Francis Wintermoon Ice (Sons of the Mariner, #1)

1. Auflage 2010
ISBN: 978-1-84319-835-2
Verlag: Mushroom eBooks
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: Adobe DRM (»Systemvoraussetzungen)

E-Book, Englisch, 288 Seiten

Reihe: Sons of the Mariner

When Tessa unexpectedly acquires a mirror and a journal from her long-dead grandmother, Suvi Markku, she is thrust into danger from alien creatures called Polydactyls. She turns for help to her neighbor Jakob Faircrow, but she finds his smug arrogance infuriating.
Jakob and Tessa must put aside their differences long enough to discover why Suvi hid the mirror and why the Polys want it. The journal provides vital clues to Suvi's past life in Severnessa with Jakob's twin brother Lut -- a life that will shortly intersect with Tessa's, when a magic gateway blends past and present, and brings the two women face to face with the creator of the Polydactyls.
Wintermoon Ice is a spellbinding tale of twos: two cites, two times, two brothers and two women, who must save their world from an unspeakable terror. It is the first book of the Sons of the Mariner' series.
'

Autoren/Hrsg.

Francis, Suzanne

Leseproben

Chapter one
Tessa
A bird without legs must always fly. Theodore Black, PhD, Powwaw Speak: Shamanic Wisdom of the Irrakish “Do you think it’s possible to fall in love with a ghost?” This from a slender blonde woman, who spoke to her companion in a smoky voice that seemed a little low-timbre for her pixyish face and haircut. “Why, have you?” The dark-haired female at her side sounded pleased. Her voice was higher, almost shrill. “Kind of... I’ve been reading my grandmother’s journal.” Jane’s lips, dark against her creamy complexion, parted in a grin. “Hooray! I would much rather see you with a dead guy than Ted Black any day. Can’t imagine what you see in that troll.” Her words, caught in the stiff breeze that tried to push them backwards as they walked along Wharf Lane, reached the ears of the teenagers following them. One of the boys, a youth with the shoulders of a fullback, grinned and elbowed his partner. But neither spoke. More conversation drifted back. The tall woman, Dr. Tessa Kivelson, spoke again. “Really, Jane. Ted is a brilliant researcher, very witty, experienced...” “I’ll say. He has at least thirty extra birthdays on you. Practically old enough to be your...” “It’s twenty-two years, and he looks very young for his age. I know you don’t like Ted, but you might as well deal with it. He and I are getting married.” The blonde’s tone was affectionate. “But you know you’ll always be my best friend.” Jane grimaced. “Not for long. Turdy Black will see to that. He wants you all to himself.” One of the boys, hearing their anthropology professor described in such colorful terms, had to stifle a sudden giggle. The blonde turned her head sharply, but they had already ducked into the darkened doorway of a warehouse. The smaller of the two spoke in a furious whisper. “Keep it down, Tree. Do you want them to hear us?” Tree glanced around the corner at the retreating backs of their quarry. He shook his head firmly. “Course not. Come on, they’re gonna get to the alleyway before we do.” The smaller boy, Stan, sprinted with all the fleet grace of a running back towards the next cross street. Tree followed more slowly, huffing and puffing. Once they turned the corner, Stan whispered, “Don’t be an idiot. Those chicks won’t see us coming. All we have to do is climb over the fence into the container yard, and then drop into the back of Provedore’s. We can cut them off easy.” Tree grunted in agreement as he hauled his bulk up the chain link fence that enclosed the wharf yards. Stan dropped over easily, avoiding the rusty barbed wire slung along the top. Tree’s clothing caught. He wobbled precariously on the top before a ripping sound accompanied his fall to the hard-packed dirt of the yard. “Shit! I shredded my shirt just now. Coach will be pissed if I cut myself.” A dog began to bark in the distance, quickly followed by a high and terrified yowling. Within a few seconds, all was silent. Stan wasn’t paying attention. He peered over to a three-high stack of containers. “Shut the fuck up, Tree. I saw a light over there, just now. If we get busted for trespassing it isn’t going to look good.” The light swept the side of the bottom container, revealing a faded blue star, and the words “WorldPak Shipping.” Tree shrugged, his big shoulders rolling like an avalanche. “Quit worrying. I got a couple friends on the force. These yard dicks don’t count for nothing.” He shambled off across the fenced-in square, heading for the south corner, where Provedore Way backed up to a high, locked gate. Stan followed, somewhat reassured by his friend’s lack of caution. The lights followed as well, but neither boy turned his head to look. “What does Dr. Black want with those two, anyhow?” Tree slunk into the shade of the giant crane that handled cargo from the container ships that came and went in Cloudy Bay. “Something real lame.” Stan grinned. “He said he wanted Blondie’s purse so he could get her keys and then decorate her office for some sort of surprise party.” Tree chuckled. “Well don’t that beat all. Wonder what he really needs ‘em for?” “What do you mean?” “I mean he’s a stinking liar. I heard lotsa stuff about Dr. Black from my Dad, ‘cause they went to school together. Dad said he cheated on every single test. So, old Turdy will have to pay plenty to keep me quiet. Otherwise, they can nail him for conspiracy to commit assault. That’s worth five in the slammer.” Stan gawked at him. “Really? He must want something bad to risk that. Well, I’m in for everything we can get. But we have to catch those chicks first. Come on, lardass. The entrance to Provedore Lane is over here.” They slunk across the yard, keeping to the shadows. The two women continued along Wharf Street, not hurrying. The shorter one, Dr. Jane Piper, shivered and hugged her arms to herself for warmth. “I wish you would move some place closer to town, Tessa. Walking in this wind is killing me. And the neighborhood just keeps getting worse and worse.” “Oh?” Tessa wasn’t really listening. She added dreamily, “I love living by the water, in Gran’s old house. It still smells like the sugar cookies she used to bake...” Jane punched her in the arm, abruptly bringing her out of her reverie. “I said did you read the article in the paper about the murder here a couple of weeks ago?” Tessa grinned and raised her hands in a gesture of ignorance. “I don’t subscribe to the paper. Nothing but ads and depressing stuff.” “It was all over the news...” “No TV either, you know that. Look, why don’t you just tell me about it?” Jane frowned. “Well, there were these two thugs, wearing black suits. They stomped some poor homeless guy practically to death. Only one witness, some big blond guy. Apparently, he tried to help, but when the cops arrived, he split before they had time to ask him any questions. Homeless guy was a mess, died soon after. Guess who had to do the autopsy?” Tessa sighed patiently. “Was it you? That must have been awful.” Her friend shrugged. “I’ve seen worse. Why only last week I...” Tessa broke in, not really wanting to listen to another grisly anecdote from Jane. Her work as a pathologist at St. Luke’s Hospital meant she had a ready supply. “Remember I told you a while ago how I accidentally knocked a tile loose when I was cleaning the fireplace?” Jane nodded. “Well, I finally got around to fixing it yesterday afternoon. I was about to slap on some mortar, but I saw something sort of shiny in the crack. When I pulled the tile away I found a secret hiding place.” “Really? Sounds like a scene straight out of Nancy Drew. What was in it?” “A funny old mirror. There was an old journal of my Gran’s as well. I started reading it last night.” The wind picked up a chill and they were glad to turn the corner onto Water Street, a narrow lane skirting the wharf. Street lamps barely penetrated the gloom between the two and three story warehouses on either side of the street. They walked along the center of the road, arm in arm. Jane stared at the shadowy aisles in dismay, listening to the shrieking calls of gulls disturbed by their passage. “Is this where you met your ghost? Wait! Don’t tell me until we get back to Seadrift. This place gives me the creeps.” Tessa laughed. “You let your job get to you too much. All those dead people have made you paranoid.” She took a deep breath and looked at the stars, shining like sugar crystals on a deep blue cupcake. “Cheer up. It’s a nice night for a walk, especially after all that Mexican food we just ate. Weren’t those tamales delicious?” * * * * Stan and Tree, from their hiding place just inside the alley, heard the women approaching. “I’ll take Dr. Kivelson. Dr. Black said we mustn’t hurt her, just make sure we get her purse. You can take the other one — Jane, I think her name is.” Tree’s brow formed laborious creases. “Do I got to get her purse too?” Stan shook his head and chuckled quietly in the darkness. “It doesn’t matter about her. Actually, I think old Turdy-boy would be pretty grateful if you put that smart-mouthed bitch out of action for a while. Might be worth an extra-good grade.” Tree formed a fist and then cracked his knuckles. Two black shadows, moving as silently as a warm breeze, wavered behind them. “OK, are you ready? Here they come. Now remember, don’t hurt Blondie, OK? Leave her to...” Stan gave a startled gurgle as he felt strong hands wrap around his throat. His feet left the ground, as if by magic. “Quit messing around, Tree!” Stan’s voice was reduced to a furious whisper as he made a grab for the vise-like fingers that were slowly closing off his windpipe. Tree had been wearing a t-shirt, he never felt the cold — way too much bulk. But the hands that were unhurriedly suffocating Stan emerged from long sleeves of some heavy woolen material. Spots swam before his eyes as he began a belated struggle for survival. His terrified jerky twists made so little impact on the arms holding him that they might have been made of stone. Next to him, Stan could sense that Tree was engaged in a similar battle. The hands around his neck shifted effortlessly, pinning his neck in the crook of an elbow. With his windpipe almost crushed, Stan could only squeak in agony as a blunt finger like a steel cable dug first into one eye socket and then...