Bridge of Dreams (Ephemera, Book 3) by Anne Bishop
By Anne Bishop
Return to New York instances bestselling writer Anne Bishop's Ephemera, an international of wierd and magical landscapes hooked up in simple terms by way of bridges—bridges which may delivery you the place you really belong, instead of the place you must go.
When wizards threaten Glorianna Belladonna and her paintings to maintain Ephemera balanced, her brother, Lee, sacrifices himself with a purpose to retailer her—and finally ends up an Asylum inmate within the urban of imaginative and prescient, distant from all he knows.
But a darkness is spreading via imaginative and prescient, puzzling the Shamans who guard it—and Lee is the single person who can shed any mild on its mysteries....
INCLUDES THE EPHEMERA NOVELLA "THE VOICE"
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Extra info for Bridge of Dreams (Ephemera, Book 3)
The metal did not chip or scratch the stone, but it produced the clearest sound yet. As the final note died away, he thought he heard a faint squeak. Merlock said the stone was hollow; there could be something of value inside. I don’t know how to open it, though. There must have been a good reason for someone to shape it, but whoever sent the stone into the Spine hasn’t taken the trouble to retrieve it or doesn’t know where it is. But I don’t believe that a magician with enough power to transport the stone wouldn’t be able to find it again.
Everything looked bleached and flat. Near the end of his journey, he turned off the road, which continued south. A simple path led straight through waist-high grass and up a knoll, almost hidden by the shadows of protective elm trees. He crested the hill and saw a gentle light shining from his home. The house had a shingled roof and a brick chimney. Eaves hung over the whitewashed walls, shadowing the ground below. One side of the enclosed porch was filled with split wood, ready for the fire. A jumble of farm tools cluttered the other side.
The door to his room was closed. Though the squeak was too loud for a mouse or rat, he still checked under the bed. Nothing. He sat on the edge of the mattress and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Another squeak filled the air, and he started violently. Where was the noise was coming from? Nothing could be in the floor or walls; they were solid wood. The same went for his bed, and he would have noticed if anything had crawled into his straw mattress during the night. His eyes settled on the stone.