Free The Magician: An Epic Dark Fantasy Novel: Book One of the Rogue Portal Series by Courtney Herz

Because in that moment you're either close to a predator, or you are one.
                  It might not have been the forest, but in a moment the hairs on the back of Connor's neck stood up in acute and distinct awareness that all noise had ceased, save for a cough here and a rustle of paper there. The blue glow of the pocket watch around his neck returned.
                  "You don't really think that stubbornly avoiding sleep is going to do you the least bit of good, do you?"
                  The monotone nature of the voice (what was the accent? Scottish perhaps?) came from behind him. Without turning around he replied.
                  "I'm looking for answers."
                  Connor turned and faced the Magician, raising an eyebrow at his attire. Instead of the crimson and gold garb, he'd donned the black suit he'd been wearing on the first day of chemistry class. In his hand he held the umbrella, which he used much like the golden staff he carried in the other realm.
                  "I'm assuming you think you'll find answers in the local library, then?"
                  His tone, borderline accusatory, told Connor he should have known better.
                  "Have you got a better idea?"
                  "Oh, my dear, I have loads of ideas that are far better than searching the metaphysical section of your college library. You don't really think they stock books that will actually teach you anything here, do you?" He sneered derisively at the wall of books before him, scanning it, up and down.
                  "You seem to think you know a lot and they've stocked you in their staff, so why don't you tell me."
                  Professor Rumsfeld laughed, almost to himself.
                  "I knew I liked you."
                  "Yes, well I'm not sure I can say the same for you."
                  "I expected as much." He took a black-gloved hand and began sifting through the books in front of him with a sneer.
                  "Frankly, I'm not even sure who you are. Or what the hell you want."
                  "No, you don't. That much I'll give you. But I have something you need. And you," he said, turning toward Connor and picking up the pocket watch around his neck with a mesmerized look, "have something that I very much need, as well."
                  Unsettled both by the sudden interest the man had taken in his father's pocket watch and by the strength of the blue glow emanating from it he snatched it away from Rumsfeld and tucked it into his shirt. It burned hot against his chest, but he made sure not to show it. Professor Rumsfeld looked as though he'd just snapped out of a long sleep.
                  "What could I possibly need from you?"
                  "Answers, Dearie."
                  Once again animated in the subdued, subtle manner so accustomed to his nature, the man smiled and opened his arms in a welcoming gesture, greeting his audience of one from a nonexistent stage.
                  "Actually, you're the reason for most of my questions!" Connor snapped.
                  "Ah, but that's not exactly true. Is it?"
                  "Why shouldn't it be?"
                  "Because you had questions long before you came here. You had questions before you ever knew I existed. You had a burning in your mind that kept you up at night."
                  He motioned to the place on Connor's chest where the pocket watch rested, still warm but not as hot as it had been, against his chest.
                  "You had questions that led you into your attic. Questions that led you to pick up that trinket and bring it here."
                  He softened his voice further, meeting Connor's eyes with