Horn of Winter (Relic Hunters #5)

Chapter 4

Chapter

Four

“Welcome to my world, Bethany Aodhán,” she said, drawing my gaze up her long, snake-like lower body, past her naked human torso and full, round breasts, to her face.

A face that was both angelic and demonic all at the same time, and surrounded by a cobra-like hood.

Nagi, according to Lugh, were semi-divine—though in their case, “spirit” replaced “human” in the “more than a human but not quite a god” definition. He’d apparently come across one in a hunt that had taken him to an old underground palace deep within a South Asian rainforest. He hadn’t stolen anything from her but had instead engaged in a conversation and gotten the location of the relic he was actually looking for. From what he’d said, they were capable of attaining either full snake or spirit form, and their venom could kill in an instant, though under the gods’ decree, they could not attack without reason, or risk losing their divinity and be cast out into the fold of neverness forever.

Neverness, apparently, was the spirit world version of hell.

Stealing treasure from them was the surest way of getting dead, though, so if Liadon considered these records her “treasure,” then I sure as hell needed to ask for permission before I tried undertaking any search for information about Mom.

“I see very little fear in your eyes, young Aodhán.”

“I must be hiding it extremely well, then.”

She laughed, a soft and surprisingly warm sound. “I have known your line before. Fear might rise, but it is often overridden by stubbornness or even incaution.”

“I’d love to say I have none of those traits, but that would be a lie.”

She smiled, her golden gaze sweeping my length, only to still when she saw the knives. “Ethine’s Claws. I take it you also have the Eye and the codex?”

“Yes.” I hesitated. “Did you know her when she lived?”

“Indeed, I did. Can you use her gift to its full capacity?”

“I’m still learning but basically, yes.”

“Then why have you asked for access to my records?” Her gaze hardened just a little. “The codex can give you far more than all the words I protect ever could.”

I hesitated. The truth wasn’t something I wanted to reveal this early, but it wasn’t like I had a choice. Nagi abhorred dishonesty almost as much as they did theft.

“There are several reasons, the first and main one being the fact the codex holds no records of the modern world or indeed, human interaction.”

“And your other reason?”

“Has nothing to do with the codex, but rather the fact that the council has been infiltrated by the Ninkilim, which is how we believe the hoard was stolen.”

“We?”

“Beira has asked me to help stop their rise.”

“Knowing Beira, she would have demanded rather than asked. Anything else?”

I drew in a deeper breath and released it slowly. “The people behind the theft killed my mother. I believe there might be information within the council records that could lead me to find them.”

“Theft and murder? Now there is a quest I can get behind.”

“Then you’ll help me?”

She didn’t immediately answer, instead sliding around me, her body coiling and uncoiling almost languidly as she moved, her black scales possessing a vibrant green and gold sheen under the pale light still hovering above my head. “I can see no lies in you, but caution is nevertheless warranted on my part, given the records I protect hold an importance beyond the ken of many.”

I frowned. “Don’t take offense, but why would council records?—”

“It is not just council records I guard, young Aodhán. It is the records of races, all races, for all the eons they have existed.”

I stared at her for a moment. “Meaning this place is basically the earthly equivalent of the codex library?”

“In some respects, yes, though I would imagine their surrounds are far more beauteous than mine.”

“It’s certainly far airier, but I would think there’s far more to your domain than what you’re currently allowing me to see.”

“Perhaps.” She stopped in front of me again, her long body coiling close to her torso. She crossed her arms over her breasts and leaned back against those coils, studying me some more. “What information do you wish to find for your current quest?”

Current quest—a deliberate choice of words, no doubt, given her earlier statement of caution. Perhaps she intended to judge the merits of my overall quest on how I handled the official one. “What are the boundaries of my searches? Am I just restricted to council records?”

She smiled. “You were given all access, though I do not believe the councilors understand the entirety of my records or the freedom that allows you.”

“That is excellent news.”

Her smile increased, revealing the tops of two large fangs rather than human teeth. It was a somewhat ghastly sight, but I somehow managed to curb my instinctive gasp.

“For one such as you, seeking revenge through the texts of time, I would imagine it is.”

“Then, for this first search, I would like all the information you have on the god Borrhás, anything you might have on his Horn, including how and why it became part of the hoard, and any mention there might be of it within the council records, for as far back as they go.”

She raised a pale eyebrow. “That is indeed a large request.”

“Go big or go home, as the saying goes.”

“A saying I am not familiar with, even if the intent is obvious. The scope of the search means it will take some time. I would suggest you start by cross-checking with your godly library.”

“I will.” I paused. “How long will your search take?”

“It will take as long as it takes, but I will send my orb to fetch you when I have the information ready. It will now guide you back to your world.”

The chair tilted forward a little, politely dumping me onto my feet. The green light darted forward toward the wall behind the Nagi. As its light caressed the black stone, a small section slid to one side, revealing the dark corridor once again. The light shot inside as I cautiously made my way around Liadon to follow.

But as I stepped into the corridor, she said, “You are very much your mother’s daughter, Bethany, but your father’s blood runs strong in you, and darkness flows deep in the master of storms and lightning’s line. Be wary of falling too far into the tempest.”

Then the door closed on her words, leaving me with her orb and a shit ton of questions.

The first thing I did when I reached the “real” world again was drag out my phone and check the time. It was close to twelve, meaning I’d been down there for a whole lot longer than it had seemed.

I swore and ran down the stairs, my footsteps echoing into the emptiness. As I reached the first floor and regained cell service, I called an Uber; five minutes, they said.

I hoped they broke the land speed record because even though the traffic at midday wasn’t anywhere near as bad as it was in peak hours, the shitty weather would still slow things down. And with my clothes stinking of the Nagi, I desperately needed all the time I could get to scrub my skin before Sgott picked me up for the commemoration.

The Uber hadn’t arrived by the time I got down to the main road, so I dug out some old spray-on deodorant from my purse and tried to at least mute the fouler scent. I wasn’t sure it worked, but the Uber driver didn’t say anything. Maybe he was simply being polite.

For once, the traffic was on our side, and it only took ten minutes to arrive at the rear lane. I ran through the still-heavy rain to the rear door and punched in the code. The building’s song was alive with movement and weight, suggesting we had a good crowd in today, which was surprising considering the weather. I shucked off my wet coat, slinging it over my arm as I made my way down the hall. Ingrid—the green-haired pixie who was now the full-time manager—was behind the bar serving customers, but glanced up as I walked in.

“Jonnie rang in sick, so I had to call in Kitty.”

Jonnie was one of our full-timers who worked as a waiter on the first floor. Kitty was currently a temp, but likely to go full time come tourist season. “You’re running the show now, Ingrid. You don’t need my approval for that sort of thing.”

Her cheeks dimpled. “Old habits die hard. I also put a list of the stock needing reordering today on your desk, or do you want me to run with that as well?”

I hesitated. I’d already done the week’s payroll and payments, but orders were an almost daily task. “It might be safer if you do it for the time being. I have no idea how long this commemoration is going to run for, and I have the council business to attend to on top of that.”

“I’ll do it after the midday rush is over with, then.”

“Don’t be afraid to do it after hours and claim overtime.”

Her cheeks dimpled again. “Since when have I ever been afraid to claim overtime?”

I laughed and headed on up. After relocking the door to my quarters, I ran up the remaining stairs, chucking my purse onto the sofa, then stripping off my clothes and dumping them all into the washing machine. I set it on the longest cycle possible, then headed into the bathroom for a shower. Sgott arrived just as I was standing in front of my wardrobe in my knickers and bra, deciding what to wear because I had absolutely no idea what the traditional mourning color was for the Myrkálfar. Humanity favored black, but something within suspected the dark elves would not.

“Bethany?” he called out as he reached the top of the stairs.

“In the bedroom trying to pick an outfit. Any suggestion, color-wise?”

“White. They believe it signifies purity and rebirth.”

“Huh.”

I glared at my wardrobe a few seconds longer, then dug out a knitted, slim-fitting, long-sleeved dress with a subtle gathered detail on the side and a small V-neckline. It was simple and elegant and, most importantly, warm. Or as warm as any dress was likely to be in winter. I paired it with knee-high nude-colored boots and a camel-colored woolen jacket. Once dressed, I grabbed a matching purse and tucked my knives into it. While I definitely wouldn’t need them anytime soon and could technically call them to me from any location if a situation did happen to arise, I still felt safer with them close. That might change as time passed and I grew used to the foibles and powers of the triune, but for now, I was playing it safe.

Sgott waited near the stairs, wearing a neatly creased white suit and black-and-white wingtips. I rose onto my toes and kissed his cheek. “I had no idea you could still buy shoes like that. They’re pretty impressive-looking, especially when you’ve feet as big as yours.”

“They’re golfing shoes. Had them for ages.”

“Since when did you play golf?”

“Not since becoming head of the night division, but they’re the only shoes I have that are anywhere close to white. You ready?”

I quickly snagged my phone and wallet from my other purse, then nodded, even though my insides quivered at the thought of seeing Cynwrig again. Or worse, the thought of not seeing him, or talking to him, one last time.

I followed him down to the ground floor, then out the rear door. It was still pouring outside, although I could feel a lessening of its ferocity around the more distant reaches of the storm cell, suggesting it was likely to clear by nightfall.

And the fact that I knew all that without deliberately connecting to or reaching for the storm’s power was yet another indicator of how much stronger that part of me had become in such a short amount of time.

Sgott had driven his car all the way down the lane and parked it next to the rear veranda, basically blocking the lane for any delivery vans needing to use it but ensuring neither of us got saturated while we got into the car.

The commemoration was being held in the Pavilion Suite at the racecourse, which was apparently one of their larger rooms, capable of holding over five hundred people. Ushers with big umbrellas met us as we parked in the flagged-off area and guided us in the right direction. It was a massive operation, and there was literally a sea of white umbrellas moving back and forth from the parking area to the main building’s entrance, but everything flowed without any problems that I could see.

The long hallway down to the Pavilion Suite was hushed, the gloom of the day barely lifted by intermittent downlights. There was an usher at the door to take our names, and another to take our coats, then we were waved inside.

The quiet murmur of conversation ran across my senses as we entered the room. Sgott caught my elbow and guided me right, toward a quieter corner in this vast open space.

“How does this sort of thing work?” I asked softly, my gaze scanning the room, looking for someone familiar. I couldn’t see Mathi or even Ruadhán, let alone Cynwrig or Treasa.

“We drink and mingle, but because of your unique situation, I would suggest waiting until he approaches us.” He paused. “It’s likely he won’t, though, so don’t be getting your hopes up.”

“If he doesn’t come talk to us, what was the whole point of breaking the rules and inviting me here?”

“That is a question I cannot answer, lass.”

I waved a hand. “I know. I was just thinking out loud.” I snagged a sparkling water from the tray of a passing waiter. “Will there be much in the way of official speeches? Or is it basically just a wake and we’re here to do nothing more than pay our respects to the family, and to reminisce about the glorious life of the deceased?”

“There will be a couple of speeches, likely one from Gethen’s long-term business partner, and one from both Treasa and Cynwrig. They probably won’t mingle until after that duty is done.”

“Then expect me to haunt your heels, because I know very few people here.” I paused. “Though if Ruadhán wanders by for a chat, expect me to abandon you.”

A smile tugged at his lips, though it was barely visible through the—admittedly much tamer than usual—beard. “Whatever opinion Ruadhán may have of you, he’s unlikely to be anything but cordial while you’re in my presence.”

“He’s nothing but cordial when I’m not,” I replied. “It’s just that his distaste practically oozes from his skin, and that makes him rather uncomfortable to be around.”

“Understandable, given the man sometimes makes my skin itch.” He shrugged. “Though that’s due more to his oft-deliberate stretching of the law while remaining within its broader terms. Shall we brave the tempest of small talk?”

I slipped my arm through the hook of his and forced a smile. “Let’s do it.”

In the end, it wasn't as bad as I’d thought it would be. Sgott’s presence by my side definitely eased the coldness I’d have otherwise gotten from many of those in the room. Inevitably, we did come across Ruadhán.

He gave me a stiff, somewhat perfunctory nod. “Bethany, it is a pleasure to see you again, even if the circumstances are less than ideal.”

A comment that made me wonder what he would consider ideal. A dark alley where a body could be disposed of easily, perhaps? Which was a totally inappropriate and unwarranted thought, but still...

I replied politely, then touched Sgott’s arm. “I’m going to get a refill. Would you like something?”

“No, I’m right thanks, lass.”

I glanced at Ruadhán and raised my glass in silent question. He shook his head and, as I left, began talking shop with Sgott. There were a number of white-clad waiters circulating around the room with drink trays and nibbles, but I made a beeline for the bar, wanting to avoid being in the same airspace as Ruadhán for as long as possible. Which was something of a new development. Granted, I’d never liked the man, but I’d always been able to at least tolerate him, if only for Mathi’s sake. Was the fact I no longer had to a contributing factor to the increasing intensity of my dislike? Possibly.

A tall pale woman with short bright yellow hair took my order and empty glass, then filled another and slid it across to me. As she did so, a small bell chimed, and silence instantly descended.

I swung around, the drink forgotten behind me. At the far end of the room, on a small stage sitting in front of white curtains on which the Lùtair family crest—a hammer and anvil—was emblazoned, three people appeared. The first was a man I didn’t know, but likely the long-term business partner Sgott had mentioned. The second was Treasa, looking stunning in a white pantsuit, her long dark hair curled on the top of her head like a crown. The third...

My breath caught in my throat, and my heart ached.

Cynwrig.

Looking divine in a white suit that emphasized his wide shoulders and classic V-shaped torso that tapered down to legs that were long and perfectly muscled. His chiseled features, so achingly familiar, were set into hardness, and though I couldn’t see his eyes from this far back, I knew his gaze was withdrawn and unseeing. Knew, because that indefinable connection between us flared briefly to life, a wash of awareness and heat that only made the ache in my heart that much fiercer.

The unknown man stepped forward to the single mic standing at the front of the stage, and without preamble, began speaking about Gethen Lùtair, listing his contributions to Deva and the arts, the differences he’d made to the lives of so many within the business world. When he finished, there was a small spattering of applause before silence fell again. Treasa stepped up. Her speech was more personal, a remembrance of family life, and while there were no images shown, she crafted them with her words, leaving no one in the room any doubt that their father had been an active part of their lives, and a man who had loved and been loved.

Then it was Cynwrig’s turn. He spoke more to the official side and his father’s life of duty as king, his deep, velvety tones clear and concise, showing little of the emotion I could feel bubbling underneath that calm, beautiful exterior. He finished with assurances that he and his sister would follow in their father’s footsteps, strengthening existing connections and contracts while enacting their father’s plans for new operational ties going forward. Then he bowed lightly and stepped back.

But as he did so, his gaze rose and, with unerring accuracy, hit mine.

The world stilled and faded away. There were who knew how many too-rapid beats of my heart where nothing and nobody existed but me and this man. The emotions that swirled between us were thick, strong, and all-encompassing, filled with desire and need even if nothing showed in the smokey silver depths of his eyes.

I was suddenly glad we weren’t close, that I was tucked at the back, well away from any sort of scrutiny, because I rather suspected my gaze would reveal all the things his did not.

Then the first man stepped up to the microphone again, blocking our line of sight and severing the connection, enabling me to breathe again. I turned, picked up my water, and gulped it down. It didn’t ease the tumbling in my stomach or the deeper down ache. The waitress behind the bar refilled my glass without being asked, and I picked it up, holding it with a too-tense grip as I turned around again.

The speeches had ended, and the stage was empty. I scanned the room but couldn’t see either Cynwrig or his sister. I made my way back to Sgott, spotting Mathi closer to the stage, talking to his father and a tall, statuesque woman with glorious golden hair, a somewhat pert nose, and large breasts. Or at least, large when it came to Ljósálfar elves. I didn’t go over. As much as I would have liked to talk to Mathi about what I’d discovered this afternoon, I wasn't up to confronting Ruadhán again, for however brief a period that might be. Besides, I could hardly talk about the hoard, given Ruadhán was not privy to council information in that regard. Even Mathi couldn’t talk to his father about it—all councilors had undertaken a blood oath not to talk to anyone outside the limited circle who were already aware of it.

Sgott did know, because no one had forced a blood oath on me, and it was far too late to do so now, given I’d already blabbed to everyone I trusted.

I found Sgott talking to the tall, elderly elf who’d been the convenor at the meeting this morning.

“Bethany,” Sgott said. “I take it you haven’t been formally introduced to Dhruv Eadevane?”

“Formally, no, though we have met.” I inclined my head. “A pleasure to see you again, Mr. Eadevane.”

“I wager that is something of a lie,” he said, in a soft echo of the statement I’d made earlier. “Tell me, how did your meeting with Liadon go?”

“It was... interesting.”

“Interesting is such a non-informative word.”

I smiled. “I requested any and all information she might have on the horn. She replied that it would take some time to go through all the records. That was about it, really.”

“And you weren’t... startled by her appearance?”

“Well, it’s not every day you come across a demigod, but I’ve certainly confronted worse over the last couple of weeks.” I hesitated. “Tell me, is a Nagi also what guards the scrolls that were kept near the hoard? Because if that were the case, I’m surprised the thieves were able to steal anything.”

“They were in the company of a bibliothecary, remember, so that likely explains it. As to the other part of your question…” He paused, expression contemplative. “I have not personally seen the scroll guardian—there would be few alive today who have—but I cannot remember her being described as a Nagi.”

“Which doesn’t mean it isn’t some other kind of demigod.”

“No.” He eyed me speculatively for a second. “This line of questioning is troublesome, given you were expressly forbidden to seek out those scrolls.”

I couldn’t help the smile that twitched my lips. “Given the council’s belief about thievery and my family, are you really all that surprised I seek to view the forbidden?”

Again, that wisp of a smile tugged his lips. I actually found myself warming to this old highborn elf in a way I never had with Ruadhán. “To be honest, no, but I would not mention it to the council, or they may enforce a blood oath on you.”

“They could try. They won’t succeed.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t be too sure of that, young woman. The council has ways of ensuring obedience, and your knives cannot protect you 24-7.”

Before I could reply to either the threat or the more surprising suggestion he was going to keep my comment to himself, the soft bell chimed again. Dhruv glanced around. “Ah, the family leaves. I am not surprised—the Lùtairs did not want this commemoration in the first place.”

I did my best to ignore the disappointment that surged at them leaving without being able to speak to Cynwrig, and resisted the urge to stand on my toes to look one last time at him. They were the actions of a desperate woman, and I wasn’t desperate. Really, I wasn’t.

And if I repeated it often enough, I might just well believe it.

“Then why did they accede to it happening at all?” I asked.

“Both the fae and business councils were planning a memorial with or without Lùtair involvement, so I daresay they thought it was better to control proceedings than not.” He bowed lightly. “It was a pleasure catching up with you again, Sgott. Young lady, I await your next update with anticipation.”

And with that, he wandered away. I turned to Sgott, my eyebrows raised. “You know, for a highborn and very ancient elf, he’s turning out to be pretty decent.”

“Always was once you got him outside more formal settings. You ready to go?”

I nodded. Despite those silent few seconds filled with nebulous promises that could never be, I couldn’t help but wonder why Cynwrig had broken all the rules to invite me here if he’d never intended to even approach me.

We made our way toward the exit. Our coats reappeared and, after a slender young man had politely helped me into mine, I followed Sgott down the long hallway. The day was probably darker than before, the storm I’d sensed earlier rippling across the sky in sheets of lightning. A shower of tiny stars danced across my fingertips in response, forcing me to shove them into my coat’s pockets to hide the energy show.

That’s when I felt the velvet box.

I stopped abruptly, exploring the size of the thing without taking it out of my pocket. It wasn’t a ring box—it was far too wide—but there was a definite possibility of it containing a necklace or bracelet. And there was a small piece of paper tucked lightly into one edge of the box.

Sgott paused and glanced over his shoulder. “Everything all right?”

I jumped slightly and hastily caught up to him. “Sorry, it appears I’ve been left a message.”

“I would have been disappointed with the lad if he hadn’t done something like that. Best read it in the car, though, where there’s less watchful eyes.”

I resisted the urge to look around and wondered what Sgott was seeing that I wasn’t. I hurried after him again, my fingers clenched around the soft box and my heart tripping along at a million miles an hour. The white umbrellas appeared again as we left the building, though in truth I barely noticed the thunder and the sharp snap of rain as it bounced off the pavement as we were escorted over to the car. Once Sgott had informed Dispatch he was available—technically he wasn’t on duty until the evening, but that had never stopped him answering callouts if he deemed them relevant to cases he was investigating—he reversed out and we were on our way. I tugged the box from my coat pocket.

It was roughly five inches square and a rich black velvet with the Lùtair shield emblazoned in silver on the top. If the box looked this expensive, its contents had to be pretty special. But I resisted the urge to immediately open it, and slid the note free instead.

It said, in sweeping, decorative strokes, The restrictions of the mourning period mean I cannot see or contact you by any physical means for the next three months. And while I’m well aware it is inappropriate and unreasonable of me to ask you to wait for at least that long before your heart makes any decision in regard to your other suitor, that is exactly what I am now doing. The bracelet within this box is a Bruadar—a dreaming bracelet. Wear it if you wish a continuation of what we share in a non-physical manner.

It was simply signed, Cyn.

“Well?” Sgott said. “Is it a goodbye or something else?”

“Something else.” And wondered what the hell a dreaming bracelet was. “He’s asked me to wait until the mourning period is over before I make any decision about a full-time relationship with Eljin.”

Sgott glanced at me, eyebrows raised. “Has that lad even mentioned the possibility of becoming exclusive?”

I hesitated. “He’s skirted around the edges of it a few times, but never come out and directly asked.”

“And do you want that?”

My hesitation was longer this time. “Eventually? Maybe? We’re really still in the ‘getting-to-know-you’ stage, and I don’t want to be rushing things. That’s never led to good situations in the past, at least not romantically.”

Sgott snorted. “You do indeed have a horrible history of picking the absolute worst men.”

As demonstrated by the now-incarcerated former teenage boyfriend who’d very recently popped back into my life. He’d not only made the very bad mistake of misjudging the adult me, but had also been stupid enough to threaten my brother’s life. He was damnably lucky I hadn’t killed him as the hazy cloud of inner darkness had wanted.

I safely tucked the note and the box into my purse. “I’m pretty sure Eljin can’t be counted as one of them.”

Even if the Eye seemed to dislike him.

Sgott smiled. “Yes, but if you’re wanting any sort of advice from a fatherly figure, I vote for the wait-and-see approach. It’ll give you time to shake out any secrets or bugs the lad might be keeping.”

I laughed. “I can totally assure you the lad hasn’t got any bugs, but I’m sure there’s a secret or two still lurking.”

And considering how early into our relationship we were, that was to be expected. Hell, I certainly hadn’t been upfront about everything, so there was no reason to presume he was.

Sgott chuckled softly, then reached for the radio as it squawked. “Bruhn here. Go ahead.”

“Chief, we’ve just received an urgent call from Kaitlyn Avery.”

I remembered the chill invading her place and my certainty that it was due to more than just a lack of heating, and instantly knew my trepidation had been right. That cold hadn’t been natural.

“What did she want?” Sgott replied evenly.

“Bethany Aodhán,” Dispatch said. “She said she tried to contact Bethany directly, but her phone is off.”

And it was. I hastily dug it out of my purse’s side pocket and switched it back on. The phone began pinging as multiple messages came in—one from Lugh, one from Eljin, and five from an unknown number that had to be Kaitlyn’s.

“And why is she requesting Bethany?”

“She said Bethany was the only one who could save her.”

“From what?” Sgott said, exasperation creeping into his tone.

“From the ice,” the dispatcher said. “Her entire building is encased in it.”

“It’s not cold enough—” I stopped. It might not be cold enough for ice under normal circumstances, but whatever was happening to Kaitlyn’s place wasn’t normal. It was magic. Perhaps even godly relic-type magic.

“Tell her we’ll be there in ten,” Sgott said, then flicked on the lights and sirens. As the car surged forward, he cast a brief but confused glance my way. “Why on earth would her building be encased in ice? My men made no mention of it, and they arrived not long after you’d left, apparently.”

“There were a few icicles hanging off the guttering when we were there, but no obvious signs of magic. My instincts twitched, though the knives didn’t.” I gripped the edge of the door as we slid way too fast around a corner. The car fishtailed for a couple of seconds, but Sgott quickly brought it under control. “But I think Fate might be having a good old laugh at my expense right now, because just this morning the council asked me to find a relic known as the Horn of Winter.”

“And it’s capable of encasing a building in ice?”

“The council were light on details, but given the god who wielded it was known as the devouring one, it’s probably wise to presume it can. Question is, who would want to set such a thing against Kaitlyn?”

“Lass, there’s a queue several miles long of people wanting—but not daring—to take revenge against our queen of dubious contracts. The better question is, why do it like this? It’s not exactly a quick or easy death—though maybe that may might be the whole point.”

“Isn’t freezing to death supposedly a peaceful death?”

“Only to the degree that once you’re unconscious, you can’t feel your body shutting down.” Sgott’s voice was grim. “But I can’t imagine frostbite, loss of coordination, and the extreme shivering that comes before unconsciousness would be in any way pleasant.”

I clutched the edge of the door again as we spun around another corner and hurtled toward Kaitlyn’s building. Up ahead, two regular police cars were sitting across the road, each a good distance away from Kaitlyn’s. A third sat directly out front with its tires encased in ice, though the bulk of the vehicle only had a small smattering of frost across its front and along its roof line, the crystals gleaming with a bluish fire in the storm-spun gloom.

The building itself was fully encased, and somewhat reminded me of a big blue ice block. But, just like the police car sitting directly in front, that ice only extended small slivers onto the buildings on either side. Either the person behind the freezing was being careful not to take out innocents or the horn’s powers were not as all-encompassing as the God of Winter and Destruction wanted everyone to believe.

It wasn’t like we could ask him, though I would certainly ask both the codex library and Beira.

“Are your knives capable of acting against that sort of magic?” Sgott asked as he came to a halt beside the blue and fluorescent green police car blocking this side of the road.

“I honestly don’t know.” I climbed out and slung my purse over my shoulder. “If the ice threatens me directly, then yes, they will, but whether they can counteract what is happening to that building, I can’t say. They didn’t react when I was here this morning, but the building wasn’t encased like it is now.”

A policewoman lifted the tape so we could approach the building. The chill in the air grew noticeably sharper. Two plainclothes officers stood in the middle of the street directly in front of the building, one of them on the phone. The other glanced at us as we drew nearer, and I recognized him. Harry Preston, a wolf shifter who worked for Sgott. His pale yellow eyes scanned me briefly, then he cast a nod my way and returned his attention to Sgott.

“Bec’s on the phone to Kaitlyn. Apparently she’s holed up in the basement and, given the increasing vagueness of her replies, is not doing too good. We’ve tried breaking in through the windows, but barely even scratched the ice. It’s rock solid.”

“Have you managed to track down a fire mage?” Sgott said.

“There’s no one close. We’ve a spellcaster on the way, but she’s still five minutes out. Not sure if Kaitlyn will last that long.”

“If we are dealing with a relic, then a spellcaster probably won’t help.” I suspected a fire witch might not, either, if only because few humans had the power to counteract godly energies.

“It’s still worth having them on hand in case your knives fail to have any impact.” He glanced at me. “How do you want to work this?”

“I get closer to the building and see if the knives react.”

“And if they don’t?” Sgott asked.

“I’ll stab one into the ice and see what happens, but given we have no idea what we’re currently dealing with, that might well cause more problems than not.”

“Well, if we don’t do something soon,” the woman on the phone to Kaitlyn said, “it’ll be too late. She’s no longer responding.”

“There are ambulances on the way,” Harry added.

Sgott nodded and returned his attention to me. “The show is yours.”

I dug my knives out, drew the blades, then handed him my purse and the sheaths. The softly gleaming ice covered the entire building; there were no features visible. No doors or windows. Harry and his companion might have tried breaking in through the latter earlier, but there was no evidence of their efforts or indeed the windows. It was as if the ice had thickened to protect itself. Or perhaps whoever was wielding the horn—if that was indeed what we were dealing with here—was close enough to see what was happening.

I jerked a look over my shoulder, quickly scanning the rooftops on the buildings opposite. There was no immediate sign of anyone, but that didn’t mean anything.

“Has a search been done of the area?” I asked. “Because if we’re dealing with a relic, the wielder might well be close.”

“Harry?” Sgott immediately said.

He shook his head. “We concentrated on evacuating the nearby buildings.”

Sgott nodded. “Then you and Bec get onto that, starting with the building opposite. But be wary—if we are dealing with someone using a relic, they might well turn it on you.”

“I’d like to say we’ll stay frosty,” Bec murmured, “but that would be a bad pun considering the situation.”

It was also a variation of a line in one of Sgott’s favorite old movies. I watched them leave, then flexed my fingers against the knife hilts and said, more to myself than Sgott, “Let’s get this show on the road.”

“Be careful.”

“That’s become my new motto when dealing with oddities and relics.”

Sgott snorted. “I believe that as much as I believed your mother every time she said it was a simple hunt and nothing could go wrong.”

And it didn’t. Not until the very last hunt, anyway.

Overhead, thunder rumbled and, a heartbeat later, lightning forked across the sky, a deep, dark, dangerous tree of power that echoed briefly in the two blades. Rivers of electric energy briefly ran across my vision—a rainbow network I could perhaps call on if the knives had little impact?

While I now knew to ground myself when I was channeling lightning through the blades, thereby lessening the risk of it boiling me alive, I wasn’t immortal. I’d come close to dying the first time I called down the lightning, and had only been saved by the song and power of an old forest the second time.

Did I really want to risk a third time?

Especially for someone like Kaitlyn?

All life was important, I knew that, but that kernel of deeper darkness whispered not all lives were the same.

I shoved it aside and forced my feet forward. The closer I got to the building, the colder it got. I stepped past the front of the police car onto the pavement, sliding a little on the ice before my boots caught traction. The wall of blue ice loomed above me, the lightning spearing the clouds above mirrored on its surface.

The knives weren’t reacting to the ice, although they seemed to be pulsing in time to the fury overhead.

“Anything?” Sgott asked.

“Not at the moment.” I moved forward slowly, wary of slipping on the sheeted pavement. My fingers began to ache, though it was more from the sheer intensity of the cold this close to the building than the force of my grip on the hilts.

I stopped several feet away from where the door should have been. The small alcove was completely filled in and there was no sound coming from the building’s interior. The wood song had died, just as Kaitlyn was dying. I guess it was unsurprising that, given what I was, the former made me angrier than the latter.

I raised the knife in my right hand and lightly pressed its tip against the ice. For several seconds, nothing happened. Then lightning flashed overhead, and the blade responded, its dark inner lightning rolling down the fuller and sparking brightly when it hit the ice. Fine cracks slithered away from the knife’s tip and water pooled around the point before dribbling down to the pavement where it froze again.

I wasn’t calling to the storm, so why did its intensity echo through the knives?

I didn’t know—a somewhat common refrain when it came to the triune and what it was actually capable of—but I had nothing to lose by following through with my earlier threat. Kaitlyn certainly did have something to lose, but if we didn’t break the lock of this ice, she’d soon be as dead as the wood song anyway.

I glanced around and met Sgott’s gaze. “I’m going to try stabbing the knives into the ice and see what happens. If I shout, run.”

“As long as you do the same.”

I smiled, though it was filled with tension. “Trust me, being buried under a mountain of ice is not on my to-do list today.”

“I would hope it’s not on your to-do list any day.”

I snorted, but my amusement slithered away as I returned my attention to the wall in front of me. Giving myself little time to think or worry, I raised both knives and thrust them, with as much force as I could muster, deep into the cold blue depths. The blades slid in smoothly, only stopping when the hilts hit the surface. Once again, nothing immediately happened, then thunder rumbled so damn loudly, I’d have sworn the pavement quaked under my feet. Lightning flashed, rolling across the groaning skies in fierce, bright waves.

Light pulsed around the hilts, as if in response to the light show happening overhead. Though their fiery touch didn’t hurt or burn my fingers, I nevertheless released the knives and stepped back.

Tiny cracks began to appear in the ice, spreading out from the two hilts in uneven lines, spiderweb-fine at first and then increasing in size and shape. The old building shuddered, and a sharp snapping sound echoed, reminding me somewhat of the noise a tree limb made when torn from the trunk.

I took another step back. The fierce glow coming from the knives was now so bright it washed across the ice, turning the blue purple. The shuddering increased, the snapping sound grew louder, deepening the cracks that swept over the ice. On the roof, a tile exploded, sending sharp shards into the air.

Then, with a groan not unlike that of a dying beast, the whole building began to crumble.