The Crossing (Immortals) Read Online Free PDF Page A

didn't seem inclined to question
their unexpected good fortune. Like human children, they
lived in the moment. The entire clan had come out to the
meadow to spin circles in the air. Arianne executed a
graceful pirouette and held out her hand. "Dance with us,
Mac Lir!"
    "Perhaps in a bit," he told her distractedly. "I'll just have
a look about first."
    Arianne smiled and nodded. Gilraen flew to her side,
and together they joined the main dancing circle.
    Troubled, Mac approached the village's peat wall. He
was as glad as anyone at Tamika's abrupt recovery, but it
made no bloody sense. Death magic just did not suddenly
reverse itself.
    He turned to his right in front of the village gate and began a slow, thoughtful circuit of the settlement, casting
his senses-both magical and mundane-in all directions.
Searching for another trace of that odd, chiaroscuro magic.
    Fifteen minutes later he was back where he'd started,
none the wiser. The impromptu ceilidh was still going
strong. Strains of music-bell flowers and reed flutesdrifted across the meadow. Straightening, Mac rubbed the
back of his neck and stared into the forest beyond the
village.
    He'd found exactly nothing. Which meant he'd missed
something. Which in turn meant either his magic was
slipping-and he was certain it wasn't-or his quarry was
very, very clever.
    Squaring his shoulders and setting his jaw, he paced to
the edge of the forest. Casting his senses once again, he
reached deep into the earth and high into the air, touching the magical patterns that infused the forest with life. A
subtle disturbance, so faint as to be almost nonexistent,
scraped his awareness. Raising his hand, he spoke a single
word. A spark of light glimmered between the slender
white trunks of the birches.

    Then it died, just as quickly.
    His eyes narrowed. He stood stock-still, staring at the
place where the light had been. It didn't reappear. He
made his way to the site and, kneeling, extended a hand.
He spoke the revealing spell a second time.
    A spark glowed bloodred against the dark loam. Death
magic. It took a moment for Mac to overcome his natural
Sidhe revulsion and actually touch the remnant. His palm
came down, depressing the spark on the springy earth.
Magic pulsed faintly against his skin. He braced himself
for a surge of wrenching nausea.
    It didn't come.
    Oh, there was a reaction, to be sure. A vibration that
quickly spread through his whole body. A lick of darkness.
Of death. But, surprisingly, it was not at all unpleasant.
    On the contrary. It was... arousing?
    He snatched his hand away, shocked to the very core of
his immortal soul.
    Mac was half Sidhe, half divine. Neither race tolerated
death magic well. Touching the remains of that spell
should have left him disgusted. Repulsed.
    Not horny as all hell.
    He was hard and throbbing-no sense in denying the
blatantly obvious. He frowned down at his tingling palm,
as if he could find an explanation etched among the lines
there. Baffled, his senses still buzzing, his arousal slicing
through his gut like a sweet, sharp knife, he touched the
spot again.
    This time he was ready for the raw jolt of carnal awareness. Shoving the sensation to the back of his mind-bloody
difficult, that, considering his current anticipatory state he probed deeper, seeking the essence of the spell. Death
magic, yes. But-and here the rest of his body went as rigid
as the part between his legs-he sensed life magic as well.

    Death magic and life magic-joined in one spell? He
tore his hand away, utterly and completely gobsmacked.
Mind-boggled, in fact.
    Most magical races practiced one form of magic or the
other, life or death, by virtue of which force gave birth to
their existence. Humans had a mix of magic in their souls
and could choose to practice either type-or both. Chief
among those who dealt in both life and death magic were
sorcerers, demonwhores, and vampire addicts. But such
spell-casters never