Discord’s Apple by Carrie Vaughn Read Free Book Online Page A

little, she used to think there was a rule book, some kind of golden understanding that enlightened you when you became an adult. “When I grow up” was a place, a real state of being, where one shed childhood like a worn-out carapace. Then she learned that if kids were cruel, so were adults. Not much really changed except the size and expense of the toys. There was no book, no magic moment of enlightenment, and she took a grim satisfaction in realizing that everyone spent most of their time being just as confused as she was.
    But this was different. She could feel a key sitting in her hand, even though she couldn’t quite grasp it. She could sense the door about to open. The door to the Storeroom, and what it meant. And unlike that great false Grail of adulthood, understanding really would come. When her father passed away.
    She was an heir waiting for the seal on the will to be broken. And she didn’t want anything to do with it.
    Her father went out again the next day. Evie thought he looked paler. Had he taken an extra painkiller at breakfast? She didn’t say anything. She didn’t want to argue anymore about him going out. He could take care of himself.
    She worked on the script. The team splits up. Talon can’t get the image of his long-lost friend out of his mind. The others have never seen him like this—agitated, obsessed. It makes them nervous. The Captain has always been their anchor.Sarge offers to go with him while the others continue on the original mission to rescue the captured spy.
    Tracker feels like she’s betrayed Talon by insisting on going on without him. She feels disloyal and wonders if he’ll ever forgive her. The hint of her feelings for him have been there for the last two dozen issues. Will it come out in the open soon? The tension is fierce.
    So Talon and Sarge are sneaking into the stronghold of the Mongolian terrorists. The other three race deeper into Siberia—
    A knock rattled the kitchen door.
    Evie’s heart started speeding—a Pavlovian response of anxiety.
Not again,
she thought.
Not this again, please.
She didn’t want to stand and move to the door. Her hands were sweating and her limbs felt stiff.
    The knock came again. It could have been just a neighbor. The postman.
Please let it just be the postman.
She went to answer.
    Mab trotted to the kitchen with her. She looked at the door, her head low, brown eyes glaring. A growl rumbled deep in her throat.
    This wasn’t like yesterday.
    Evie scratched the dog’s back, and Mab wagged her tail once, but never stopped staring at the door. Evie wondered who was waiting on the porch. She opened the door a crack, in case Mab decided to launch an attack.
    She was glad she was showered and dressed today. The woman standing on the porch was extraordinarily poised. Evie felt small and scruffy next to her, but at least she didn’t feel half-dressed.
    The visitor was tall, elegantly slender, like a 1940s starlet. She wore an expensive-looking, calf-length dark coat belted at her waist, and high heels. Her black hair was pulled to the back of her head and held in place with invisible clips, as if bymagic. Her dark eyes were exotic, while her expression was indifferent.
    “Can I help you?” Evie asked cautiously.
    The woman smiled, barely shifting her features. “I wondered if you might have something for me.”
    Not again,
she thought.
I don’t want this—
    Evie didn’t feel that tingling electric thrill that the old woman brought with her yesterday. Far from it: she felt sick to her stomach. She didn’t understand enough to know what the feeling meant.
    Mab growled, the rumble leaving her throat and echoing between her bared teeth.
    She shook her head. “No. There’s nothing here for you. I’m sorry.”
    The woman’s manner shifted. The smile became that of a predator. The gaze became piercing. “Are you certain about that?”
    “Yes. I’m sure.” Mab inched toward the door. Evie put her hand on the dog’s ruff. Mab didn’t