Читать книгу The Longest Halloween, Book Three: Gabbie Del Toro and the Mystery of the Warlock's Urn - Frank Wood - Страница 5

“Where am I?”

Jack had run all night. Driven from the home in which he had pretty much secluded himself for all these years, the farmer wasn’t used to long hikes in the outside air. He recalled finding a small alcove in a neighboring inn where he had been tended to by that kind, red-haired waitress, but the rest was vague to him.

Now awake and in a bed that he did not know, Jack saw that he was in a small room, hewn from logs and sparsely decorated. He could tell that it was late in the day. Wherever he was, it was rural and probably hidden away. He heard voices outside of the room, all male. "Sorry to have troubled you, Professor," "Think nothing of it, Niall,"—all very pleasant, then all was silent again.

“He awakens at last.” A tall woman smiled at him from across the room. She was dressed in light blue and her eyes were silver. Her graying hair was pulled back into a long braid. She did not look familiar to him.

“Who are you?”

“I’m Isabelle.”

“Where am I?”

“You’re safe. I can assure you of that.” She adjusted the blinds and came to his bedside, looking at him with those piercing silver eyes that were almost intoxicating. “Do you know who you are?”

“I am Jack of the Lantern,” he answered, the words spilling out under her strangely powerful gaze. “I have recently been displaced from me home by a troupe of interlopers who shall be rightly brought to justice.”

“Well, I see.”

“They made off with me Eternal Wick, which must be restored—but why am I telling all of this to you?”

“People have a habit of telling me their deepest thoughts,” she said, holding aloft very large hands for a woman. “I don’t know why. Anyway, you must be famished. Let me see to your sustenance.”

Jack was hungry. He looked down. His clothes were fresh and his wounds and the burns sustained the night before had all been attended.

“You were in fairly dire straits when we found you,” Isabelle said, coming back into the room with a tray of a bacon, cinnamon buns and coffee. She placed the tray on the nightstand and helped him sit up in bed, using surprising strength. “Looked as if you’d been in a horrible scuffle—burns, cuts and the unmistakable scar of the werewolf. I was able to neutralize its poisons from affecting you, but despite this, I would have given you only middling chances. I must say you’ve healed wonderfully.”

“Yes, I call it a gift,” Jack said.

“Well, here’s your meal. You must eat up and get your strength back.”

The food smelled like ambrosia, yet true to his distrustful nature he found himself hesitating. “Join me?”

“I’ve eaten already, thanks,” Isabelle said. “Go on and eat. It’s not poisoned.”

As if poison would do anything to him, Jack thought.

Isabelle flounced out of the room. Jack ate.