The Wild Road

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Book: The Wild Road by Marjorie M. Liu Read Free Book Online
Authors: Marjorie M. Liu
Tags: Fiction, Romance, Paranormal
that hung from iron poles jammed into the earth, leaning at an angle. The feeders were empty, and there was no water in the baths.
    The fence gate stood ajar. Lannes and the woman hesitated, staring over the threshold at dirty windows covered in curtains yellowed with age.
    “Think the boogeyman lives in there?” asked the woman. “Or Mister Rogers?”
    Lannes grunted, extending his senses into the home. Listening with his mind. Someone was in there…but that was all he could determine.
    “Stay behind me,” he said, ignoring the amused surprise that flashed through her eyes-an amusement that faded just as soon as he started walking up the path to the front door, deliberately taking long strides so that he would reach the house before her. The woman hobbled behind him, her presence at the back of his mind sparking with irritation. It made him think of Charlie.
    Wait, his brother had said. I’m sending help. Don’t go alone.
    Well. He was not alone. And he could not wait. Those instincts in his heart had been pushing and pulling from the moment he had found that note-earlier even, if he considered the woman-and it was now or never. He knew it. Even if he did not understand why.
    Fate. Moments passing in time. Moments that will never come again.
    And knowing just when to catch them was another kind of magic all of its own.
    Lannes knocked on the front door, stepping sideways as the woman neared. His bound wings ached. So did his nerves. He had spent too much time alone to be well equipped for playing hero. Up until now, his only purposes in life had been simple: Mind his own business. Cause no harm. Never be discovered.
    He heard a shuffling sound. The door opened. An old man stood on the other side of the screen, wearing a ratty blue bathrobe that gaped at the front revealing a scarred pale torso and a pair of striped pajama bottoms that hung low over wide hips. His face sagged. His nose was red. He had no hair on his head, but plenty on his chest. White and bristly.
    Find Orwell Price, the note had said.
    “Who the hell are you?” growled the man.
    “Mr. Price?” Lannes inquired. “We were hoping to speak with you.”
    “I’m not buying, I’m not converting, and everyone under the age of thirty-five deserves to be shot,” the man snapped. “Get off my porch.”
    “Hey,” said the woman, stepping close to the screen door. “This is important.”
    “I’ve got jock itch more important than you, lady,” he replied, then looked at her. Lannes was certain Orwell had already seen the woman, but perhaps his eyesight was bad. He blinked, reaching up to rub his left eye…and went very still.
    The woman’s breath caught. “Do you know me?”
    “No,” Orwell whispered, sagging backward. “No. Who did…who did you say you were again?”
    “We didn’t,” Lannes said. “But we were told to find you.”
    Orwell was still looking at the woman, who shifted uncomfortably, leaning in toward Lannes. She said, “Please, we need to talk.”
    “Talk,” echoed the old man, his eyes narrowing. At first Lannes thought he meant for them to continue standing on the porch, but then, haltingly, he unlocked the screen door. He did not open it. He backed away, deeper into the shadows of the house. Lannes and the woman shared a quick look, but it was done, they were here. No turning back.
    Lannes entered first. Very reluctantly. It was dark inside. Piles of laundry, dirty or otherwise, were on the floor, along with stacks of magazines that had fallen over and some bags of rank-smelling garbage that needed to be taken out. A television buzzed in the background. Some news program. Talk of a major hotel fire in Chicago. Investigation ongoing.
    It was a small house with a lot of walls. Lannes’ chest tightened. It was hard to breathe. He swallowed hard, trying to focus on the woman, the old man and nothing else. No time for claustrophobia. No time.
    “Ignore the mess,” Orwell said gruffly. “I don’t get

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