Margaret Ronald - Wild Hunt

Wild Hunt

Wild Hunt

Book Jacket

Series: Evie Scelan [2]

Tags:

Margaret Ronald

Margaret Ronald

Wild Hunt

This book is for al the teachers who,

in between al their other lessons,

taught me never

to give up on myself.

There arent enough words

in the world to thank you.

Contents

Contents

One

Yuen died twenty minutes after I arrived, and I was

Two

An ambulance drove by as I left Chinatownno sirens, no

Three

I havent bothered dressing up to go out ever since

Four

The next morning Tania demanded to know why Id missed

Five

I had just enough time to get to Sarahs community

Six

A draining, heavy heat lay over Boston the next day,

Seven

I got maybe ten paces out of the Three Cranes

Eight

The phone number Abigail had left connected to a Newton

Nine

I stumbled to a stop, and the world slammed back

Ten

I woke the next morning to sunlight flooding in from

Eleven

After that, the morning just didnt fit together. A quick

Twelve

Someone had given me a blanket, possibly out of the

Thirteen

I pul ed myself in, expecting a passenger seat or something

Fourteen

It took took me far too long to get over

Fifteen

I didnt want to leave him. At least let me

Sixteen

The Gardner Museum was built to resemble a Venetian palazzo.

Seventeen

I switched on my phone as I walked away from

Eighteen

Nate had kept to the back al eys, but hed been

Nineteen

Moss is not nearly as nice a pil ow as fairy

Twenty

Every other time Id been in a police station, itd

Twenty-One

I cal ed Nate from the D branch of the Green

Twenty-Two

The first sense to come back wasnt scent, or even

Twenty-Three

There is no world outside the hunt. You can leap

Twenty-Four

It was early September before I final y got to try

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Other Books by Margaret Ronald

Credits

Copyright

About the Publisher

One

One

Y uen died twenty minutes after I arrived, and I was there to make sure of it. His daughter hadnt said anything about dying when she cal ed with his request, and I was too startled by the cal itself to question it. There werent many constants in Bostons undercurrent, but one of them was this: people cal ed Yuen, not the other way around.

What hed asked for, translated of course, was this: Come here, come alone, and do not tellanyone where you are going. Nothing more, not even a mention of our usual arrangement, and certainly no explanation.

Not many people can ask that kind of blank-check favor from me, and of those who can, even fewer have anything to do with the undercurrent. I may not have been in the business long, compared to those adepts whove spent their entire lives soaking in the kind of magic that doesnt just steal your soul but also goes out and gnaws on other peoples. But you dont need to know your own ass from a summoning circle to know that not everyone with a talent for magic has your best interests at heart. Unfortunately for me, Yuen was one of those few who could ask a favor: I owed him, and I trusted him, to whatever extent the practicalities of the undercurrent let people trust each other. I ditched the last of my courier runsmy day job, for when I needed regular money that didnt depend on clients who conveniently went out of town or cranks who only paid their bil s in the dark of the moon. The last few weeks had been hel on my schedule no matter which job I chose, and I wasnt about to let Tania or the rest of Mercury Courier forget it. I coasted into Chinatown half an hour after Yuen cal ed, weaving my bike through the afternoon congestion with ease. Yuen ran the Three Cranes Grocery and Medicinal and, more significantly in financial terms, owned the three apartments above it. He lived on the first-floor apartment, just above the basement grocery itself. When I needed to talk to him, though, we met in his shop, either up front or in the back room that was crammed from floor to ceiling with spices and strange dried things, half of which I was sure were for show. (The other half, wel , I tried not to turn my back on them.) Yuen knew not to let magic too deep into his normal life.

But this time, when I pul ed up (veering around a pack of pedestrians and a shopping cart that had been left in the middle of the street), Yuens daughter was standing on the stairs that led down over the basement entrance to the Three Cranes. She waited with clasped hands as I shucked my helmet and locked my bike to the closest fence. I slung my courier bag over one arm. Iseris Mr. Yuen in?

Yuens daughter nodded. Shed tied back her hair with a broad white ribbon, matching the bril iant white jacket and trousers that seemed somehow out of place on the grubby steps of the Three Cranes. The back of my own head prickled; Id chopped off most of my hair recently, and sometimes stil felt the phantom weight of it, though mine had never been as straight or sleek as hers. My father is in, Miss Scelan, she said, her tone as careful y neutral as always. Come in, please. To my surprise, instead of opening up the grocery she ascended the stairs and stood by the front door. I cast a glance over my shoulder as I fol owed her, unable to shake the feeling that I was entering by the wrong door. She led me into a bright and glowing atrium much more in line with the high-rises several blocks away than with the rest of the neighborhood. My cleats clacked against the polished tile, and I tugged at my sweat-wrinkled courier gear. Yuen hadnt said anything about looking presentable, but I didnt usual y have class insecurity when dealing with my undercurrent clients. And it wasnt just money here, it was taste. Some people had it; I most definitely did not. Besides, I had enough trouble with the rooms scent. Instead of the casual sterility that its appearance would indicate, the air smel ed of ozone and curry, thick with a cool, clammy dampness, behind which lurked a persistent scent of ammonia filtered through jasmine. Not a physical smel , but an undercurrent one, the kind that my brain translated as scent. Which was why Yuen cal ed me what he did.

I shook my head, trying to rid myself of the heaviness of the scent. It wasnt that I didnt appreciate the warningId be an idiot not to appreciate anything my nose told me, given that that sense had saved my life more than oncebut it was disconcerting, like having someone always whispering into your ear.

Yuens daughter led me down a hal , past a kitchen that gleamed with unused stainless steel. Through a doorway I caught a glimpse of a smal , gray-haired woman dressed al in white, kneeling before a tiny altar. A faint incense scent hung over the room; sticks of it had been piled up on either side of her, as had little paper figures and stacks of something that looked like money but had a fiery scent al its own, one strong enough for me to catch it even from this distance

I jerked my attention away, exhaling sharply. Yuens daughter turned to look at me, and even though her expression didnt change, my face went hot with embarrassment. When she looked away from me again, I rubbed at my eyes and risked a glance at her. It wasnt her lack of response that bothered me; Yuens daughter rarely showed emotion when I was around. But Id always put that down to her role in her fathers business. This was something else.

Shed brought me this way for a reason, I thought. Only I couldnt yet guess what that was. We final y reached a set of steps down to the back entrance I recognized. To our left was the storeroom for the Three Cranes, to the right, the back al ey through which most of Yuens undercurrent contacts entered the shop. I prided myself, or I had, on how Id never needed to use that entrance. Yuen had always met me at the front, even if we did end up in the back room to talk. A man spoke up ahead, and another voice answered, too soft to understand. Yuens daughter paused, and I stumbled over my own feet to keep from running into her. Hes got a visitor.