Storm of Shadows Read Online Free PDF

real factors, but in the end . . . she said it came down to her gut feeling.”

    Yes, he understood that. “Do you ever get gut feelings?”

    “When I get the flu.” She laughed too long at her own joke, then grew uncomfortable under his steady regard, and confessed, “I used to. Sometimes. But my father said gut feelings were nothing but wishful thinking, and I might as well depend on a fortune-teller’s crystal ball as on my intuition.”

    “He wanted you to stay in the real world.” And why? When Aaron had come down to the library basement with antiquities that needed to be authenticated or manuscripts that required translation, Dr. Hall had been brilliant, stiff-necked, and grim, yet unwillingly fascinated by the variety of Aaron’s interests and keenly interested in prophecies and the paranormal. Most important in Aaron’s mind was his sharp instinct for the genuine above the counterfeit.

    Never, ever had he mentioned that he had a daughter.

    Why had he so emphatically quashed Rosamund’s curiosity?

    Why had he kept her a secret?

    Had Dr. Hall foreseen a dread prophecy for her?

    “Are you familiar with the legend of the Chosen?” Aaron asked.

    “The Chosen . . .” He could almost see Rosamund flipping through the encyclopedia of her mind. “Yes. The Chosen and the Others. When the world was young, a beautiful woman gave birth to twins, each marked as something set apart from average people. Repulsed by their difference, she took them into the darkest woods—in these fairy tales, it always is the darkest woods—and left the babies for the wild animals to devour.” She looked at him inquiringly. “Is that the legend you mean?”

    “That’s it. Do you know the rest?” He did. He’d been doing his reading— When the World Was Young: A History of the Chosen, the textbook of choice among his peers.

    Rosamund continued. “Those two children were the first Abandoned Ones, babies left by their parents without love or care, and to compensate, given a gift of power. The babies survived. The girl was a seer. The boy was a fire-giver. They gathered others like them and formed two gangs, one for good—the Chosen Ones—and one for evil—the Others—and they fought for the hearts and souls of the Abandoned Ones.”

    “A battle that goes on today,” he finished.

    “Yes.” Her brow knit. “It’s not a very comforting fairy tale.”

    “How many are?”

    “Most have endings of some kind. The witch is tipped into the oven. The evil stepmother falls from a cliff—” She caught sight of his face. “All right, not very happy endings, but still, there’s none of that ‘the battle goes on today’ stuff.”

    “Yet it’s so much more realistic to know there can never be an end, or at least not until the”—he could scarcely stand to say the words—“until the Apocalypse.”

    “If the legend of the Chosen Ones were true, which it’s not.”

    Aaron wished that she was right.

    But unfortunately for her and her future peace of mind, she was staring right into the eyes of one of the Chosen Ones.

Chapter 3

    “W hat I find of interest is the persistence of the story.” Rosamund warmed to her topic. “Do you know that the Chosen Ones are discussed in European and Arabic medieval texts, given credence in Chinese scrolls, and portrayed in Native American cave art?”

    “I did know about the Native American cave art,” Aaron acknowledged.

    “You’re Native American. Have you seen the cave art?” she asked eagerly.

    “Once. Briefly.”

    “Oh, I would love to view it in the original.” She clasped her hands at her chest and looked at him, bright-eyed and appealing.

    “It was obliterated by a collapse.” At least he thought it must have been. He’d been too busy getting the hell out to look back and make sure.

    “Oh.” She sagged in disappointment, then straightened. “I’ve read the details of the myth in the original Latin, drafted during Julius Caesar’s reign. I