Free Dragonwitch by Anne Elisabeth Stengl Page B

Imraldera rubbed a hand down her face and turned to the man beside her. He flashed her a grin so brilliant, it would have dazzled the eyes of all but the most hardhearted observer. Imraldera, unfortunately, was far too used to that smile and the devilry it usually masked, to succumb to dazzlement. She scowled in return.
    â€œSo sorry, old girl,” Eanrin said, carefully wiping a speck of ink from one of his long white fingers. “Didn’t get the impression you were listening, and I wanted to be sure I had your ear.”
    â€œI was listening.” Imraldera flipped the last few pages to see how far the damage had soaked. “You said something about something, and now I’m going to have to take the spine apart and remove at least three pages. All that work!”
    â€œI most certainly did say something about something.” The cat-man stepped out of her way as she slid from her stool and stormed past him to retrieve various book-binding tools from a nearby chest. “And you’d dowell to heed me! I said there’s a new gate opening up. A death-house gate, what’s more, and probably dangerous.”
    Kneeling at her chest, Imraldera paused, the lid partially upraised. She looked around, and Eanrin could see her ire slowly giving way to curiosity. “A death-house gate? What is that? It sounds dreadful.”
    â€œSounds worse than it is,” Eanrin said, perching on her vacated stool, one leg bent, the other extending to balance himself. He moved with a feline grace as natural to his essence and being in this form as when he took the form of a cat. In place of a fur coat, he wore scarlet velvets and silks, a plumed and jaunty cap clutched in one hand, and a cloak secured with gold brooches swept back over his shoulder. He shrugged dismissively, though Imraldera could see he was eager to divulge what he knew.
    â€œSometimes in your mortal world,” he said, putting an emphasis on the your that Imraldera did not entirely appreciate, “dark places develop. For instance . . .” He cast about for an example, and his eye lit upon the blotting rag she’d been using a moment ago. He held it up so that the light from the window nearby shone through it, making it appear as delicate as a spider web, save for the dark stains of ink. “Say these dark patches are places in your world where the dead are gathered. What do you call those?”
    â€œGraveyards. Tombs.” Imraldera shivered. “Houses of the dead.”
    â€œExactly. Those places lie very close to the Netherworld, closer than most Faeries ever come. And it stains the fabric of the mortal realm so those death-houses are not quite like the rest anymore.” Eanrin jabbed a finger at one of the ink spots. “During times of death, a gate can open, and a dangerous gate at that.”
    â€œAnd you say one is opening on our watch?” Imraldera dropped the lid of her chest and stood, crossing her arms as she faced Eanrin. “Where?”
    â€œA little up the way, beyond the bamboo grove. A Faerie Circle’s grown up that could lead, I do believe, to the North Country and Castle Gaheris. Nothing to worry about on its own; it might never come to anything. But,” and the cat-man’s bright face grew serious, however momentarily, “I think someone might be trying to force it open.”
    â€œWho?” said Imraldera.
    Eanrin shrugged again. “Whoever it is, he left caorann berries all over the place, undoing whatever enchantments he might have used. I can’t get a traceof him.” He smiled again, swinging his leg back and forth until Imraldera thought the stool might tip right over. “I do say, my girl, that long face of yours could curdle milk! Didn’t I tell you it’s nothing to worry about?”
    â€œYou said it could be dangerous, Eanrin. A dangerous new gate opening on our watch.”
    â€œCould be. But won’t be. We have to check it,