Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 97071 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 485(@200wpm)___ 388(@250wpm)___ 324(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97071 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 485(@200wpm)___ 388(@250wpm)___ 324(@300wpm)
Just to be sure, I pull my drained reserves of magic and cast it out in a faint circle. Sure enough, they’re human, albeit of a magical variety. The people closest to us give me a sharp look as I scan them, but they quickly look away when they see Bowen at my back. Their fear is so transparent that it actually gives me pause.
I look around again, and sure enough, people have melted away from us until we’re standing in a large circle. They haven’t actually fled, but I see a parent grab their child’s arm before the kid can run into the empty space. They sweep up the child and hurry away, their expression stricken. “Bowen—”
He wraps a careful hand around my wrist. “Don’t scan them. It’s rude.”
“It’s not me they’re reacting to,” I say softly. They watch him with a wariness one would give a hungry wolf that wandered into their midst. I study his expression, wondering if he sees it, too. The Bowen I’ve come to know would be incredibly bothered by this reaction, and sure enough, there’s a new tension in his shoulders. But he still doesn’t seem to be fully registering exactly how wary these people are. “Is this how every village reacts when you come into it?”
“Evelyn.” His voice is deeper than normal. Despite myself, I inch closer to him. This man exerts a pull of gravity all his own. “Stop trying to distract me from the fact that you’re looking for an exit.”
For once, I hadn’t been. I don’t imagine the portal will have a giant sign announcing its presence overhead. It certainly won’t be in the village center where anyone could tumble into it.
I bet it will be like portals in our world, hidden in fairy rings, in forked trees over water, and in mirrors. Well, maybe not the last. The portals have existed since before the technology to make mirrors was created. So they have to be natural.
But that’s neither here nor there. At least right now. He brought me here for a reason, and I want the answers he’s offering. I want him to have the answers he’s seeking. It’s possible that my instincts are wrong about how off this situation is … but I don’t think so. “We came here for a reason, right? Let’s get to questioning.”
For a moment, it looks like he wants to argue with me, but he finally curses under his breath and starts down the main street, towing me behind him. I could break his hold easily. I choose not to for reasons I’m not about to examine.
With every step, I catch scents that are both familiar and not. A person with pale skin and freckles is roasting meat and carving it bit by bit to serve in wraps of some sort. Another, with dark brown skin and the kind of wrinkles that speak to a life well-lived, is frying vegetables and tossing them into a bowl with broth and noodles. A third with light brown skin and a bald head is shaving ice into cups for a group of small children.
We move past the food to the stalls that have people hawking everything from jewelry to textiles to bundles of herbs. The last makes me pause for a moment, but there’s no stopping Bowen’s forward momentum.
Every single person flinches when they see us. When they see him. It happens exactly the same, over and over again. The first glance of curiosity. The second to note his size. Then they see the crimson cloak and their expressions shut down. Some of them actually look terrified. Surely Bowen realizes this is not the reaction of people grateful for the Cŵn Annwn’s interference.
The street ends at a large stone building that’s familiar from the trip I made to Europe after graduation. The memory is a smear of alcohol, sex, and grief, but even in the midst of that, I remember the churches. This isn’t the largest I’ve seen—its size is on par with the rest of the buildings along the main street—but it’s certainly got all the details. Right down to the gargoyles perched on the corners, looking down disapprovingly.
“What gods do they worship here?”
“A large variety. Just like every other island.” Bowen pushes through the doors as if he’s been here before. Inside it’s even more beautiful than the outside. The multicolored glass paints the floor in abstract art that shifts with the clouds overhead. The benches are not the most ornate I’ve seen, and the pulpit is plain wood, but there’s a vibe in here that speaks of history. Of power. I don’t fuck with organized religion, but as Bunny used to say, it’s foolish not to know all the varied kinds of beliefs and magics.
Especially since some of them would like to see us six feet in the ground.