Witch Hunter. Shannon Curtis

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ sauntered across the street, and the teens took off as soon as they noticed him. He might not be able to cast a spell on them, but at least he could still look fierce.

      Good. Because he had a witch to hunt.

      Sully ignored the sparks as she ground the steel against the wheel. She turned the arrowhead slowly, shifting now and then to avoid smoothing the sharp angles she’d hammered into the steel. She pulled back, lifting the arrowhead to the light. Just a little more off there...

      She held it back to the wheel and evened out the side, sliding the steel across the spinning wheel. When she was satisfied, she took her foot off the pedal and switched off the grinder.

      She crossed over to the forge she’d made out of a soup can, sand and plaster. She’d turned the torch on a little while ago, so it was now ready for her. Using pliers, she carefully placed the arrowhead inside the forge, and then waited for it to glow. She stepped back and lifted her mask to take a sip of water from the glass on the shed sill. It was hot in the shed, and she was sweating profusely.

      It didn’t take too long before the arrowhead was glowing. She reached in with the pliers, and carefully dunked it into her bucket of oil, pausing for a long moment before withdrawing it.

      Sully smiled. The arrowhead was in the square-headed bodkin style. Sure, the broadhead arrows were sharper and caused more damage, but every now and then it was a nice change to go for a classic shape. Besides, it had worked for the Vikings, so it wasn’t completely useless. And it was exactly what Trey Mackie wanted—he wanted to try hunting just like his computer game avatar did. When the set of arrows were completed, she’d have to have a word with him about aiming at folks. She didn’t make weapons for “fun”. Weapons weren’t toys. She’d bespell them, but she also wanted to make sure the youth used them responsibly.

      She placed the arrowhead on the bench next to the other four she’d made that day. Damn, she must reek. She’d go for a quick dip before heading out to see Mary Anne. She shut down the torch on the forge and cleaned up, then quickly strode across her back garden to her cottage. Within minutes she’d donned a bikini, then threw on a peasant-style top and her long, flowing skirt. She didn’t bother to fasten the belt that already twined through the loops on her skirt. The loose clothes were her stock standard wardrobe, especially for summer. She grabbed a ratty old towel, slipped her feet into her flip-flops and trotted to the end of her street. A path led from there to the stairs at the top of the cliff, and then down to the beach below. She paused at the grassy verge at the top of the stairs and took a moment to tilt her head back and let the sun shine down on her. This was one of her favorite spots, offering a one-hundred-and-eighty-degree view of the ocean. She could feel the kiss of a breeze against her skin, the heat of the sun as it beat down on her. The smell of salt and grass and the summer blossoms in her garden... The waves crashing on the beach below. This was one of her recharge places, where she could give herself up to elements of nature and restore her own energy. She gazed out at the vista. Dark clouds were gathering on the horizon. Whether a storm was coming, or about to pass, she couldn’t tell. She sighed and then headed for the stairs.

      Driftwood Beach was pretty much deserted. She saw a man walking his dog down the other end, but it looked like he was at the end of his walk, rather than the start. She was the only other person to walk across the sands. Most folks preferred the more sheltered Crescent Beach for a swim, just on the other side of the headland. Occasionally surfers would venture this far north out of town, but the surf at Caves’ Beach was much better. She hadn’t necessarily been looking for a private beach when she settled here at Crescent Head, it had just worked out that way. And she loved it. The less people she had to deal with, the better.

      The surf was crisp and cool, exactly what she needed. The water embraced her, shielded her. She couldn’t feel when she was fully immersed in the water. It was just her and the deep void, the occasional sea creature and strands of seaweed that always startled her into thinking it was a shark. For some reason, though, she was never bothered by the predators of the sea. No matter how far she swam out, it was like the sea provided a shelter for her. Buoyant, enveloping...peaceful. She let herself go, relaxed her mental shields and surrendered to utter unguarded enjoyment. This was as good as being surrounded by nulls, and the void their presence created.

      After diving beneath a couple of waves she strode out of the water, lifting her knees so she could walk faster. Within minutes she’d patted herself dry, pulled her clothes on over the top of her swimsuit and fastened her belt. She stood on the beach, looking out over the water. By now it was late afternoon. She’d like to stay a little longer, maybe watch the sunset, but she’d promised teas for Lucy and Mrs. Peterson, and Harold something for his gout. She decided she’d take a double-prong attack with Harold. Something to rub on his toe for instant comfort and a tea to start working from the inside.

      She remained where she was and closed her eyes. She mentally pictured her shutters rolling down to shield her mind. As she was going to be visiting grief-stricken women, she added a couple of extra layers to ensure she was protected from the waves of heartbreak she’d encounter. Once Sully was sure she could stand calmly in a room with them both and not crumble to the floor, curl into the fetal position and sob at the overwhelming pain, she opened her eyes.

      A movement in the corner of her vision made her turn her head. A guy was walking along the beach. No, walking was too gentle a word. He was striding purposefully, his gait even and rhythmic. His broad shoulders moved with each step he took, like the slinky stalk of a predatory big cat. Graceful. That’s what it was. Little puffs of sand rose at each step, catching in the breeze to dance a little before falling back to the beach. The man moved with a physical grace that suggested he was used to moving, with an added strength that made him look dangerous.

      And way sexy. Sully took a moment to enjoy the view. He was built. Like, stripper-at-a-bachelorette-party built, with broad shoulders and lean hips, and thighs that looked... Her lips curled inward. Strong. Despite the heat, the man wore leather pants, boots and a black leather jacket over what she hoped was a T-shirt, for his sake. His hair was cropped short, and the sunglasses hid his eyes. She briefly wondered if he looked just as good out of them as in them. She’d once dated a guy, Marty, who looked hot in his shades, but when he’d removed them he’d revealed his sunken eyes, the dark shadows beneath and the enlarged pupils of a drug addict—which was never a good combination when mixed with his witch talents—such as they were.

      Sully shook her head as she turned her back on the leather-clad man. Cute, but she wasn’t interested. She sure knew how to pick ‘em, as her grandmother would say. Marty was the reason she’d moved clear across the country and settled herself in a Null-saturated area. Never trust a guy who hides his eyes.

      She scooped up her flip-flops and started to trudge along the waterline in the opposite direction, toward the timber stairs that hugged the cliff and led to the cliff-top walk.

      She normally cut her herbs at either sunrise or sunset, when they were most potent. She’d have to hurry so she could collect all the ingredients for the teas she planned to make for her patients. Clients. Whatever you wanted to call them.

      A soft breeze, warm and whispery, teased at the hem of her skirt. She grasped some of the fabric in her hand, lifting the skirt as she waded through the shallows, her lips curving at the rhythmic, refreshing chill of the waves washing over her feet.

      “Sullivan Timmerman!”

      Sully frowned at the sound of her name and glanced over her shoulder. The man in black was closer to her, his expression—well, it didn’t look flirty or friendly. No, he looked determined.

      “What?”

      “Are you Sullivan Timmerman?” the man asked again, and Sully nodded, although the СКАЧАТЬ