Marcii (The Dreadhunt Trilogy Book 1) by Ross Turner Read Free Book Online Page A

was a feel to it that Marcii had never found anywhere else, and when she visited she always felt more at home than she ever had done, even with her own family.
                  As usual, though Marcii never managed to work out how, Malorie was waiting in the low, wooden doorway when she arrived, with a look of both sympathy and intrigue painted across her face.
                  “Good afternoon Marcii…” Malorie greeted her gently. “Come inside child, you look troubled…”
                  Marcii smiled gratefully and, without even the need to reply, Malorie whisked her immediately into her welcoming little home.
                  The young Dougherty instantly felt better, for Malorie was a kindly lady.
    She was older than Marcii, though hard as she tried the young girl could never guess exactly how old.
    Certainly no older than forty, she imagined.
    But then, she had been wrong before.
                  Whilst she was not tall, and only very slight, there was most certainly something to Malorie that went beyond the physical. It was some kind of presence that Marcii could never quite place.
                  Her deeply lined, yet youthful face was intriguing. It was framed with neat, dead straight, jet black hair and her eyes were so vividly violet that they engulfed Marcii whenever she looked into them.
                  She too had lived in Newmarket, in this very house in fact, for as long as Marcii could remember, and probably even longer still.
                  Marcii had yet to speak, as Malorie poured her a cup of tea from a mottled old mug. Her kitchen was tiny, with barely enough space within it for the wooden table and chair upon which Marcii sat.
                  Still though, for some unknown reason, it felt like home.
                  Three large black cats paced casually about the kitchen around where Marcii rested. They rubbed themselves on the table legs and up Malorie’s ankles and occasionally mewed and jumped on and off the table top, quite often finding themselves beneath Malorie’s affectionate hands.
                  “I heard about Midnight…” Malorie finally spoke again, seating herself opposite Marcii and folding her tiny arms across the table top. Her voice was light and carefree, regardless of the fact that she was referring to a dreadful massacre.
                  Marcii nodded in agreement, sipping her tea, but Malorie didn’t fill the silence, and eventually, only able to resist filling the quiet air for so long, Marcii finally spoke.
                  “Is that all you heard?” She asked, and rather pointedly at that.
                  Malorie smiled mysteriously.
                  “I heard you found him…” Her voice had suddenly a much more serious tone to it. “I heard you knew exactly where to look. I heard people think you’re involved…”
                  “I am not!” Marcii denied immediately, half rising to her feet in the face of adamant truth.
                  “I know.” Malorie replied calmly, not seeming in the least bit surprised.
                  Marcii’s cheeks flushed at her outburst and she took her seat again, dropping her gaze.
                  “I’m sorry…” She apologised, embarrassed.
                  “Don’t be, child…” Malorie replied immediately, and very kindly. “Rumours very rarely spread the truth…”
                  “Why do you always believe me?” Marcii asked her then.
                  It was not that she was ungrateful, and Malorie knew it. It was simply that this kindly lady, so unseemly and inoffensive, always believed Marcii without ever a scrap of evidence.
                  “Let’s just call it intuition…” Malorie replied. “I know you’re telling the