If He's Wild by Hannah Howell Read Free Book Online

secrets. Then a sudden urgency rose amongst them, followed by your death. Your throat was cut,” she whispered and then took a deep breath to steady herself. “I could not, at first, understand why they would kill you when you had yet to tell them what they wanted, but I now believe that urgency I sensed meant that they feared discovery.”
    “That would make sense,” said Aldus.
    “None of this makes much sense,” snapped Hartley. “How could you have visions about me, Alethea? We have never met before tonight.”
    “True, but I do know you in a peculiar sort of way.”
    “Why does that not surprise me?”
    She ignored that remark and handed him her sketchbook, the one she kept on hand to record her visions of him. There were a few other drawings in there, for she had, on occasion, grabbed the wrong book while still caught in the grip of the confusion and agitation that often followed one of her visions. It was, however, all she could think of to show him, holding the slim hope that it would be enough to make him take her warning seriously.
    “I have been having visions of you for some time, since I was five years old.” She watched Hartley’s two friends move quickly to look at her sketches when Hartley cursed softly and grew pale. “’Tis why I gave you your own book. Well, mostly your own. A few times I grasped the wrong book whilst confused after a vision. I did not see you all the time, but at least once a year for the last fifteen years. Sometimes it was a vision, a strong one or just a fleeting glimpse. Occasionally I would have a dream. There were even times when I just, well, sensed things. I did not intentionally intrude upon your privacy, Hartley. Truly, I did not. It occurred to me that, perhaps, all these previous glimpses of you were leading to this very specific warning.” She waited for his reaction, so tense that she was surprised she did not hear a bone or two crack beneath the strain.
    Hartley stared at the drawings as he leafed through the book, reading the notations she had made on each page. She had a true skill: her sketches were clear, precise, and full of emotion. It was easy to see how her skill had improved over time. Her notes revealed that she had a keen, precise mind. He suspected that later he would be able to appreciate that. At the moment, however, his blood had grown cold.
    He could easily recall each incident depicted in her drawings. There he stood at the graves of his mother, his father, his brother, his sister, and his dearest friend. There was the duel he had fought over that faithless jade, Cynthia. Alethea had peeked into so many of the most important moments of his life, he did not know whether to feel violated or terrified. After he went through the whole collection, he returned to the one that had briefly cut through his numb shock and studied it. When he realized why the simple drawing of him staring into the fire had so firmly grasped his interest, he abruptly shut the book and looked at her.
    “Your eyes,” he whispered, feeling so unsettled that he briefly feared he might swoon like some maiden.
    “Pardon?” she asked, wishing that he did not look so ill. That did not bode well for her chances of getting him to listen to her.
    “The drawing in which I stand staring into the fireplace, a drink in my hand. I now understand why I felt as if I should know you when we were introduced, or I think I understand. I saw your eyes that night. I decided I had had too much to drink.” He handed her book back to her. “I wish I could use that excuse now. I consider myself a man of logic and science. This sort of thing is not logical. Ghosts are not logical.”
    “No? Do you not believe in the soul, the spirit, which leaves the body to go to heaven or hell when a person dies?”
    “Well, yes, but—”
    “So, if there is a soul or spirit, why can it not linger awhile when death comes unexpectedly, too soon or too violently? Why can it not be confused or in need of