Free Raven (Legends Saga Book 2) by Stacey Rourke

this become a game of Frogger .”
    Ireland came to with a start, finding herself standing on the opposite side of the four lane street from her troop with her frontal lobe throbbing. Blinking hard, she took a quick beat to clear her head before darting across the street like a cat duct taped to a firecracker. 
    “There she is. See traffic lights are our frie— whoa , okay.” Noah’s glib comment cut off the second Ireland threw herself at him.
    Her arms twined around his neck, squeezing tight as she peppered his face with kisses.
    “Yes, crossing the street can be scary.” He patted her back in comfort, shooting Rip a confused cringe.  “It was pretty touch-and-go there for a minute, but you totally made it.”
    Ireland’s breath came in stuttered gasps. Reluctantly she pulled away, resting her forehead against his chin. “Just had a moment. Like the library all over again, only without the charming third person perspective.”
    “Was that code for something?” Noah asked Rip over her head in a barely audible whisper.
    “I’ll explain later, when she’s not shaking like a nervous chihuahua.” Craning his neck over Noah’s shoulder, Rip invaded Ireland’s space with an expectant stare. “While I’m sure this moment is justified by some scarring form of torture the Horseman inflicted upon you, I must point out that Ridley just disappeared around the corner. Perhaps you could put a pin in this particular meltdown until later? We can all watch that movie about iron magnolias and weep over a communal box of tissues.”
    Centering all the physical and emotional angst from the Hessian’s cruel joke into her core, Ireland pushed it down and buried it deep. “No,” she said as she steeled her spine and pried herself free from the comfort of Noah’s arms. “I’m fine. Let’s go get Ridley.”  
    The trio rounded a bend landscaped with mulch and fresh saplings, their strides matched in determination. Immediately, they stopped short. Ridley stood statue still; a display of chiseled—yet slightly insane—beauty, staring eagerly at the charming white bungalow before him.
    Blue eyes, wide with hope, flickered her way. His smile spread a touch too wide, crossing the threshold into manic. “ This is it . The orangutan told me.”
    While her boys hung back, Ireland approached with cautious steps. “Ridley,” she tsked in her most maternal tone, “don’t you know not to believe every primate that talks to you?”
    Her words stole the smile from his face, forcing on a mask of aghast revulsion. “ This one had a blade !” he hissed in an urgent whisper.
    Grinding the butt of her palms into her temples, Ireland massaged her head in small circles. The base drum headache had swelled into a pounding marching band drumline. “I-I have no idea how to respond to that.”
    “Neither did I,” Ridley shrugged, h is stare wandering back to the small house so painstakingly maintained. The covered porch and walkway were framed by meticulously groomed flower gardens. To the right of the stairs, nestled in a bed of burgundy and yellow mums, sat a bronze engraved plaque.
    Ireland rocked forward on the balls of her feet. Stretching her neck to see, she read it out loud, “Brooklyn Historical Society; Cottage of Edgar Allen Poe.”
    Noah bumped Rip’s arm with his elbow. “You know anything about this?”
    Rip directed his answer to Ireland instead, weariness adding a few more years to his centuries of life. “I have told you before of the cloaked men that gathered a group of us and stressed the urgency of us hiding the truth behind our situations. Those men demanded absolute confidentiality. We were not allowed to tell one another much of anything that may give away what they considered to be ‘too much.’ However,” starting at his mustache, Rip brushed his hand down the length of his beard, “I have since seen pictures of Mr. Poe, and I do believe him to have been the slightly troubled lad that sat directly