Wolves and the River of Stone Read Online Free PDF Page A

scabbard swinging at his side.
    I sighed and glanced between my friends. Most of the supernatural community would consider Zola a dark necromancer for her past deeds, no matter how justified. She’d been a slave once. When she escaped with Philip, they’d taken their vengeance on the slavers that abused them. Philip had been a stable boy, beaten almost as regularly as the slaves. Zola took eight lives in a hideous ritual of torture and flames, and for her atrocity, she would live eight lifetimes. She still bore the scars on her back from the whips and flails. The raised skin on her wrists was still slick where shackles had torn them open again and again. She had been sixteen when she was beaten into slavery. Hideous ritual or not, the slavers deserved worse.
    “Am I really the key to Prosperine?”
    “Your bloodline, yes, and you are the only necromancer left in the line. Even if Sam had the gift, her vampire blood won’t open a gate now that she is a vampire. Essentially, you are the key.”
    “Maybe we should just kill you,” Foster said. “Save us some headaches.”
    I’d like to think he was joking.
    “Even dead, his blood could still be used,” Zola said.
    “Guys, I’m right here.”
    “So torch him,” Foster said with a snappy isn’t it obvious tone of voice.
    Zola casually rolled up her menu and whacked him into the next booth. I heard a tiny “Ouch” muttered from behind us and couldn’t help but laugh.
    “We need to destroy Prosperine’s tie to our plane.” Zola leaned forward. “We aren’t strong enough to kill her outright. Not even with a key of the dead.”
    Foster fluttered down to the table again and said, “I don’t know, you have a pretty good backhand.”
    I grinned and pushed my pancake remnants over to the fairy. His eyes widened as he just barely resisted diving into the pool of syrup. Aideen would kill him if she had to chip dried syrup out of his armor ever again.
    “She can be banished with a blood rite and the thorough destruction of the artifact,” the fairy said around a mouthful of pancake.
    “Ugh.” My stomach wanted to heave. “I hate blood rites.”
    “Yeah, especially when it’s your blood,” he said as he pulled off a tacky handful of pancake. I looked around for the servers and cooks to be sure they wouldn’t see a floating crumb, but they were otherwise occupied.
    “Ah’ll need to research it,” Zola said. “Take me to the Pit tonight and Ah’ll check their elder works.”
    I cocked an eyebrow. “They’re trusting you with the old books now, huh?”
    She nodded.
    “I’m impressed.” The Pit was almost psychotically protective of the old books and grimoires they’d amassed through the centuries. It was unusual for them to let anyone see them, especially a human, given their greasy paw prints. “I guess you’ll be needing some gloves then?”
    “Vik already bought me some,” Zola said. “Ah have a whole box in the archive.”
    “Wow, did you hand feed him a ferret or something?” Foster asked.
    “Vik doesn’t do much for anyone since the Devon ordeal,” I said as I glanced at Foster. Devon was Vik’s ex-girlfriend. She’d come frighteningly close to killing me last year with the help of her pet demon. I’d killed her spectacularly with fifty pounds of dynamite. Oddly enough, no one had been stupid enough to mess with my sister since Devon went to her maker in pieces.
    “Ah have only provided him with a friendly ear, nothing more.”
    “Well, I guess that’ll do it for some vampires,” I said as Foster’s shrill voice screamed, “I love pancakes!”
    Zola laughed, pushed his right wing away from a mess of syrup, and wiped the pool up with a moist napkin. “Yes, for him, it is all he needed.”
    “So, who was Agnes?”
    “A worthless Sunday soldier, but she truly doesn’t matter now. That son of a bitch isn’t acting alone. Philip’s followers are loyal, and Ah’m sure the reasons why are atrocities in themselves.” She