Wizardborn (World's First Wizard Book 3) by Aaron Schneider (classic books for 11 year olds .txt) 📗

cried, his throat tightening as his voice shrank to a horrified whisper. “What did you do?”

The inhabited shell of Ezekiel heaved a great crowing laugh, and God help him, Milo was too scared to even look at the thing. His hands tightened into fists, and he felt a sudden, desperate need to beat Percy Astor to quivering pulp. From the look Percy still wore, he might have let Milo do it without protest.

“Milo!” called a strong voice that cut through red fog settling over his mind. “Milo, look at me!”

Milo turned, his body rigid and his movements ungainly, and saw Ambrose coming through the ruins.

“Ambrose,” Milo wheezed, his chest tight and his mouth dry. “Do you realize what’s happened? What he’s done?”

Ambrose nodded and raised his eyes to look at Ezekiel.

“Better than most.” He sighed, and where Milo had expected to see righteous wrath, he saw only a weary sadness. The gravity of the melancholy look was almost unbearable as it turned to Percy.

“I don’t envy you, young man,” he rumbled, shaking his head slowly before he turned back to Milo. “But right now, we’ve got other things to worry about.”

Milo nodded and forced himself to focus. The tumult of the last few moments threatened to overwhelm him, but he needed to shake it off. He had much to tell his companions and even more to ask of them.

But they weren’t all together.

“Where is Rihyani?” he asked, looking around, though he realized if she wanted to be seen, she would have appeared.

“Right here,” came a silken voice from above. Milo saw the fey descend from the dark sky, silver skin aglow.

Her feet hadn’t yet reached the ground before Milo scooped her up in a fierce embrace. She returned it and then pressed kisses upon his neck and cheek until she found his mouth. Her lips, warm and soft, sent a current through him as their bodies pressed and formed together.

“Well, that was refreshing if a bit primal.” Rihyani smiled as she drew back from the kiss, Milo’s blood on her dark lips.

“Magic can get messy,” Milo said with a wink and kissed the vitae from her lips.

Not satisfied with that, she gripped the back of his head and pressed him for a deeper kiss. Milo felt his unsteady hold on his composure tighten into a fearsome grip.

He was Milo the Magus, De Zauber-Schwartz, and he had a job to do.

Reluctantly but firmly, Milo broke the kiss and turned so he could see both Ambrose and Percy. He still wasn’t ready to acknowledge the giggling horror behind him, but all things in good time.

“Looks like I’ve got another suicide mission for you,” Milo said grimly, nodding at Ambrose before looking at Percy. “And if you’re here, you might as well help out.”

Ambrose nodded grimly while Percy fiddled with the cuffs of his coat.

“You know my answer, Magus,” the big man said, then cocked his head to one side. “But we need to get clear of this spot before a patrol comes sniffing around. Follow me.”

With that, they all loped off into the cold darkness of the ruined city.

“What exactly is required for this suicide mission?” Percy asked as they huddled in a gutted home.

They were in another residential area across one of the branches of the Neva from where they’d reunited. Ambrose had taken up watch in the fractured second story of the home, while not-Ezekiel and the Qareen waited in the backyard. Milo, Rihyani, and Percy stood in what might have been a living room that was one wall short, creating an open path to the back of the house.

“Besides the prerequisite acceptance of certain death, of course,” the American added with a sniff.

Milo smiled and then winced as he felt fresh blood pool in his mouth. In the moment, he hadn’t hesitated to do what was necessary, but now he was wondering if next time there wasn’t a better way to tap into the essence of his blood.

“You and that thing,” Milo began as he raised a hand to his mouth and jerked his head in the direction of not-Ezekiel. “Gather as much as you can from anything that looks like a home.”

Percy opened his mouth to say something, then stopped and frowned at Milo

“I’m sorry,” he said with a fair attempt at a jovial chuckle. “What are we gathering? Ash?”

Milo nodded as he swiped at his mouth with his furry sleeve again. He hated to waste so much of his precious fluid, but he didn’t seem to have an option at the moment.

“Especially if it might have come from around a fireplace,” he said, trying not to choke on the blood. “But we’ll take anything that’s burnt to powder. Quantity has a quality all its own, after all.”

Percy Astor raised his eyebrows and then bowed his head, clearly at a loss.

“Very well.” He shrugged and turned to go.

“And get that thing off my horse,” Milo said, punctuating the command by spitting a gobbet of blood at the American’s feet.

Mr. Astor went off to see an un-man about an undead horse while Milo turned back to his love, shaking his head.

“How did they even get their hands on that thing?” he growled under his breath, blood flecking his lips. “And how did they get it to work?”

He raised his eyes to see Rihyani smiling and hold out her hands.

“I might have had something to do with that,” she said, and with a flick of her wrists, there appeared Imrah’s cane and his hardened satchel in one hand and his long coat in the other.

“What?” Milo gawked, and with almost childish haste, shuffled out of his soiled furs and into his ensorcelled coat. “How?”

Rihyani laughed as she handed over the cane and satchel.

“I spoke very tenderly to a lock.” She smiled, showing her gleaming teeth. “And then I whispered sweet nothings to a safe. I hope you aren’t jealous.”

I’m sure you understand it was far more complicated than that, Imrah’s icy voice droned in Milo’s head. But not