Blood Moon (Book Three - The Ravenscliff Series) Read Free

Arriving in a raging thunderstorm, Devon had quickly grasped how the town had gotten its name.
    Since then, Devon had lived in the mysterious dark house atop the cliff, and bit by bit, he had uncovered clues about who—and what —he was. For Devon had never been an ordinary boy. Since he was a toddler, he’d had supernatural powers: being able to levitate his dog, for example, or turn all the desks around in his classroom with just the merest thought. Dad had never explained why he had such powers, only that they were to be used for good. Neither did he explain the presence of the demons —those filthy, hideous beasts that lived in Devon’s closet and periodically attempted to drag him down into the putrid chasm Dad called their Hell Hole. “You are stronger than they are,” Dad had always told him. “Remember that, Devon. You are stronger .”
    Yeah, I’m stronger, all right , Devon thought now. I’ve proven that. I’ve been down a Hell Hole and emerged again to speak of it. Few people, even Nightwing, could make that claim.
    Learning that he was a Sorcerer of the Nightwing had been the biggest revelation in Devon’s fifteen years of life. He’d discovered that his father had been no simple auto mechanic, that he was, instead, a centuries-old Guardian who had raised and taught generations of Nightwing. Why, then, had he never told Devon the truth of his heritage?
    The teenager had been forced to learn that on his own, with the help of Rolfe Montaigne—the sworn enemy of the Muir family who was, nonetheless, the son of a Guardian himself and who was, even now, trying to uncover as much as he could from his father’s books to help Devon understand why Ted March had sent him to Ravenscliff.
    Yet the answer to that question, Devon suspected, lay not in any book—but here, behind this wall.
    Devon , the woman’s voice had called to him many times. It is you! You have found me!
    And now ,Devon thought, I have found her.
    “Hello?” he shouted through the hole in the wall, his voice echoing. “I’m coming through. Show yourself! Where are you?”
    “Be careful, my young Nightwing master,” Bjorn cautioned him from behind.
    Devon took a deep breath. It was dark behind the wall. And still. As if no one was there, or ever was.
    “Don’t go quiet on me now,” Devon called again. “After all these months of crying and calling my name.”
    He swung one leg over the broken drywall and pulled himself through the hole.
    The dim candlelight from the cellar coming through the hole was not enough to illuminate the dark space behind the wall. Devon cupped his right hand and snapped his fingers. Instantly a glowing ball of white light appeared in his hand. He smiled to himself. When his Nightwing powers worked so effortlessly like this, it pleased him to no end. Sometimes they didn’t work. But he was learning to master the powers that had once seemed so unruly and unpredictable.
    He glanced around the room. The ball of light in his hand allowed him to see his surroundings very well. There was a bed, recently slept in, and a small table with a tray of dirty dishes sitting on top of it. Devon examined it: a bowl of soup, half eaten. Bread crumbs were scattered across a plate. And beside the plate, a worn, leather-bound book. Picking it up and bringing it close to the light, Devon looked at the cover. It read Prayers and Meditations . Opening to the front page, he read a signature in faded blue ink: Emily Day Muir .
    “Emily Muir?” Devon asked out loud.
    He’d seen the ghost of Emily Muir several times since coming to Ravenscliff, a pitiful spirit that had haunted the great house for more than thirty years now. Who would be reading her prayerbook—and why?
    Devon turned around, looking back toward the hole. Bjorn was peering through it with anxious blue eyes.
    “Someone is being kept prisoner in here,” Devon said. “Who is it, Mr. Jailer? And why does she have Emily Muir’s prayerbook?”
    “I told you, Devon.