Songs_of_the_Satyrs by Aaron J. French Read Free Book Online Page A

chat and landed next to Ryan, her thigh sending the chair into a spin. He pulled himself back to the desk as Sophie leaned over to peer at the business card lying on the laptop keyboard.
    “Yep. That’s Mom’s old combo.”
    Ryan cursed again, slamming his fist down on the desk. The laptop jumped. He needed to get his broker moving on the Vale Corp stock. Craig would bail soon, and Fast Cat Electronics would be history. How could these people not have a phone? He’d have to drive into Greenfield later, but first he needed to crack the safe.
    He started as a warm brown hand covered his. Sparkling hazel eyes met his own when he looked up.
    “Temper, temper, Mr. Stockbridge. You got some Montfort in you, after all.”
    They both jumped at the knock on the open door.
    “Am I interrupting?”
    Tom adjusted his baseball cap, stepping aside as Sophie stormed out of the office. Ryan shook his head, slid the office chair back. Tom lifted the bamboo fly rod he was holding and tapped Ryan’s shoulder.
    “Brookies bite in the mornin’.”
     
    ***
     
    “The trail ends at the falls. No need to go farther than that. You get into the wood on the other side of the brook—things get weird.”
    Tom’s words echoed in Ryan’s head as he stared into the dark pool of swirling water. The falls rumbled deafeningly, trembling the ground underfoot.
    His oxfords skidded on a wet rock, and he wrapped his desperate fingers around an overhanging branch. He hung there a moment, above the churning water, then caught hold of a flatter, drier rock.
    I’m not exactly dressed for this. If I fall in, no one will ever hear me.
    He wiped the mist off his face, pulling at his damp dress shirt. He’d left his tie and jacket at the farmhouse and had rolled his white sleeves up past the elbows. The midsummer sun blazed overhead, racing toward the zenith, but the shade in the wood on the opposite bank only seemed to grow darker.
    Ryan unhooked the Royal Coachman from the cork handle. The reel spun and clicked as he stripped some line and snapped the rod back. The rod loaded nicely, and the coiled line at his feet shot through the guides on the forward cast. He shook the tip, paying out some slack, and let the fly drift.
    The thunder of the falls cocooned him in silence, but he caught the changing shadows in the trees, nonetheless. His eyes shot away from the white wings of the Coachman. He peered into the darkness under the leafy branches, his hand tightening on the rod’s cork grip.
    There it was again.
    A familiar unease crept into Ryan; its chill seeped into his limbs. There, on the far bank, was the thing from his dream. The horned shadow tilted its head, then turned and disappeared among the thick, gnarled trunks.
    A cold compulsion shook Ryan out of his stupor.
    I need to get the hell out of here.
    He tossed the fly rod onto the bank and scrambled away from the seething pool. He looked up the trail, winding its way back to Montfort Farm, but his feet turned to lead.
    No, not that way.
    He spotted a thick plank thrown across the brook, its far end buried in the mossy bank.
    That way.
    He planted an oxford on the gray, weathered board and hesitated.
    Into the wood?
    Ryan shot a look over his shoulder.
    I need to go. Now.
    He bounded across the board and sprang onto the far bank, scraping against the rough trunks as his hurried steps became frantic strides. His footsteps fell silent on the soft carpet of moss and dead leaves, and the roar of the waterfall dwindled into the distance. The unyielding paper bark of an ancient white birch brought his flight to an abrupt halt.
    He rubbed the swelling knot on his forehead and spun around.
    I’m lost.
    “You can see him.”
    Ryan tensed at the cold splash of adrenalin and backed into the trees. He looked up at the limb of a giant oak and followed the bare foot to the dangling brown leg and up to the stained cotton shift. A pair of hazel eyes burned among the leaves. Sophie sat on the branch and stretched,