The Weeping Books of Blinney Lane by Drea Damara

Author:Drea Damara
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: fantasy, adventure, action, romance, romantic adventure, romantic fantasy, stories about books, magical books, magic, occult, witches, medieval places, salem
Publisher: BHC Press
Published: 2018-06-01T16:00:00+00:00

FARWIN WOOD

PRESENT DAY

RICKY TOOK in his surroundings as he and his aunt walked along the edge of the roadway into Oedher Village. He pondered the possibility that Sarah, Mary, and Francis had kidnapped him and moved his body to the woods outside of Salem after he’d fallen asleep, but the more they walked, though, the less sure he was of that notion. The wickrit had been his first reason to doubt it. The women wouldn’t have been able to manage such an enormous and violent creature. It certainly hadn’t been a robot, so that theory was out too.

As they entered the village, Ricky saw little cottages with thatched roofs. He noticed scents he’d never experienced before. People stopped to look at them, pointing and whispering. They wore clothing similar to his and his aunt’s, but shabbier, dirtier, and more threadbare. They also looked thin and hungry.

Several of the buildings had holes in the roofs with ramshackle patchwork coverings. Some had sections of stone missing and charred black smudges on the outside walls.

“Eyes ahead, Ricky,” Sarah warned under her breath. “The more you gawk at them, the more they’ll gawk at us.”

“What happened here?” He hurried to catch up to her.

Sarah kept her head facing forward but looked about the town as she spoke. “I don’t know, but I’m guessing there’s been a war.”

Ricky looked back down the street and saw that the stragglers still stared after them. Sarah slowed, and Ricky followed her gaze to a high stone wall at the end of the street. It had an archway over two large wooden doors in its center.

In the shadows, under the archway, a leathery-skinned old man sat on a wooden stool. His salt-and-pepper hair curled up at the ends, dusting his shoulders. His face was covered with the same colored whiskers. He held a sword in his knobby grip. The tip stuck in the dirt and Ricky wondered if it wasn’t held so to prop him up if he nodded off.

Sarah approached the man slowly. Ricky watched her go and could see the man squinting through the darkness at her with intent curiosity.

“What are you about, missy?” The man growled through the darkness.

“Dergus? Is it you?” Sarah called and stopped a few feet away.

Dergus? What kind of name was that?

The man stood up like a broken marionette, his joints cracking. Ricky watched him take a step closer to his aunt and swallowed a lump in his throat. It didn’t seem safe to approach an armed person, no matter how archaic the weapon. Although the man was slow to his feet, there were signs of corded muscles in his fifty-something physique. He wore a gray vest over a cream-colored smock. A leather holster crossed his chest and attached to a belt at his waist. With sword at the ready, he looked to be the guard of this place.

The tension in the man’s face suddenly went lax, and his narrowed eyes grew as he reached for Sarah’s face with his weathered fingers. Ricky gripped the hilt of his sword, although he didn’t know how to use it.

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