Theresa plopped into a chair and plugged her ears; she couldn’t help herself. But it made no difference. The sound came from within.
A hand squeezed her shoulder. Her husband, Malcolm, studied her, his forehead wrinkled with concern. “The ringing’s back?”
“Yeah.”
“You could go see another doctor—”
“No.”
The thick liquid coated Violet’s tongue.
They say that when a person loses one sense, the rest compensate. Although she never did figure out why her sense of taste exploded—figuratively speaking—after a bomb destroyed her hearing, killed Silas, and nearly killed her.
A small vibration tickled her fingers when Felix tapped the table.
Harthan thumbed through the herbal encyclopedia and rubbed his fingers together. A familiar soft tingle crawled up his arm. It reminded him of his sister, Lyse, who had taught him to use his abilities, at least until their parents sold her—
“We’ve a job,” Braean said. “Let’s go.”
Harthan snarled at the old alchemist’s back
Kavis watched the volcanic moon move from the shadow of its parent planet—both unnamed. Not that it mattered. He cared only for the voice that emanated from the moon. A woman’s voice. Ghostly. He could hear it when the moon hid from the sun. Somehow the sun interfered with the signal.
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Mathis twisted the shovel and winced as a splinter stabbed into his palm. He made a mental note to look for a better one, or a pair of gloves, in the next pile of garbage. Behlovek certainly wouldn’t give him anything.
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