Jennifer Scales and the Messenger of Light by MaryJanice Davidson Read Free Book Online Page A

“—but later, I’ll ask my parents if I can put it downstairs in the living room. It’s so classy!”
    Sporting a huge grin, Susan reached into her backpack again. “I’m glad you like it. And to make your evening perfect, I did bring my geometry text with me! So we can study the volume of a sphere to your heart’s content. Happy birthday, math geek!”
     
    The textbook’s explanations of the volume of a sphere certainly made more sense than her mother’s description of how a beaststalker’s battle cry worked.
    “The battle cry is on an impossible frequency,” Elizabeth explained at Crawford’s lakeside farm the following Friday, while Jonathan prepared dinner inside. “Like an enchanted radio that only magical beasts can hear. Others may hear a simple shout, and see a bright light, but it doesn’t hurt them like it would hurt a morphed werachnid or weredragon, or any other magical creature.”
    Jennifer adjusted her leather armor with an uncomfortable wince. “Hold on, I’m still stuck on that enchanted radio thing. What do you mean, impossible frequency? If we can do it, it’s possible, right?”
    “Yes, and no. Think of a number.”
    “Um, okay.”
    “Multiply it by itself.”
    “Right.”
    “Did you get negative one?”
    “Of course not. I’m at, like, forty-nine.”
    “Well, I got negative one, because I was using imaginary numbers. Imaginary numbers are technically impossible; but they still exist, even if it’s just in our heads. So beaststalkers have learned to use frequencies that radios and satellites can’t possibly find to affect the mystical world.”
    “So let me get this straight. If I get some answers wrong on a math test, can I go back to Mr. Slider and just say I was using imaginary numbers?”
    “Try to focus, honey.”
    “Sorry. So how do I make light or sound on these impossible frequencies?”
    “The key is using your blade—or blades, in your case. A beaststalker’s kiss makes the metal resonate, and essentially turns the weapon into a sort of microphone. You shout, and it splits your voice into two parts—deafening sound and blinding light. Both are painful to magical beasts. Observe.”
    “Wait!” Jennifer scooped Geddy, who had been blithely swinging from her hair, off of her neck and ran across the yard and up the porch steps. She popped open the cabin door, flung him inside (carefully, so he landed on the couch), and then scooted back down the stairs.
    “That wasn’t necessary.” Her mother sighed. “Remember in Otto’s dungeon, when I used the battle shout to chase Otto off? Geddy reacted like a typical animal then; he took the trauma just fine.”
    “You probably stung his tender, magical ears and eyes! He’s just too polite to complain.”
    “Can we get on with it?”
    “Please.”
    Elizabeth raised her sword to her lips, kissed the blade, and let out a long shout. Her daughter watched with amazement—she had never really gotten a good look at how it was done in the dungeon where her mother had interrupted Otto Saltin and rescued her with this very skill.
    The beaststalker’s breath was almost visible as it passed from lips to sword. There, it split on the edge and divided—a fierce cry that swept across the lake and forest nearby, and a piercing light that rivaled the setting sun. Jennifer squinted and wouldn’t have wanted to listen to the yelling all day long, but she found it bearable outside of dragon form.
    When the radiance and noise had both dimmed, her mother let her sword down and nodded. “Your turn.”
    After rubbing and breathing into her hands, Jennifer unsheathed her daggers and raised them in front of her face. She didn’t know which one to kiss, so she crossed them and kissed them both. Then she breathed in deeply and let out the loudest yell she could.
    Giving the battle shout was a new experience. The sound and light were surprisingly low from her point of view, but she could tell from her mother’s immediate grin that she