Free Vesik 3 Winter's Demon by Eric Asher Page A

on my hand tightened, and when I turned back to face her, that little girl I knew and loved was carefully hidden away once more. “If I don’t get the chance to talk to Mom about this, Damian … If we lose her, and I never get to tell her … I’m going to kill so many people.”
    “We’re going to do that anyway,” I said. “We’ll get her back.”
    Sam wrapped me up in a rib-cracking hug before she started down the hallway. I almost hit the ground with my face when she grabbed my hand and yanked me forward with her.
    I laughed as I regained my balance. “Alright, I’m coming, I’m coming.”
    “Boy,” Zola said as we reached the stairs.
    I nodded. Sam released my hand and continued on ahead by herself.
    I watched her go for a moment before turning back to Zola. “You’ve been here before?”
    Zola nodded. “The captain who built this house was a good man. Gave shelter to anyone in need, especially anyone gifted.” She put a hand on my arm as I reached the bottom of the staircase.
    A tall, gold frame caught my eye in the little alcove to our right. It held a huge patchwork quilt, a miasma of patterns and colors laid out into twenty squares and held within a shiny, red fabric border. The entire quilt was behind glass in the thin, traditional frame.
    “Last time I was here, they’d just finished that quilt.”
    I bent down to read the date in the corner. “1884?”
    Zola nodded. “Come, let’s meet up with the others.”
    I followed her, watching her small form shuffle and lean with her cane like you’d expect of someone her age. Her braids tinkled as the silver-gray charms of Magrassnetto swayed into each other as she lurched along. It was all an act. She made it look so natural. I wondered how long she’d been practicing the deception. For that matter, how much had she really seen? How many people must she have known, or at least met? Here, in the middle of nowhere Missouri, she had known a family wealthy enough to build a mansion soon after the Civil War.
    We came to the bottom of the main staircase and started down the hall toward the kitchen. Dim light came from either end of the hall, but the center was unnervingly dark. I had an urge to stop, but followed Zola through the shadows anyway.
    “You felt that?” Zola asked.
    “Yeah, what was it?” I rubbed the goosebumps on my arm.
    “Old magic. Old enough Ah doubt many would recognize it.”
    “How old?” I said, adding a little intensity to the question. “Aeros old?”
    “Yes, perhaps older. It’s also why you should stay out of the basement.”
    “Done and done,” I said as we passed an upright piano tucked beneath the stairs. A little further on, a closer glance at the curio showed me a treasure trove of antiques and old photographs, even a weathered journal. I wanted to stop and take it in, but we had more pressing concerns.
    I slowed as we entered the kitchen. Dark hardwood stretched out to modern cabinets and electric appliances. Small saloon doors separated the kitchen from the dining room off to the west, but my attention was all for the enormous fireplace nestled in the middle of the room.
    I was fairly sure I could lay down in it, aside from the roaring flames currently occupying the space. Ancient and ornate fireplace cranes adorned either side of the gaping maw, two holding cast iron Dutch ovens in the flames, and the rest pulled forward, away from the heat.
    The innkeeper deftly pulled one of the cranes out of the fire with a long metal implement, lifted the lid with a covered hand, and frowned at the contents. A cloud of something that smelled rich and salty filled the air. She let the lid fall with a clang and swung the squeaky assembly back into the heat before walking over to the microwave and pulling out two green mugs. She handed one to Edgar at the small kitchen table beside the refrigerator, and another to Mike. They both thanked her and sipped the brew.
    “Coffee?” I asked with more than a bit of hope.
    The