The Shadow Rises: A Morgan Rook Supernatural Thriller (The Order of Shadows Book 5) by Kit Hallows

Author:Kit Hallows [Hallows, Kit]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-05-16T22:00:00+00:00

People shot long glances our way as we crossed through town. No doubt word of our arrival had spread far and wide. Strangers, outsiders. I guessed I was both those things and more.

“Well, wonders never cease." A voice boomed from the wall as Samuel approached. The guard who’d harassed us the night before was back on duty. He gave me a slow, haughty look as he opened the gate and I was pretty sure I heard him mutter good riddance as it slammed behind us. The snowy wastes stretched before us with the forest far in the distance, and a range of white-capped mountains to the west.

“Are we walking?” I asked.

“Yeah,” Samuel said as he strode down the stony track, and away from Skyrehaven. “But hopefully not for long.”

The icy wind bit my cheeks and occasional birdsong broke the quiet along with the crisp patter of rabbits flitting across the snow and diving into their burrows. It was strange to feel each footstep plant itself on this land I’d heard so much about. It was eerily natural, like I was back where I belonged. I glanced at a stony hamlet nestled among the distant billowy fields and wondered what it might be like to live there, should I decide to stay in this world.

A moment later my thoughts were broken by a deep clatter and trundling that came from behind and a carriage, pulled by two black horses, rolled to a stop. The man sitting atop the coach nodded.

“Here,” Samuel reached up and dropped a couple of coins into his hand.

“Three to Thursby,” the man said, his voice muffled by his scarf.

“Couldn’t we have boarded in Skyrehaven?” I asked, as Astrid climbed up and vanished within.

“Sure, but only if we wanted everyone in town to know where we were going.” Samuel said as I pulled myself up and stepped through the door.

The compartment was gloomy and cramped, and I squeezed in next to Astrid on one of two padded benches. The fat man next to her gave me a look of barely concealed irritation as he scooted closer to the window, checked his pocket watch, and then slipped it back into a slit on his fine silken waistcoat. On the forward facing bench, five women stared back at us. All wore black and their eyes were tired and red, and I had the impression they were either going to, or coming from, a funeral.

“Well this is cozy,” Samuel said, as he nudged up to me and snapped the door shut. “Fine morning ladies, no pun intended” he said to the women. Only one met his eye, and then she gazed back to the clenched gloves in her lap.

“Fuggazola,” the man spluttered, then his head bobbed forward and his fleshy chins pressed against his chest. The cramped space rattled with the sound of deep throaty snoring and the carriage shook as it trundled along the road. The driver seemed to hit every rut and hole in the path and each jarring bump buckled the bench and shot straight up my spine.

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