It’s #BookQW and adventurous Cor loves living on the ‘edge’.
More from Chapter 1:
The ball of one booted foot tapped down on the red stone, and he moved the other to a flecked stone two over, both of which he’d removed the warding from. With his free hand, Cor reached up and found the ropes with carabiners knotted to the ends. He clipped one to a ring welded to the longboard and let it swing first. By the time it stilled, he’d screw-locked a second rope to the climbing harness he wore. He grasped the rope in gloved hands, folded his body into a crouch—damn, he needed to lay off the doughnuts Master Harold so willingly shared—then aimed for the trunk of an old pine set back from the wall.
The aim was what had taken practice. Hours at the climbing center of holding his elbows in and feet together, weight balanced. Any bit of him sticking beyond the two-foot slot of the exclusion tunnel he’d spelled into the barrier and he’d set off the alarm.
He sprang off the wall. In a rush of wind, the swing carried him ten, fifteen, then twenty feet and past the inner edge of the zone designed to detect people jumping the wall. The swing stayed true to the target. He kicked up his feet as stoppers against the pine’s trunk and bent his knees to absorb the impact while throwing an arm over the nearest branch.
Safely inside the barrier, he waited, listening. Only the breeze whistling through the treetops. And an exchange of hoots.
He stowed his equipment, collected his longboard and climbed down. Slate paths for visitors wound over the grounds, but he took the most direct route to the manor house through the trees.
A shadow dove at him. He dodged—and smacked his head on a branch. “Ouch!”
Kee, came a soft but insistent hoot, and an owlet landed on a branch in front of him, ducking her head and fluttering her wings, her baby calls still croaky kee-wiks.
Cor laughed. “You brilliant beggar. No, go hunt your own food.”
Rubbing his head, he offered his leather-clad arm. When the tawny owl hopped on, he petted her crown, removing a few baby-down feathers she’d missed preening. He hadn’t fed her in weeks, but bringing her mice that had invaded the greenhouse had probably saved this youngest hatchling. Her larger, older brothers usually nabbed the prey dropped off by the parent birds. Still, she begged. She’s not a pet… That was hard to remember with all her cuteness. She was as close to a pet he’d ever had, since their family traveled so much.
“You’re a beauty, Toots.” He rubbed his knuckles over her open beak.
Squeaking, Toots walked up his arm, sat on his shoulder and nuzzled his neck. He smoothed her wings to her back, hugging her light body to his. For all of thirty seconds. She nibbled at his earring and, when he brushed her off, yanked a curl of his hair.
“Hey, bugger off.” She fluttered to the nearest branch, then hop-flew along as he walked and tried to pretend she wasn’t there. Everyone wanted something from him tonight.
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