Magician's Touch (Deadly Touch book 3) Chapter 1: 1: Looks Dead To Me

Read chapter 1 of Magician's Touch (Deadly Touch book 3) by Deb E Howell on NovelPedia.

The last time they’d had to pretend Jonas was dead, the answer had been simple: kill him. But this time there was no Ajnai tree nearby to bring him back without killing a swathe of flora, fauna and, more than likely in the heart of Turhmos, people. Even if there had been, Llew wasn’t carrying his child; she could no longer bring him back with a mere touch. If she could, he would have been up walking beside her, not dragging along the road with her fingertips dug in his armpits. He would have been fighting beside her. They would have had to fight their way out of Duffirk. Instead of being a one-man army, Jonas was topless in the tail-end of winter so his foes could easily recognize the huge, sweeping gryphon tattoo that dominated his flesh; he carried injuries from the exhibit fight in which he’d just been used; and a micro-organism – some sort of tiny bug – was ravaging his body, destroying whatever it was that had made him so powerful. Despite the cold and pain he must have been in, he was playing dead. And all Llew could do was play along. And hope. Thankfully, most of the lingering people were more interested in comparing notes on the magic and technology on display than paying Jonas any mind. Enough still did to be a nuisance, though. “Stay dead this time!” A gob of spit landed on Jonas’ rib. It oozed across the black lines of the tattoo, leaving a shiny trail of filth. Jonas didn’t flinch. “Looks dead to me.” Another voice from the gathered crowd. “He’s dead,” Llew muttered through teeth gritted at the strain firing through her arms, shoulders and back. “Yeah, but he was meant to be dead months ago.” The spitter. “Just a rumor, though, wasn’t it? I mean, we saw the fight and here’s his body. It’s gotta be real this time, eh?” A booted toe jabbed Jonas’ side. Llew clamped her lips. Unlike Jonas, she looked local. All she had to do was act like it. “Good riddance to him, I say. Filthy Quaven.” “Where you taking him?” Spitty, again. Illusions held best when you let people decide for themselves what it was they saw. Llew had lived most of her life across the seas in Aghacia. To her, these people had an accent. To them, so would she. Llew kept her mouth shut. “Oi!” Spitty shoved her. Llew lost her grip with one hand and Jonas lolled, convincing in his performance of death yet to rigor. Llew lurched, reaching for his shoulder before he hit the ground, but her other arm trembled in her efforts, threatening to fail, and she settled for easing his descent only. Liberated of his weight, she straightened and glared at the gathering crowd while she caught her breath. “Where you—?” Llew turned her fury on the man. “… taking him?” Spitty’s voice trailed off. Llew blinked and swept her gaze across every member of her audience. Some took a self-conscious step back. Some looked vexed. Most looked confused. She stretched one arm behind her, then the other, loosening her muscles some. She rolled her shoulders, shook them out. Then she bent, slipped her fingers under Jonas’ shoulders, curled them into his armpits, took a deep breath to prepare her already fatigued muscles and hoisted him. His head fell back. It had to hurt. She couldn’t imagine how it couldn’t, but still his body hung limp. He didn’t tense, uttered no sound. He didn’t even open his eyes, even though she would likely be the only one who would see. Don’t be dead. Surrounded as they were, she couldn’t afford to lift his head or make any attempt at improving his comfort. And so, she simply took one back step at a time, his hair dragging on the ground, his head swinging. Don’t you dare abandon me now, you bastard. Not a bastard. Unless you’re dead. So don’t be. The small crowd lingered, watching her go. Spitty looked from one of his supporters to another before stepping forward, following Llew. At first he paced himself so he was always a few steps behind, but after a while he lengthened his gait, closing the gap. “I asked where you were taking him. ’S’fair question.” As much as