Page 22 of Mortal Skin (Folk 1)

Keep our bed warm. I love you.

Eowan.

I glanced up warily at the silent room. Caom had said this place had been empty for more than a century. Were these Folk—Briordan and Eowan—dead? The thought made me sad, for some reason. They’d clearly been madly in love.

I hoped Briordan had become a great drachmsmith—whatever that meant. I hoped Eowan had made it back safely and they’d had rampant sex all night just like he’d wanted. That was probably a weird thought to have about dead Folk, but it was the least I could do, seeing as I was currently sitting in their house.

I carefully turned to the next page and realised the entire book was handwritten—though the scrawl was different to Eowan’s slanted one in his message. This was neater and blockier, easier to read, though the writing was tiny.

I tracked my eyes down the list of contents.A drachmsmith’s pantry and essential ingredients. Beginner brews. Overnight brews. Full moon brews. Advanced potions. Healing potions. Deadly potions. Antidotes.

I sat back and started reading.