Free Minutes to Midnight by Phaedra Weldon Page B

I wasn't dead.
    Not yet.
    "Hey…you back?" Mike's voice was gentle and
worried. As usual.
    "Yeah…" I looked up at the Revenant, whose
eyes had returned to their human brown color. Her skin was radiant
in the light of the hall. "Not a Djin, huh?"
    "On the nose," she said, and her voice was
singular now. "I am sorry, Guardian. I didn't know who you were.
I've been told about you but never given an image."
    "Ah. Interesting." I started to get up, hit
a wall of dizzy, and collapsed back down. "Oh gawd…what did you
take? A gallon?"
    "I'm afraid I took more than I should. Did
you know your blood tastes of wood and iron?"
    "Huh?"
    "Wood and iron?" Mike said.
    She pursed her lips in
thought. "Yes. I would assume the wood comes from the Grimoire's pages. But the
iron…it's not a mundane taste. It's what convinced me you were
'Pheral. It's as if you have a part of the Peripheral inside of
you, along with the Abysmal and Ethereal."
    I blinked up at her. "Wow…that's way too
much happening inside of me."
    She nodded. "I believe all of this is what's
made you anemic."
    "Anemic?"
    Mike snorted. "That explains a few things. I
thought his always wanting a nap was just being lazy."
    "I suggest you have a nutritionist fix your
diet or you'll burn out too fast. Guardians like you aren't born
every day." Raven brushed hair from my face.
    "I wasn't born. I was made." I took several
deep breaths and tried to sit up again. This time I succeeded, but
grabbed for Mike. He pulled me forward until I was sitting on my
own. "Mom, do I have to do katas today? I'm so fucking sleepy."
    "Yeah…I think getting sucked on by a vampire
is pretty much the greatest excuse ever."
    "Revenant," she said. "I'm not as into the
vampire pop culture scene as most. Though I do enjoy my teeth. But
then, three hundred years of using them sets a pattern." She turned
and settled down on one side of my legs as I pushed back to lean
against the wall. "My name is Raven. I was one of God Mother's
children before my Demon saved my life."
    God Mother's children were those born with
the blood of Mother Nature in them. Through the centuries they were
called witches, but their first duty above all was to protect the
Material World against all other Worlds. They are, for all intents
and purposes, the real Guardians. And how did I know this? Because
Mike and I knew one. Samantha Hawthorne. A few months ago Sam saved
my bacon more times than I could count in a single day.
    "Demon?" I narrowed my eyes at her.
    "You refer to them as First Borns. But when
I invited mine in to extend my life, they were known simply as
demons."
    You'll have to excuse
Diane , came a strong female voice in my
mind. It had the echo and tonality of a First Born. She's a bit old world. And please forgive her
attempt to kill you. She's suspicious by nature and you do have the
Peripheral stink about you.
    Ah, so the host's real name
was Diane. I could hear First Borns if they wanted me to. I'd been
able to hear Mephistopheles, the First Born inside of Jason, as
well as Morgan, the one within Manuel. First Borns were apparently
both a part of their host and separate. So hearing this one wasn't
a surprise. Though I had noticed Samantha's aversion to them and
was a bit glad we hadn't encountered any while she was here. And who do I have the pleasure of
addressing?
    I am Nyx.
    And the name Raven?
    It is the name she and I chose together. But
tell us, out loud, Guardian, why you have the taint of the
Peripheral if you are not part of it?
    "Because I was in the Peripheral."
    "She's talking to you, isn't she?" Mike
said, ignoring my explanation to Nyx and Diane.
    I looked at Mike. "Yeah…you can't hear
her?"
    "No, but you're making faces."
    Raven put a hand on my arm. "You were inside
the Peripheral?"
    I nodded. "I've been there more than
once—only the first time we didn't know that was where we were. We
just thought it was Alfheim."
    Her eyes widened. "You've already entangled
yourself with the Faeries? Guardian,