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

There had been some dreams with positive messages over the years; yet there had been more than a few with haunting implications. The latter were the reason I hated dreaming. They started out innocent enough, but by the end, I would wake up in a sweat knowing someone needed saving. Only, I couldn’t always save them.

Tonight, I dreamed.

This dream was different though.

My dream-self materialized standing on a broken granite walkway in front of an old stone church. In front of me, a set of wooden planked doors, held together with large strips of ornamental iron, stood partially open. I stepped through and immediately felt the pull of magic leading me down a long corridor. I followed it one slow step at a time, making my way toward a dim light at the end. Strange symbols were carved into the stone walls along the corridor. They drew my attention, and I was unable to resist reaching out and tracing my fingers over them as I walked. A peculiar sensation pulsed through my flesh as the tips of my fingers glided over the carvings. It wasn’t the Fae magic I knew, but it held the same distinctions, only exponentially more powerful.

When I arrived at the end of the corridor, I paused in front of a large, barely open doorway. I placed my hand on the iron push plate protecting the wood door but hesitated as a rush of energy vibrated through me. After a moment, I gently pushed the door and stepped over the threshold to find an empty cavern with only a single source of light—a table flanked with an array of candles positioned against the opposite, stone-chiseled wall. In the center of the table lay a large book, a book I was compelled toward.

Just as I moved closer to the book, a voice boomed from behind me.

I spun on my heels and found myself staring into the steely eyes of a man I could only describe as a warrior, an attractive warrior. Disheveled white hair—the color of mine—grazed the tops of his wide shoulders, a stark contrast to his dark complexion. He took a step in my direction and swiftly waved one hand across the front of his torso as though he were throwing something aside. The book behind me slammed closed, and I jumped.

That’s when I woke up.

There had been no one running for their life. No natural disaster looming. No evil to be thwarted. It was just me, mystically strange surroundings, and an oddly attractive man who looked like he should be in an Assassin’s Creed video game.

So, essentially, probably the best dream I’d ever had. Which is why I’d had no problem going back to sleep.

Being a bit of a gypsy had advantages. Packing, for example. The less you had to carry with you, the less time it would take you to throw it all together and get the heck out of town when all hell broke loose. And it had on more than one occasion.

Having an entire week to pack for Pyreshore felt like a luxury. It also afforded me the opportunity to tie up a few loose ends before I left. In my line of work, loose ends could mean the difference between life and death, so I preferred those ends nice and tied. Tightly tied . . . in knots, at that.

I poured a cup of coffee, my second of the afternoon, and leaned my phone against a stack of books on the desk in front of me. Time to break the news about my Keeper invitation to my boss.

The phone only rang once before the video opened and she was glaring at me with her characteristic eyebrow-raised smirk and her reddish-brown hair pulled on top of her head in a messy bun. “I was wondering how long it was going to be before you called,” Kara Weburon chided without so much as a hello first. Kara was American. More specifically, Southern American. She spoke a little faster than the stereotypical Southerner, and she was as well-spoken as anyone I knew, but her southern drawl was still prevalent. She used that stereotype to her advantage since people often underestimated her intelligence because of it.

“I haven’t had anything to report, Boss,” I ticked back and took a sip of coffee.

“I call BS. You have a lot to report and you know it. Start spilling.” She placed her phone on something in front of her to free her hands, grabbed a mug I was certain she had filled with an Irish coffee, and leaned back into her favorite over-sized chair. I knew exactly where in her New York City apartment she was chatting from.

Kara was more than just my boss; she was the closest friend I had. Only friend, if we’re getting technical. I have a number of acquaintances, most of them work related. And of course, Libby. But Kara . . . Kara and I bonded over a near death experience followed by a few bottles of wine on my first assignment with the Natra Agency. That was seven years ago; fast forward and she’s the head of our division—Acquisitions. To describe our employer, one might depict it more or less as the supernatural world’s version of a clandestine intelligence agency. In fact, if you have never been employed by the Natra Agency, you are oblivious to our existence.

“Hmm,” I started. “If’n I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were keeping tabs on me,” I said with a half-grin.

“I am. All day, every day. Have to protect my assets, ya know. Now . . . get to talkin’. Those beans aren’t gonna spill themselves,” she insisted in her signature southern drawl.

“Maybe I should ask how much ya already know, first. No point in me repeating stuff.” I hid impishly behind my coffee mug and smiled.

“Ughh! Why ya always gotta be so secretive and difficult,” she said as she rolled her