoned his magic. Each injury glowed in his mind, showing him the ruptured spleen, the blood collecting where it shouldn't be, and Winslow got to work. Just under his left thumb, he could feel the steadying beat of the woman's heart. It stuttered at first, and then leveled out, increasing in strength as each torn bit of tissue repaired itself.
    Several vertebrae had snapped along the woman's spine and he had a sudden vision of her covering Mirabella with her own body as the train careened off course. She's the best kind of brave, he thought, letting his magic spiral through her body. Each of her toes snapped back into place, audible enough that he heard Mirabella make a small, distressed sound.
    "She will be all right, Miss Mirabella," he murmured.
    Winslow immediately regretted his words. What his Talent showed him next made every part of him cringe; a fracture in the back of her skull, severe hemorrhaging throbbing pressure against the wound. As Talented as he was, even Winslow knew his limits. Fixing her was going to take an incredible amount of time and focus, and if he didn't do so now, he