Tower of Trials: Book One of Guardian Spirit Read Free Page B

her lap toward the cobblestones.
    Guard pushed back his gray hood and approached.
    She spotted him before he could speak.
    “You!” Lydia shouted. She stood, the book striking the stones of the forecourt, a jar of iron dust clutched in her gloved fist. Percy stepped around her to block her (partly) from view.
    “Come with me, Mortal Seekers,” Guard said. “Leave your iron here.”
    “Just you wait.” She dropped to her knees and groped in her bag without lowering her gaze. “We aren’t going anywhere.”
    The iron remained in her hand.
    “Dear—” Percy glanced over his shoulder. “Lydia, that won’t work. I’m not even sure a spirit ring would threaten the likes of him.”
    Guard stilled, thinking, A ring.
    She rose, leaving the iron dust on the cobblestones, having replaced it with her muff. “That may not, Percy, but this will.” She pulled from the furry hand warmer a small revolver. “He’s mortal, isn’t he? If he’s not a spirit, this will do very well.”
    “When did you tuck that in there, Lydia?” Her male stared at the hand warmer dangling from her wrist by its strap. Then his gaze lifted to her weapon. “And who taught you to shoot?”
    “Ravenscar. It is his, and he had me practice on it every weekend.” She moved around her staring companion. “I am ready for your obedience or your wrath, False Spirit.” She cocked the gun and steadied her aim. “But in no way am I leaving without my fiancé’s shade.”
    Guard was still stuck on the unexpected threat of the ring. For years, he had been fed on aether-laced spirit breath, but he was not a full spirit. Would that be enough to save him from being bound to a spirit ring and its bearer? His right hand tightened on the bow. At the moment, the difference between mortality and immortality felt very slight, slighter than a magicked iron band about a finger.
    But remembering the collar of normal iron and the ironweed net, he thought a cambion stood in no danger.
    But he wasn’t sure.
    Guard peered at their bag, straining his senses, and gained nothing.
    No spirit could sense a ring, despite its iron content, until it was too late.
    But why would they not wield it against him in the first place?
    Guard turned his gaze to the weapon aimed at his chest. And as uncertain as he was about the ring, and their possession of one, he was even less certain that bone-wood cloth fibers would protect him against bullets as it well as it did ghoul claws and teeth. He had yet to test mortal weapons on his clothing on any account. He fought the urge to draw his duster tighter about himself.
    Instead, he widened his stance to seem imposing and kept any trace of emotion from his face. He refused to betray a touch of fear or doubt, heavy as a collar about the throat, because he needed them, their quest—as much as they needed him to retrieve their shade. Remember that. “I have come to guide you to through The Crypt so you can reclaim the shade of your intended spouse, Lydia.” What had he seen other humans do to seal deals? Shake hands? Hers were busy with a weapon. Bow? So he did.
    When he lifted his head, her gun was lowered to below his midsection. Not the most comforting response.
    “Why?” she asked. “Why did you change your mind?”
    “You shouldn’t trust him, Lydia. It might be a trick.”
    While Guard disliked revealing secrets, his or others’, he did not lie easily. Not like humans did. So he told them the truth: their success was his success now.
    By the end of his explanation, the gun had dipped until it was pointed at the ground. A better direction for it.
    “Dear.” Percy covered her hand with his own. “Careful.”
    “Oh. I know what I am doing.” She uncocked it and stuffed it and her gloved hands inside her muff. “What do we need to do to prepare, Guide?”
    Good. They were moving in the right direction now.
    “You must do as I ask, Seekers. Leave your iron behind.” And on second thought: “And that weapon.” Guard