"Hargrove? Hargrove!
Wake up, boy!"
The admonishment, in the
tired, worried voice of Uncle Mortimer, was punctuated with a slap that served quite
adequately to bring Harry back to consciousness.
He lay still, trying to
remember what had knocked him unconscious. A few cautious sniffs answered him. The
stink of Human gunpowder and several sophisticated Fae explosives filled his sinuses.
Memory streamed back into his head. He had been playing with a new kind of controlled
explosive device, to help in archaeological excavations. Obviously, the charm controlling
the direction of the explosion had malfunctioned.
Why were people hitting
him?
"He must be conscious
now. He's fading out," said his sister, Hera-Jane.
That yanked his attention
off trying to figure out what he did wrong. "Fading out?"
"You were visible,
the entire time you were unconscious." She fumbled across his chest until she
found his shoulders, then shook him. "Come on, Harry, rise and shine."
"I'm always invisible
when I sleep. I have to concentrate to be seen." He opened his eyes, relieved
he could still see. That explosion had felt uncomfortably close to his face.
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