Horn of Winter (Relic Hunters #5)

Chapter 6

Chapter

Six

“But... how?”

I certainly wasn’t averse to the thought—far from it, especially if it meant I kept getting a little Cynwrig action—but surely if something like that was possible, someone, somewhere, would have put it into wide production and made a mint off it. The market for such a thing would be huge.

As would be the abuses.

“I don’t know the physics behind it,” she said, “so I’ve only got rumor and speculation to run with. But apparently, the bracelets are created as a pair, via Myrkálfar magic and a dreaming specialist?—”

“Specialist as in an oneirologist?” A term I knew only because she’d briefly dated one once.

She shook her head. “Oneirology is the scientific study of dreams. A dreaming specialist is a witch of sorts, generally employed to seek out and erase the spirits and demons that sometimes target dreamers. They’re more commonly known as dream hunters.”

“Not a term I’m familiar with.”

“Few would be outside hospitals and sleep clinics. Anyway, the Myrkálfar created the bracelets so that the highborn—be they man or woman—could remain in contact with a loved one while traveling distant lands.”

“ Sexual contact.”

She nodded. “Remember, the Myrkálfar tend to gift their hearts for life and do not stray, so these bracelets enabled couples to, well, couple, no matter how far or how long away their partner was.”

“Cynwrig and I aren’t married. We will never be married.”

“Nowhere in any of the rumors was there any mention of a requirement to be married. As far as I’m aware, the only requirement is emotional compatibility.” She motioned to the bracelet again. “For whatever reason, Cynwrig obviously believes you two are that, even if that compatibility can never go anywhere. He’s obviously intent on making damn sure he doesn’t lose that or you until he’s good and ready.”

I took another drink and stared at the bracelet for a few moments. “So how does it work? Do I just wear it, and whenever I’m asleep and horny, he can sweep in and ease things? Because that might get embarrassing.”

Especially if I happened to be sleeping with Eljin.

She laughed again. “I would imagine there’d be some sort of gateway or means of signaling readiness, especially considering these things were often used when the two people involved were in other time zones. More than that, I can’t say. Maybe you should just wear the thing and find out. Have you even touched it?”

I nodded. “There’s definitely magic within it, and it did react to my touch. Which is why I’m wary.”

Her phone pinged. She glanced down briefly, a smile tugging at her lips. “Lugh is five minutes away.”

“You want me to set the table?”

She nodded and grabbed the oven mitts to get the casserole out. “I’m guessing Eljin is part of the reason you’re wary?”

I tucked the bracelet back into my purse, then collected the plates and cutlery. “Some. I like him, but there’s a part of me that remains unconvinced.”

“The same part lusting after Cynwrig, perhaps?”

“No.” I laughed at her disbelieving look. “Well, only partially.”

“It’s natural to be wary, given how new the relationship still is and how horrid your history with men has been.”

“I keep telling myself that exact thing, but I have yet to convince myself.” I walked back over to the bench to get the heat-resistant placemat for the casserole. “You know, it’s situations like this I wish I could talk to Mom about. She was a really good judge of character.”

Which is probably why, as a teenager, I’d never introduced her to either Mkalkee or Halak. Somewhere deep down I’d known they were very bad news and had feared her reaction, with good reason. She did not take anyone messing with her family lightly. It was a trait that had carried onto Lugh, though he tended to be a bit more evenly tempered when it came to retaliation. Hell, he’d warned both Mkalkee and Halak to walk away when I was a late teen, and they actually had—though not without fucking around with my memories first, of course.

The pixie curse might prevent us from killing unless in self-defense, but it did not prevent us harming others in order to protect ourselves or those we loved.

“Surely if Lugh had any doubts about Eljin, he would have said something. He does work with him on a daily basis.” She paused and cocked her head. “Speaking of Lugh, a car has just pulled up.”

“Meaning this conversation is temporarily shelved.”

She frowned at me. “If you have doubts about Eljin, Lugh is the best person to ask.”

“Yes, but I don’t want to risk their relationship if my doubts are based on nothing more than emotional fear. Besides, we’ve more important things to discuss once dinner has been had.”

Lugh came through the front door with a loud, “I’m home,” and Darby once again bounced out to greet him. I grabbed the crusty bread, a knife, and a board, then picked up the butter dish and took everything over to the table.

By which time, Lugh and Darby had finished their “hellos” and walked back in.

“Smells delicious.” Lugh stripped off his coat and slung it over the back of the chair. “How are you, Beth?”

“Hungry, so sit your butt down so we can get started.”

He laughed and obeyed, and the next hour was filled with general catch-up chatter and much laughter.

Once the table was cleared and coffee was served, Lugh said, “So, what are the two things you need to discuss?”

I rose to retrieve the two bits of paper, then slid the article across the table to him. He crossed his arms on the table and studied it for a few seconds. “I recognize a couple of the people in the photo—I’ve worked a number of times with both Frank and Gena.” He pointed to a lighter-haired man and a small, dark woman. “But the rest don’t look familiar.”

“And the dig site?”

“It says Portugal, but it has to be from at least fifty years ago given the gear that’s behind them. More than that, I can’t say. Why?”

“Someone implied that it would be in my best interests to find out more about that dig.”

“Does this someone have a name?” he asked. “And do we trust them?”

“We do.”

He sniffed. “I believe Gena died a few years ago, but Frank is still alive and kicking. I’ll see if the museum has his contact details and give him a call. No promises though. And the other thing?”

“What do you know about Geitha’s Tears?”

“Geitha, as in the Myrkálfar goddess?” Darby asked.

I nodded and pushed the drawing across. “I’ve been asked to find it.”

Lugh picked up the drawing and studied it. “Who by? Cynwrig?”

“Treasa. He’s not allowed any physical contact, remember.”

“But he’s definitely planning nonphysical,” Darby murmured.

Lugh glanced at her. “Meaning?”

“Meaning, that lad has no intention of allowing Beth’s heart to be captured anytime soon by Eljin.”

His gaze went from her to me and back again. “I feel like I’m missing vital information in this discussion.”

Darby patted his hand. “I’ll fill you in later.”

He rolled his eyes and returned his attention to the drawing. “It’s not something I can remember seeing, but I’ll search the archives and see if there’s any mention. Is it a relic?”

“No, though it is goddess-gifted, as the name implies. It was stolen a few centuries ago, and now they need to find it. Apparently they’ve discovered it has a part to play in the coronation.”

“So of course they leave tracking it down until the last possible moment.” Darby shook her head. “Honestly, officialdom never changes, does it, no matter what the race. They’re all fucking useless.”

“Why don’t you tell us how you really feel?” I said with a laugh.

Her smile flashed. “It’s a motto I definitely try to live by.”

“And one I’m still getting used to,” Lugh muttered. “It’s bad enough having a sister who holds little back, but having both of the two most important people in my life swearing by that code?” He shook his head, his sorrowful expression countered by the amusement creasing the corners of his green eyes. “I’m obviously a glutton for punishment.”

I glanced at Darby at that little statement. Her eyes shone with happiness, though neither she nor I pointed out he’d just admitted how important she now was to him. “So,” she said, taking a drink and leaning back in her chair, “Tell us what happened with the council this morning.”

I quickly updated them, both on my mission for the council and the attack on Kaitlyn, then asked him, “I think you mentioned not so long again that you’d found some notes Nialle had made about the horn?”

“I did, though I haven’t had time to check them. I’ll gather them all for you tomorrow.”

“Thanks.” I paused. “Just in case the attack on Kaitlyn isn’t related to the horn, however unlikely that might be, where’s the best place to find a listing of local ice witches?”

“They’d probably fall under the umbrella of the spellcasters guild,” Darby said.

“Yeah, but from the little I’ve heard about that mob, they’re notoriously hard to get information out of.”

“Which is why you’re better off leaving it to Sgott,” Lugh commented. “But of course, you won’t.”

I grinned and raised a glass. “To a brother who understands the workings of his sister’s mind.”

He rolled his eyes, but before he could reply, Darby said, “I can suggest a different information avenue, depending on what you wanted to know, of course.”

“Oh? Do tell,” I said.

“A few years ago, I treated a retired ice witch for exhaustion and heart problems. He was a lovely, somewhat lonely old fellow, and I still see him once a month, not to check on him but just to chat.”

“Would it be possible for you to ring him up tomorrow and arrange a meeting?”

“Sure. I’d ring tonight but he’s probably already in bed. He tends to do that rather than turn the heating on.”

“An ice witch affected by the cold? That’s rather unusual, isn’t it?”

She shrugged. “It happens as they get older—as their ability to manipulate the weather wanes, so does their immunity to the forces they used to raise.”

“Huh.” I wondered if that would happen to me. My father wasn’t mortal, so possibly not, but it wasn’t like I could ask him. Besides, I wasn’t even very good at raising the forces I could apparently manipulate. Not yet anyway.

We moved on to discussing non-work stuff again, and I left at ten, walking home rather than catching an Uber, enjoying the crispness of the night and the distant electricity of a storm while I thought about options. About what I wanted to do and what I should do.

By the time I arrived back at the tavern, I was no closer to an answer. But I didn’t put the bracelet on. I didn’t dare.

Coward, thy name is Bethany , I thought, and fell asleep with a wry smile on my lips.

After working on the tavern’s accounts for a couple of hours the following morning, I grabbed my purse, my knives, and my long, waterproof trench coat, then shoved on my wellies and headed out into the miserable day. Though I’d managed to direct the wind and even storms a number of times now—be it for attack, defense, or even the protection of certain relics—it had mostly been in an ad hoc manner. But I had a feeling that if I wanted any real hope of setting the wind a more complicated task, I’d need to be more fully immersed in the weather—a fact backed up by the vague whisperings riding the breeze. Whisperings that sounded an awful lot like Beira.

She was not a happy goddess, if they were anything to go by.

I shoved my gloved hands into my pockets and quickly made my way through the rain-washed, surprisingly empty streets. It was just after midday, so there should have been at least some people out and about seeking something to eat. It was a weekday after all, and it wasn’t as if storms like this were unknown in Deva, especially during the winter months.

Up ahead, the eastern wing of the lovely old red sandstone cathedral loomed, ghostly in the gray. The gardens that surrounded it weren’t visible thanks to the gloom, but as I crossed the street and headed into the memorial section, the freestanding bell tower came into view. It was much younger than the cathedral, having been commissioned in the early seventies after the original tower was deemed no longer safe to house the bells. This one was a modern interpretation of the old Roman watchtowers that had once guarded Deva’s walls, and while its base was the same rose-red sandstone as the cathedral, the tower itself was reinforced concrete hung with gray slate. Directly in front of it was my destination—a circular garden bed, in the center of which was a round seating platform. In the summer months it was usually claimed by parents resting up while their kids ran wild through the lovely gardens, but right now the whole area was empty.

If the storm did demand full immersion, then this was probably the safest place for me to attempt it. While there were few races beyond humans who considered church grounds sacrosanct—except, rather weirdly, the Annwfyn, who tended to avoid them—there weren’t many who’d consider spilling blood a viable option here either.

And I did not want to think about why I was suddenly worried about blood spillage.

I sat cross-legged on the wooden platform, arranged the trench around my jeans so they didn’t get soaked, then drew in a deep breath and reached for the power that rumbled above me.

And found Beira.

Well , she said, her terse manner briefly echoed in the increase of ferocity whipping around me, it’s about fucking time.

You know , I replied, in much the same manner, if you want me to instantly reply to the messages you send on the wind, you might want to teach me how to actually do that rather than letting me muddle along on my own.

She harrumphed, though her amusement briefly spun around me. If there was one thing I’d learned over the brief time I’d known her, it was that she preferred bite over meekness.

You may have a point, young Bethany, but given what rises, it is not something I dare risk too often.

I frowned. Surely the Ninkilim haven’t the capacity to sense your presence within the wind, though.

That would depend on who exactly they have in their ranks. A weather mage could, even if they can’t fully understand what the wind carries.

And are they the reason why you risked speaking to me now?

No. In fact, they have been worryingly quiet over the last few days. I fear they plan something big.

If you’re keeping such a close eye on their movement, why not just tell me who they are so I can get Sgott and his people onto them?

Because the law does not work that way. Just cause, and all that rubbish.

The Ninkilim murdered my mother.

You have no direct proof of that as yet.

True, but I suspected all Sgott would need was a name to at least haul the ring leaders in and question them. That still doesn’t tell me why you can’t just reveal their identities.

Because the wind also does not work that way. She is a weapon, and a gatherer of locations and intent, but she cannot reveal deeper information such as identity. She cannot even whisper a description, because wind and storms are of land and tree, cities, and seas; they have no care for those who dwell within them.

Does that mean I can’t send the wind on a mission to track down a particular person?

In normal circumstances, I would say yes, but in your case, that is a great unknown.

I frowned. Why?

Because you were born of both an Aodhán line given a triune blessed by multiple goddesses and the loins of a minor storm god. No one truly knows how your genetics will combine, and what might come of it. Expectation does ride high among those gods who remain that splendid chaos will be forthcoming.

You gods and your chaos , I muttered.

Her laughter spun around me, as sharp as it was warm. It is the spice of godly life.

Why were you attempting to contact me if not about the Ninkilim?

There has been an unsettling energy asserting itself on the storms.

Is it a relic-type energy? Or human? Because the council has tasked me with finding Borrhás’s horn, and there was a recent ice attack where the entire building was encased.

The horn’s ability to encase would depend on who, exactly, wields it.

Does that mean a regular storm witch could still use it even if he or she wasn’t an ice witch?

Possibly. I would have to ask.

My eyebrows shot up again. Borrhás is still hanging around? He hasn’t moved on?

He is one of the inconsistents.

Meaning what?

He hasn’t fully committed and has a godly foot in both worlds, so to speak.

Then you’ll ask him?

I will, but he may choose not to answer, particularly if he’s the reason the horn has fallen into human hands. As I have mentioned previously, chaos is a drug few can resist for very long, and he has not partaken of that well for a while. She paused. He also has little liking for me.

I frowned. And that impacts the situation how?

If the freezing is a result of his horn, it’s likely not a coincidence it’s made an appearance here, in a city I often frequent, and a place that holds a godly seedling.

A godly seedling was certainly a new way to describe my origins. I wrinkled my nose. If you are going to speak to him, can you also ask him if the two halves can be made whole and how I can rid the world of it? The council wants it back, but I’m not sure that is ever going to be a good option for any of the relics. Destruction or at least removing them from this world would be the optimum, wouldn’t it?

For the relics of those who have moved on, yes. For the inconsistents, or for those who remain attached to this world but are neither hag nor curmudgeon, I would think they’d prefer their relics remain.

Because of the chaos thing?

Indeed.

Well, fuck.

She laughed. My sentiments exactly. Especially given I do not trust the elves to learn much from this mishap.

Surely even they will be more cautious about security for at least a few decades.

What are decades when you deal with centuries or even millenniums?

I guess that was true. If I want to use the wind to find the horn, or whoever might be using it to ice buildings over, how do I do that?

You cannot be precise, but it is pointless being obtuse.

Well, that makes everything perfectly clear.

You simply have to define your parameters, such as an intense and sudden increase of ice in the air or a surge within a storm related to such an event. Her amusement spun around me again. I will walk you through this first inquiry, but I will impress once again the need for you to learn via trial and error. As I have already said, your bloodlines mean what you can and cannot do remains unpredictable.

Which is no doubt why my father begat me. Chaos and all that.

Ambisagrus was never a god who played such games. While none of us are privy to his current plans, he would still have seduced your mother with an end goal in mind—and that goal would not have been chaos.

I hesitated, but couldn’t resist asking , Has he had other children with mortal women, be they human or fae?

One, a long time ago.

And?

It did not go as he planned.

Why not? What did he plan?

That is a question I cannot answer, because it is not my story to tell.

Well, that’s fucking frustrating.

No doubt, but we hags had certain boundaries placed on us when we were given these meat suits and, even now, we cannot step beyond them. Are you ready?

I shifted a little on the wooden seat, then nodded. She quickly guided me through the steps of creating a simple inquiry stream, then added, Once you cast it free, you’ll need to be available to the wind at all hours, so sleep with at least one window open.

I nodded and made a mental note to add another comforter on the bed. Her presence within the storm faded, and I climbed off the platform, tugging my trench back down before shoving my hands into my pockets and heading for the exit gate. The phone rang just as I reached it, the tone telling me it was Darby.

“You free right now?” she said as soon as I answered.

“Sure am.”

“Then I’ll swing by and pick you up. We’ve been invited for afternoon tea.”

“By your lonely old ice witch, I gather?”

“Yes, and he was rather excited to be meeting someone new.”

“You know, if he wasn’t coping so poorly with the cold, I’d suggest he catch a cab over to the tavern at night and hang out with Jack and Phil.”

Jack and Phil were a couple of old pixies who were evening fixtures at the tavern. Like many of our elders living permanently here in Deva rather than one of the widely scattered enclaves, they basically treated the Boot as a second home. The fierce joy that radiated off the old oak beams was part of the reason, but the main one was the fact that we supported our elderly with deep discounts on meals—more to ensure they had at least one decent meal a day in a city that didn’t do all that much for its elderly fae, whose needs were often very different to those of humans.

“I might bring him along one night when winter is over, just to introduce him, but I do think he’d really enjoy it. I take it you’re at the tavern?”

“No, just leaving the cathedral.”

“What the hell are you doing there?”

“Communing with the weather.”

“You can take two steps out the back door and do that.”

“I definitely could, but I needed to be somewhere where I wasn’t likely to be disturbed.”

“Fair enough, I guess. Do you want to walk back to Watergate Street near the corner of Bridge Street, and I’ll pick you up? It’ll take me about fifteen to get there.”

“I’ll grab us coffee from Panna’s if they’re not too busy.” I paused. “Would your witch like one?”

“His name is Winter Frost?—”

“You’re kidding me.”

“Apparently it’s a tradition—a rather mean one if you ask me—that the firstborn son every generation gets that name.”

“And I bet they all got a lot of ribbing from their peers growing up, him being an ice witch and all.”

“No doubt, and yes, he undoubtedly would love a cappuccino, as he doesn’t treat himself too often. See you soon.”

I hung up, but before I could tuck the phone away, it pinged. It was a text from Eljin, asking if I wanted to go out for dinner that evening. I smiled and sent back, Feeling horny again, are we?

Insatiable.

So, we’re eating at your place?

I am not a heathen. There will be a divine restaurant experience at Viridis before we indulge in sex .

Viridis was one of the five supposed “dining sensations” within Deva, and one of only twenty-three restaurants in the UK to be given a Michelin green star for high levels of gastronomy and sustainability. When it had initially opened, the waitlist had been at least eight months long, but there were always a few daily cancelations to be snared if you rang early enough. I’d been there once before, and it had indeed been a divine experience .

What time?

I’ll pick you up at eight.

Perfect. See you then.

I tucked the phone back into my purse, then made my way across to Bridge Street, enjoying the music of the storm and the dance of rain across the pavement. Thankfully, Panna’s wasn’t busy, so I ordered two cappuccinos and a latte for Darby, grabbed a half-dozen sticky buns, and then headed out to wait under the awning. She arrived a few minutes later, and leaned across the mini’s front seats to open the passenger door for me.

I handed her the drinks then climbed in. She drew in a deep breath and sighed in delight. “Sticky buns. You’ll be Winter’s best friend from now on.”

“Thought he might appreciate them given what you said, and besides, they just smelled too good to ignore.”

“That they certainly do.”

Once I’d buckled up, she gave me back the tray and drove off. Winter lived in Hoole, which was beyond the walls of old Deva, in a two-up, two-down red-brick terrace that was close to both the train station and Hoole’s Community Center. Darby found a parking spot a few doors down and we walked back to his bright blue door.

Darby rang the bell then stepped back a little. A surprisingly robust voice called out, “Coming,” but we were huddled in the confines of the small awning that covered the top step for quite a few minutes before the door opened.

Winter Frost was tallish, thinnish, with silvery white hair that hung in clumps that somewhat resembled icicles, and pale, almost parchment-like skin. He was stooped over and using two walking sticks that again looked like ice, though the gentle humming coming from each told me it was just a paint effect over wood.

He greeted Darby with a smile and a quick hello, then his strange, silvery-blue gaze swept me and what I was holding, and his smile grew even wider. “Ah lass, you know the way to an old man’s heart. Come in, come in, before you and the goodies get soaked.”

I smiled and followed Darby inside. It was a pretty standard layout for a house of this age—stairs directly ahead, a reception room to the left, through which was a combined kitchen-dining room. The kitchen was basic, but had all the usual appliances—a four-burner stovetop, underbench oven and, in the corner, a front-loading washing machine. The fridge was tucked between the dining room window and the glass door that opened out into a small patio yard.

“Please sit,” he said. “I’ll get some plates and cutlery.”

I glanced at Darby and raised an eyebrow, silently asking if we should offer to help. She shook her head and sat down. I handed out the coffee, placing his and the buns in the middle of the well-maintained, white particleboard table.

I sat down next to her and watched as the elderly man gathered the plates, knives, and the butter dish, balancing them all in the crook of one arm while he used one stick to steady himself and walk back. After carefully depositing them on the table, he shuffled back and retrieved a cake tray. Once he’d displayed the buns and given us each a plate and a knife, he finally sat down.

“Now that we’ve got that done with,” he said, sliding the tray toward us. “Why don’t we start with the official introductions. I’m Winter Frost, Win to my friends, and I was adjutant to Halston Moore, who ran the guild before Marjorlaine took over.”

Adjutant meant he’d been second-in-charge, I think. I reached across the table and shook his offered hand. His fingers were crepey against mine, but not as gnarled as I’d expected. “I’m Bethany Aodhán. I own a tavern over on Eastgate, but I’m currently working for the council hunting down some missing relics.”

He sniffed. Loudly. “Why on earth would you be willingly working for them bastards?”

“Long story, but it was that or jail.”

“I believe there are many within the guild who’d think jail might be the better option, but that is a tale for another time.” His eyes glittered with ice, and though I wasn’t sure if it was distaste or amusement, mirth twitched his thin lips. He made an “eat, eat” motion toward the buns, then added, “Darby tells me you’re here to pick my poor old brain.”

I plucked a bun from the cake tray, then reached for the butter. “Yes, I am, though I suspect there is nothing poor about your brain.”

He laughed. “You could be right in that. What do you want to know?”

As he sliced open and buttered a bun, I quickly told him what I’d seen at Kaitlyn’s. “I was just wondering if you knew of any active ice witches in Deva.”

He took a bite rather than answer, then briefly closed his eyes. “Damn, these are good.”

“Made fresh this morning.”

“Do they deliver?”

“No, I don’t think they do,” Darby said, “but I can alternate between these and eclairs on my visits, if you’d like.”

“That would be fabulous, young lady, but only if it’s not too much of a problem. Wouldn’t want you going out of your way for an old fool like me.”

“I wouldn’t for an old fool, but for a friend, it’s no problem.”

A smile creased the corners of his eyes. “You do say the nicest things. To answer the question on the table, though, there’s quite a number of storm witches in the guild these days, but as far as I’m aware only one ice witch. But he’s unlikely to be active within Deva. It goes against guild rules.”

“Why is that?”

“Because, if you’ll excuse the crudity, it’s never wise to shit on your own back door.”

I laughed. “Are you able to give me the contact details of this ice witch? Even if he’s not responsible for the attack, he might be able to give some pointers on who was. I mean, there can’t be too many ice witches in the UK, can there?”

“There were five registered during my time at the guild, but there could be more now, with the next generation filling the ranks.” He frowned. “I will say, however, that the strangely glowing vortex you mentioned is generally not something that happens in either the creation or destruction of ice formations. We use what already exists in the air—the chill and the moisture—to build walls or to sheet items. I’ve certainly never seen or heard of an ice witch who can deconstruct a building in such a manner. Usually, if we’re intent on destruction, we freeze and shatter.”

I hesitated, wondering how much I should tell him given the council’s edict the general public couldn’t know about the missing hoard. But I couldn’t not tell him, either. While it was possible he still had friends within the guild, the slight emphasis he’d put on Marjorlaine’s name when he said it suggested he was no fan of hers, and might have left on a bitter note. After all, there had to be some reason he got so few visits from the organization he’d spent a lifetime serving.

“We think the witch behind the attack might be using a relic to enhance his powers.”

Win wrinkled his nose. “If that is the case, I’m surprised the guild hasn’t already reacted. The last thing they need is a rogue operator in the city.”

“They might well have,” I said. “It’s not like I’ve been in contact with them.”

“No.” He picked up his cup and took a careful sip. Pleasure briefly lit his expression. “I would have thought, though, that you’d have felt the formation of the ice vortex given the electricity of storms all but surrounds you.”

“It does?” Darby said and scanned me critically.

“You have to be a witch to sense another,” he said with a sharp laugh.

“And I’m not a witch. At least, not a trained one. I’ve only recently started developing the skill.”

“Then you should contact the guild. They’ll be able to get you up to speed in a few years.”

Except we didn’t have years and I was not inclined to undertake any sort of official training, especially given Beira’s recent comment about storm witches listening into her conversations. The last thing I wanted was to give the Ninkilim any sort of heads-up as to the true depth of my abilities.

“I’ll think about it.”

“Which is a female’s way of saying ‘not on your Nelly.’”

I laughed and lightly touched my cup against his. “Have you got the contact details for this ice witch?”

“His name is Harold Gould, but he’s not likely to talk to someone like yourself.”

I frowned. “Why not?”

“Guild edict. No talking to anyone about guild business without guild permission.”

I sighed. “Then we go through the guild.”

“Or I could talk to him,” he said. “The cost will be another morning tea, complete with coffee and sticky buns.”

I laughed. “Deal. Thank you, Win.”

He nodded, and the conversation moved on. He regaled us with stories of past exploits, and Darby and I returned in kind, telling tales of the strange things that had happened at both the hospital and the tavern. We left on a promise to visit the next week.

The rain had eased by the time we got back outside, though the wind promised more would be unleashed in an hour or so. Once we were back in Darby’s mini, I dragged out my phone and googled the guild’s webpage. Once there, I flipped over to their listings page and scrolled down the list. “Well, Winter’s right. There’s no other ice witches listed, and only one storm witch—a man by the name of Harper Jones. There’s no contact details, though. If Win can’t convince Gould to talk to us, we’ll have to go through the guild itself.”

“Might be better to get Sgott onto it.”

“Except he has to follow the rules and can’t use pixie magic to make them talk.”

“Yeah, but he has a database that can get phone numbers and addresses. You don’t.”

I grinned. “Which is where Mathi comes into it. He has full access to his father’s computer.”

She glanced at me. “Seriously? Why on earth has Sgott allowed that to continue?”

“Because he and Ruadhán are equal counterparts, and until Mathi steps out of line with the access, he can’t really override Ruadhán’s authority. He is keeping a close eye on things, and has restricted access to the night division files and cases.”

“Makes sense, though given Mathi’s father would still have that access, it’s also pretty pointless.”

“Ruadhán won’t do or allow anything that’ll set Sgott off. He very carefully walks the gray area between legal and not. Mathi is well aware of that.”

“I’m still surprised Sgott puts up with it. He’s generally a straight-down-the-line man.”

“He’s also very careful, and certainly wouldn’t risk jeopardizing an entire department without just cause and lots of evidence.”

Darby nodded. “You want to be?—”

Before she could finish, my phone rang, the noise so sharp and unexpected it made me jump slightly. I glanced down at the screen, saw it was Sgott, and hit the answer button. “Were your ears burning or something?”

“Burning ears would be welcome, given the situation right now.”

Alarm leapt through me. “What situation? What’s happened?”

“It’s the Lùtair Enterprises building—they’ve just come under an ice attack.”