Dead Magic by A.J. Maguire Read Free Book Online

people wanted to catch the 4 a.m. nonstop from Drewhaven, Clenci, to Three Points, Broska. Winslow imagined that that had everything to do with the outrageous hour and nothing to do with the destination. Three Points was a hub of commerce, sitting on the borders between House lands Broska, Clenci and Tormey.
    "Mirabella?" The woman's voice was raspy but clear, carrying easily through the make-shift building.
    Winslow watched Mirabella dart into the structure and prayed the girl wouldn't hurl herself at her mother. Slowly, giving the two a moment for their reunion, he started for the domed shell. It wasn't perfect, but it was sturdy. If snow fell at night, they'd be covered. He'd bent the metal into long curves, allowing a hole in the center at the very top so that they could have a fire inside. Mirabella had torn up the padding from some of the seats for bedding.
    "Mr. Winslow used his magic to get us out of the train," he heard Mirabella rushing through an explanation. "Then he healed you, but he said you were hurt so bad that you needed to rest. So we built this house until you woke up."
    "Mr. Winslow?"
    Taking his cue, he ducked into the iron dome. "Ahem," he blinked as his eyes adjusted to the light. "Winslow Agoston, Madam."
    The mother was still lying down, but her eyes were open and she was holding Mirabella's hand.
    "Lord Winslow Agoston, of Agoston House?" She kept her hazel gaze on him, something akin to fear passing her features.
    He couldn't blame the woman. It was unlikely that she had any personal dealings with Witch-Born. "The one and same, Madam."
    Mirabella settled down beside her mother. "He's not at all like a Witch-Born, mother. Not like Daddy says they should be. Mr. Winslow is very brave and very caring. He healed my hand while he was still sleeping!"
    Embarrassed, Winslow rubbed the tip of his nose and cleared his throat. "We were just debating the matter of food, Madam. If you're feeling up to it, I wondered if you could keep Miss Mirabella company while I go out for a little hunt."
    "How long have I slept?"
    "Almost a full day, mother."
    Winslow saw the distress in the mother's face as she processed this information. Because he couldn't think of a way to comfort her, he looked out through the folded doorway and took a deep breath. Ferns overran the landscape outside their make-shift lodging. If he had his bearings right, they were at least on the right side of the Dorshin mountain pass. They could follow the tracks all the way to Three Points. He could run there and back with help faster than they could walk it together, but his Talent recoiled at the idea of leaving the two of them alone.
    He hadn't ventured far enough down the line to see what had caused the crash, but he had a sinking suspicion it wasn't natural. There was the occasional accident when one of the great, iron trains would jump its tracks, but this had felt different. Winslow had the unsettled sense of malice ebbing off the forests around them, the feeling of many unfriendly eyes watching him.
    "I am indebted to you, sir," the mother said. "How can I ever repay you for what you've done?"
    Winslow felt his cheeks burn with further embarrassment and sheepishly rubbed one shoulder. "We're not quite safe yet, Madam. We've a long walk to Three Points. It should take us a day and a half on foot."
    "But why don't you just fly there and come back?" Mirabella asked.
    Chuckling, Winslow looked to the girl and winked. "I'm a male Witch-Born, Mirabella. I'm afraid I can't fly."
    "That doesn't seem fair." Mirabella's face scrunched up with displeasure.
    "Yes, well, Magic had his reasons for favoring the females of our race." Winslow flinched involuntarily at his own words. His memory flashed to Delgora Manor at the mention of Magic, the man-god, to that moment he'd been forced to catch Bartholomew before his friend could hit the ground. There was a smear of movement in his memory, the sounds of combat drifting back to him with horrifying