Silver at Midnight: A Paranormal Romance Urban Fantasy (The Keepers of Knowledge Series Book 5) by Bridgette O'Hare (best large ereader .TXT) 📕

one race from another. It was easy for any Supernatural to distinguish if someone wasn’t human but knowing which race of Supernatural they were dealing with . . . that was the tricky part. When I was young, I just assumed everyone could tell the difference. Mom and Grams taught me otherwise and trained me to keep the gift to myself. So, there was a decent chance my vampy stalker was just going the same way as me or was getting up the courage to say hi. I mean, I’ve been hit on in stranger places. There was still a solid forty minutes before dusk settled in, so I was pretty certain Stalker Vamp wasn’t my mystery note passer.

When I reached the opposite side of the cemetery and noticed the white double gates flanking a small bridge into the underground tomb area, I took a seat on a nearby bench and decided to watch and see what happened. To my right, steps led down into the moat-like area that surrounded three quarters of the tomb peninsula. That’s where the underground tombs were. Stalker Vamp meandered by, slowing to read the placards next to each of the crypts that encircled the above ground section. He gave me a side glance when he stopped at the one closest to me and smiled. There was no malicious intent behind it. He was flirting. I returned the smile to be polite, but then looked away, refocusing just as one of the Witches I’d seen earlier took a seat next to me on the bench.

“I think that might’ve encouraged him,” she whispered in my direction with a slight chuckle. “You know how men are, especially the non-humankind.” She offered a friendly smile that made her eyes sparkle.

I studied her for a moment, slightly envious of her adorable pixie cut and gorgeous copper-colored hair. “Aye,” I replied. “That I do.” I didn’t want to encourage her any more than I wanted to encourage Stalker Vamp. I wasn’t there for small talk or flirting, but Grams had always taught me not to be impolite either. It was often a fine line I walked clumsily.

We sat there quietly until Stalker Vamp was out of earshot, then Pixie Witch spoke again.

“I have a message for you,” she said softly without looking in my direction. It was almost as though she didn’t want anyone watching to know she was talking to me.

I played along.

“I’m listening.”

“A gentleman gave me an envelope for you. I hope you don’t mind, but it was infused with locator magic, and I took the liberty of eliminating that portion of the message,” she explained in her slightly British accent as she eased a small envelope from her pocket and slid it across the bench toward me.

I glanced sideways at her and a satisfied smirk turned up one corner of her glossed lips.

“Ya know, I can’t say I mind at all. Thank you kindly.” I paused before taking the envelope. “And is the message you are to give me inside the envelope?”

“I can only assume there is something there, but I was also asked to relay this to you as well,” Pixie Witch paused and glanced around before she continued. “You are in danger. It’s no longer safe for you in Dublin. Trust no one.”

Pixie Witch offered me a concerned look, and a hint of fear flashed in her eyes. Her next words would haunt me for days.

“He knows who you are,” she stated.

Our stares collided and an understanding passed between us. I nodded, slipped the envelope into the pocket of my coat, and left her sitting alone on the bench.

I wasted no time getting back to my flat. I needed to be somewhere I felt safe, and with my protective wards in place, it was the safest location in Dublin.

I kept one eye over my shoulder at every turn, using every technique I’d been trained in to make certain I wasn’t being watched or followed. By the time I’d reached my flat, I’d already mentally planned my exit strategy.

What Pixie Witch had said to me—more so the portentous nature behind what she said—paired with the warning from my mystery note writer, had me on high alert. I had been compromised in some form. I needed to regroup and figure out how and by whom, but Dublin wasn’t the place to do that. As much as I hated to skip some down time with Kara, New York wasn’t the place to do it either. Logically, Pyreshore was my securest option at the moment because no one, aside from The High Council and Kara, would know to look for me there.

Once behind the shelter of my wards, my first order of business was to reschedule my flight into New York. I needed to leave on the next available flight out of Dublin. Then I’d book an additional flight into Boston using an alias, acquire a car, and drive to Pyreshore from there. If all went as planned, I’d be in Pyreshore within twenty-four hours. I’d have to let Kara know my plans had changed, but not until I was safely within the protective wards of Pyreshore.

My second order of business, reading the note I had shoved in my pocket.

Four

When I arrived in Pyreshore, it wasn’t quite what I expected, not that I really knew what to expect. It wasn’t the type of place you could do an internet search on and find the twenty most visited tourist sites on a travel website. I actually did search it during my flight from Dublin to New York. One of the perks of having Kara as your best friend, she made sure you had a first-class seat on international flights which included wi-fi . . . and a comfy place to sleep without worrying that you’d end up awkwardly snoring on the person next to you.

Turns out, according to the internet, Pyreshore is a rundown ghost town that’s uninhabited and dangerous to visit. One source even made