Unchosen Read Online Free PDF

creatures (like sheuts , or ghosts, or whatever) try to communicate with you. I’ve never understood why someone (or something) can’t just tap you on the shoulder and say, “Look, the apocalypse will be here on Tuesday. You might want to get a helmet and a weapon. Tell your friends.”
    But, no, it never works that way. The future can be told, but not written. Choices and free will mess around with outcomes, and P.S. gods aren’t too good about keeping track of time. They’re like, “Wow. The end of the world already? I thought that was last millennium.” Immortals don’t use calendars. That’s why prophecies are so vague and can have fifty different interpretations.
    If you have a prophetic dream, your first response will probably be to freak out. You may wake up screaming, or gasping, or even roll off the bed and bash your face into the nightstand. Once you recover, go get some exercise and try to shake off the heebie-jeebies. I usually go for a run and keep going until my legs feel like wet noodles and my lungs feel like they’re gonna burst. Then I go eat ice cream. Lots and lots of ice cream.
    Oh, if you can’t find ice cream, don’t settle for a Popsicle. Popsicles won’t help at all.
     

 
     
     
     
    “ Evil does not always come in supernatural forms. Humans are often capable of deeds darker than even the gods can imagine.”
     
    ~ Secret History of Reapers, Author Unknown
     
     
     
    “Believe in the gods, and they will believe in you.”
     
    ~Kelley Hartsell, Curator for the Anubis Oracle in Reno, Nevada
     

 
     
     
     
    Chapter 3
     
    “MISS BARTOLUCCI!” DR. ALLISON Mayfair’s voice, rife with censure, bolted me upright in my desk and scattered my worries to the corners of my fogged-out mind.
    My 9 a.m. Necromancy Literature class was not my favorite, and I’d been thinking about Set and Rath and dying in cave. The nap-time nightmare hadn’t left my thoughts. In fact, I hadn’t slept much at all last night. I was too afraid of falling back into that horrible dream.
    “Am I boring you?”
    “Huh? What?” My voice sounded hoarse and scratchy. I heard other students laugh as I blinked down at my notebook. I hadn’t taken any notes, unless you counted the skull with fiery eyes and scythe clenched in its teeth. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Clarissa Jacobs lean forward and whisper to one of her minions. They stared at me while tittering in common derision.
    I looked up at Dr. Mayfair, who stood at her lectern in front of the class, her razor-gaze cutting me to ribbons. “I can only assume, Miss Bartolucci, that you were absolutely riveted by Chapter Five of J. Benjamin Parker’s Keep Thy Soul .”
    I flinched. I hadn’t read Chapter Five. Okay, I hadn’t read any chapters of Keep Thy Soul . I’d tried, mind you, but it was written in the 1600s, it was all “thee’s” and “thou’s” and big words nobody used anymore. I’d given up after paragraph three.
    “Um … I didn’t understand it,” I said.
    “Ah. Then perhaps you’ll take a moment to listen to my thoughts about the devious Lord Manning and his innocent ward, Sally Wright.”
    Embarrassment knotted my throat, and I nodded. My face felt flushed, like someone had taken a blowtorch to my skin. I heard Clarissa snicker, and I tamped down my urge to punch her in the face. Instead, I put my pen against paper and dutifully prepared to write actual notes.
    “The author used Miss Wright as an example of magical purity,” continued Dr. Mayfair. “Can someone tell me what Lord Manning represented?”
    Clarissa’s hand shot up, and Dr. Mayfair gifted her with a rare smile. “Yes, Clarissa?”
    My nemesis pushed a silky red tress behind her ear, offered us less studious peons an arrogant smile, and said, “Lord Manning is the representation of corrupted magic.”
    “Ah! Exactly.”
    Clarissa swung around and gave me a smarmy grin. I put my hand under the desk and wiggled my fingers until she looked at them.
    I