Free King Of Souls (Book 2) by Matthew Ballard

whirling ready to fend off attackers while Rika shrieked.
    The woman and her children hadn’t moved, but an empty chair lay tipped on its side.
    “Did you knock the chair over? Please tell me you did,” Rika said.
    “I must’ve, but that chair is five feet away.”
    Rika gasped and pointed toward the empty tabletop. “Ronan, look.”
    Ronan’s face flushed, and a sharp chill prickled the nape of his neck.
    The dragon figurine had vanished from the tabletop and reappeared clutched in the dead woman’s hand.
    He squeezed Rika’s hand and pulled her toward the door. “Okay, maybe you’re right.” Ronan rushed through the open doorway, leaving the haunted inn behind.
    Through the harbor master’s office window, a woman’s pale face flashed then receded into the shadows.
    Ronan’s heart pounded. He held still watching the icy windowpane and waiting for the figure to reappear. “Did you see a face in that window?”
    “Forget that Ronan, let’s leave.”
    “Wait Rika, this is the last place we’ll check. I promise. Let me take a quick look. You can even wait outside if you want.”
    Rika squeezed Ronan’s hand and pressed against him. “You’re not leaving me out here alone. I’m going with you.”
    Ronan slipped free the sheba blade strapped to his shoulder and extended it in a single hand. He crossed the village square until he stood outside the harbor master’s office. Heart hammering, he peered through the ice-covered office window and held his breath.
    Through the window pane, the woman’s face reappeared and stared deep into Ronan’s eyes.
    Ronan jumped backward and forced a rush of power through his blade.
    Fear marked the woman’s porcelain white face, and she receded into the shadows.
    Swirls of red and green appeared in Rika’s eyes as she prepared to change form.
    “Wait Rika. Not yet,” Ronan said. “Let me try to talk to her.” Ronan reached for the office door handle and twisted its dented brass knob.
    On its own, the door pressed outward creaking on rusty hinges, and Ronan leaped backward flashing his sheba blade in a tight arc.
    A young woman with pale skin and straight auburn hair appeared in the open doorway.
    Behind her, a thin, gaunt man, sat motionless in a near catatonic state. The man matched Davin Keel’s description of Fitzgerald Montgomery. His lips moved, and he spoke a rambling jumble of disjointed gibberish.
    The woman’s dark brown eyes betrayed fear and confusion. Her gaze flickered to Ronan’s blade before settling on his face. She wore a long white silk dressed that appeared an oddity among those living in a simple seaside village. She inched forward as if to move past Ronan.
    Ronan flashed his blade outward and extended its point toward the woman’s chest. “Stop there.”
    “Are you going to kill me?” The woman said.
    “I need to speak with Sergeant Harrison Reed.” Ronan said. He tipped his head toward the open door and Montgomery beyond. “Who is that man?”
    “Who are you?” The woman said her voice a bare whisper.
    “He’s Ronan Latimer, the king of bloody Meranthia,” Rika said as she stepped toward the woman. “Who are you?” Her eyes flashed with anger.
    She stared beyond Ronan’s shoulder, her gaze locked on the statue of Elan standing outside the chapel. “My name’s Tara,” she said without taking her eyes from the statue.
    “What happened to the people in this town Miss…Tara?” Ronan said.
    Tara raised an eyebrow. “Happened?”
    “Where are they?”
    “They’re here,” she said, her voice a monotone. “You saw Reginald at the cemetery. He told you himself.”
    How did she know the specifics of Ronan’s conversation at the cemetery? “A young man came to Freehold three days ago reporting a pair of murders,” Ronan said glaring. “You’ve a man digging frozen ground at the cemetery and three dead people propped up at the inn enjoying some macabre tea party.”
    “Do you mean those people?” Tara pointed over