Silver at Midnight: A Paranormal Romance Urban Fantasy (The Keepers of Knowledge Series Book 5) by Bridgette O'Hare (reading books for 4 year olds txt) 📗

I headed for the door and checked the peep hole before letting down the invisible wards and unlocking the door. It was the same poor parcel delivery guy I’d practically knocked over the day before.

“Ms. O’Cléirigh?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Aye,” I responded.

“I have a letter fer ye. If ye would sign here, please,” he stated and held out a clipboard, then handed me a pen.

I did as I was asked, scribbled my initials on the line, and tilted the pen back toward him. His plump, rosy cheeks lifted into a polite smile as he extended the letter toward me and tipped his hat.

“Ye have a good day, miss.”

“Thanks, you do the same,” I replied and took the envelope from his gloved hand.

The moment I touched it, the magic imbued within tingled the tips of my fingers, and my curiosity was immediately piqued. Habitually, my gaze swept both ends of the corridor before closing my door and restoring the protective wards around my flat.

Sunlight beaming in through the large window in my living room landed on the envelope in my hand. It shimmered beneath the rays. Something about the energy pulsing from the letter seemed familiar. Just before opening it, I hesitated, and Grams’ words echoed in my mind.

“You have to learn the difference between a hesitation that could save your life and one that could get you killed, Aisling.” Her voice was so clear, it was almost like she was still there next to me.

“Trust your instincts, Aish,” I told myself. I carried the envelope into my office on the other side of the flat and placed it into an iron tray. Iron attracts negative magic—or magic intended for harm—and dispels it. It’s also protective, which was why my carry-on suitcase was lined with a thin layer of iron for when I travel. You could never be too careful when you’ve made a career of pissing off the less than savory crowd of the supernatural variety. No matter how careful you have been in keeping a low profile, you can’t stay completely anonymous.

The moment I placed the cover over the tray, and the envelope was completely enclosed on all sides, the telling woosh of magic dissipating told me all I needed to know. Someone had sent me a letter magically wrapped with less than noble intentions. All that remained of the mystery was to open it and see if the sender had been brave enough to sign their name or if they were playing hard to get.

I removed the envelope from the tray and momentarily studied the lettering on the front before opening it. Old world calligraphy—a beautiful but dwindling art form—made my name look regal and elegant. I liked it.

“Okay, let’s see what you have to say, shall we?”

Slipping the parchment paper from its resting place, I unfolded it and immediately noticed the handwriting didn’t match the extravagant style on the exterior of the envelope. This was meant to be more personal.

I have information you will be interested in regarding hunting.

Meet me in Glasnevin Cemetery at dusk. Double white iron gates.

Come alone.

A cemetery? Seriously? I didn’t like whoever this was already.

I scanned the note once again, looking for something that might provide a clue to who wrote it There were no grammatical errors, no inconsistencies in how the letters were written. It was nearly perfect in that regard. But the kicker was the last line. Come alone. Whoever wrote this note didn’t really know me. Because anyone who knew me, even in the slightest, would have never thought they needed to tell me to come alone.

I glanced outside. I had about an hour and a half before the sun would set. Just enough time to finish packing my suitcase and get to the cemetery for a little recon. Of course, I technically had another twenty-four hours to pack, so that could wait. You can never arrive at a meeting site too early for reconnaissance.

I headed to my closet, changed into my ‘work’ clothes, stashed my favorite handheld dagger in the shoulder sheath hidden beneath my leather jacket, and packed in a few other defensive items—just in case. I pulled my hair to the side, braided it, then pulled a black beanie over my bright white tresses. Recon meant blending in with the crowd. My hair did anything but blend in. Hence, the black beanie and the braid I could hide with a scarf. Ten minutes later and I was out the door, headed across town to Glasnevin.

Unsavory creatures tended to frequent cemeteries. I tended to have more run-ins than I liked with unsavory creatures. But that’s pretty much the only thing about cemeteries I have never been a fan of. They’re filled with history and architecture and art, all things I loved. As I casually walked around Glasnevin, surveying the landscape and assessing my surroundings, I studied each person as they passed. Most were human. I wasn’t surprised to find a couple of Witches gathering leaves from a vine growing over a headstone. Likely a family member. Witches were well-known in the supernatural world for using familial bonds to ground their magic.

Among the other visitors I walked past were a Vampire and a Gargoyle. That’s right, Gargoyles walk among us. I highly recommend you never piss one off. They may appear to be human, and therefore soft and squishy, on the outside, but that would be a deception. Word to the wise—you would break a hand if you were to hit one.

I turned into the area of the cemetery that housed the underground tombs and noticed that the vamp I’d passed a few minutes before had turned around and wasn’t too far behind me. Might have been a coincidence, might be he thought I was cute, but my default reaction was to question everything and assume there’s a threat until proven otherwise. Making the wrong assumptions could get you killed.

Something to be noted, most Supernaturals didn’t have the gift of discerning