Horn of Winter (Relic Hunters #5)

Chapter 8

I swore and raced around the side of the building just as a thin, gray-haired woman leapt for the back fence and flung one leg over the top of it.

I caught the air and snapped it toward her, looping the leash around her waist, then yanking her back.

She squawked and fell, landing heavily in a thick patch of lavender.

It at least broke her fall.

The air certainly didn’t.

I extended the leash to both legs to prevent her climbing back up, and she instantly attacked it, using her own storm skills to try and dismantle it.

Interestingly, despite the fact the wash of her energy across my leash suggested she was powerful enough in her own right, she had no luck.

Her gaze jagged to me, and I felt her energy switch.

I raised a hand in warning.

“Don’t. Anything you hit me with, I’ll rebound double-strength.”

I wasn’t sure I had enough knowledge to actually follow through with the threat, but she wasn’t to know that.

She scowled up at me, steely eyes flashing with anger. “You’re a fucking storm witch? No one told me that.”

“That seems to be a common theme when it comes to felons hiring others to go up against me, though it generally refers to me being a pixie.”

I squatted in front of her but kept well out of fist reach. “Who told you about me?”

“I can’t say.”

“Why did they hire you, then?”

“I wasn’t hired.”

“Then why did you run when I turned up at the door?”

She sniffed, disbelieving. “I was told not to trust you.”

I studied her for a second. “If you weren’t hired, were you paid to provide information? The name of an ice witch, perhaps?”

“Can’t say.”

I sighed. “Look, we can do this the easy way or the hard. Your choice.”

“No, it ain’t, because another goddamn pixie beat you to it.

I literally cannot give anyone anything in the way of information as to who I spoke to.

Not you, not the IIT, not nobody.”

Well, that was fucking inconvenient, especially when it was generally impossible for one pixie to undo the mental commands of another.

I’d heard the pixie council could , if pushed, but they only ever did so under extenuating circumstances.

Apparently, unpicking a truly in-depth enforcement risked destroying the mind.

Which was why they used the red knife for deep control crimes; controlling other pixies was considered the second-worst crime you could commit—murder being the worst, naturally enough—especially when it involved family.

Though I might hate it, I was well aware I was damn lucky to be serving out my sentence with the council.

When it came to controlling everyone else, however, it was basically anything goes, unless, of course, you were foolish enough to magic someone famous.

This woman wasn’t famous, but if she’d been so broadly restricted I wasn’t going to get past it.

I nevertheless reached out and touched the visible bit of leg between her jeans and her shoes.

She swore and slapped at me.

I flicked a sliver of air around her hands, trapping them, and told her to behave or I’d gag her.

To be honest, I was surprised she hadn’t started screaming the minute I’d pulled her from the fence, but maybe she didn’t want to attract neighborly attention any more than I did.

I didn’t have to deepen the touch to feel the caress of another in her mind, and the sheer breadth of it was astonishing.

Someone had made very sure this woman really couldn’t talk about a wide range of subjects.

I released her and sat back on my heels again.

There had to be some way around the restrictions.

There always was—Vincentia had certainly proven that.

I just had to find the right question.

I pursed my lips for a second. “Did this other pixie contact you through the guild?”

“No. Privately.”

“How, when all hiring is supposed to go through the guild to keep things upfront and avoid backlash?”

“It was a recommendation from a now retired client, and the guild turns a blind eye to private contracts all the time.”

“What is the retired client’s name?”

She hesitated. “Will she be in trouble?”

That she asked meant the restrictions hadn’t covered the recommender. A careless but understandable mistake. “No. I just need to know the name of the person who magicked you.”

“Then the recommender was Alys Tew.”

Tews were the smallest of the pixie lines and had the ability to communicate and control bees and insects. They often worked in conjunction with storm witches on farms, parks, and gardens. “She live in Deva?”

“No, Galway. She has a cottage in a little place called Menlo.”

Tension slithered through me. Aside from the fact all roads seemed to be leading to Galway right now, Menlo just happened to be where my aunt had lived.

Coincidence? Possibly. Possibly not. Just because my aunt was presumed dead didn’t mean any relatives she had on her former husband’s side of the family hadn’t hired someone to enact a little revenge.

Given how little contact I’d had with my aunt and her family over the years, it wasn’t like I knew how close any of them were to Riayn or Vincentia.

“Address?”

She gave it to me, and I quickly added it to my phone. “And the pixie who placed the controls on your mind—what coloring did she have?”

As I’d said to Mathi earlier, other pixie lines did have the skill, though it generally came via marriage with an Aodhán or Tàileach pixie, and often resulted in a diluted version of the skill running through the next few generations.

“Can’t say because she was using a morphing charm. Saw it shimmering in and out of focus when she touched my neck.”

Given Keeryn Gordon had been part of the trap waiting in that graveyard for me and Mathi, it was highly likely she’d been the supplier. If, that was, these events were all connected. Just because I suspected they were didn’t mean I was right.

“Did this other pixie tell you to ring her when or if I appeared?”

“Can’t answer that.”

In other words, yes. I held out a hand. “Phone?”

“You’ve no right?—”

I rolled my eyes but really couldn’t be bothered arguing. Not when I had to ring the IIT anyway. “You’re right. I don’t. But I know someone who does.”

While she frowned at me, I got out my phone and rang Sgott. He answered after a few seconds with a resigned, “And what is it this time?”

“Sorry, but I have a suspect related to the two ice attacks?—”

“I didn’t attack anyone with ice,”

she snapped. “That’s not my talent.”

I ignored her. “She ran the minute I appeared at her door, but she’s been pixie-restricted so can’t tell me anything. She does have the contact details of that pixie in her phone.”

“It’s likely to belong to a burner phone, but I’ll send a team straight over to collect her. Address?”

I gave it to him, then asked, “How long can you legally hold her?”

“Hold me? What the fuck?”

“Seventy-two hours with permission from a court,”

he replied. “Up to fourteen days without permission if they’re a terrorist suspect, and it can be argued these attacks fall into that category.”

“I ain’t no fucking terrorist!”

Maybe not, but she did have damn good hearing. “It might be an idea to contact the pixie council, then. They might be able to clear at least some of the restrictions so we can get some information out of her.”

“You know, if you ever get tired of running the tavern, you’d make a damn fine consultant for the IIT.”

I grinned. “Well, I did grow up with one of their best officers as my dad.”

He made a gruff noise I couldn’t quite make out but knew from past experience was an indication he was heavily controlling his emotions.

“Talk later,”

I said, and hung up.

“Now listen here,”

Harper growled, “you can’t do this. I’ve done nothing wrong.”

“You’re right, I can’t, but the IIT certainly can.”

I studied her for a second. “The recommendation you gave to the other pixie—was that woman from Deva?”

“No, Whitlow.”

All paths were definitely leading back to Ireland right now. “Address?”

“Can’t say.”

I swore and scrubbed my hand across my face. “Is the ice witch registered with the guild?”

“No, she is not, so good luck locating her.”

It was rather maliciously said. I shook my head and rose. “If you walk away from this episode without spending a good portion of your remaining life in jail, can I suggest you go through the guild from now on rather than taking personal commissions?”

In response, she muttered something decidedly unpleasant about my heritage, which only made me grin.

As the sound of sirens grew closer, I wound the wind up the rest of her torso, just to ensure she didn’t attempt to crawl anywhere—not that she’d get very far if she did—then returned to the front of the building.

A black vehicle pulled up a few seconds later, and two women climbed out. I didn’t know either of them. The taller of the two flashed her badge and then said, “Bethany Aodhán?”

I nodded. “My captive is around the back, currently leashed by air.”

“You’ve leashed a storm witch, and she hasn’t escaped yet?”

the other woman said. “Interesting.”

“My power is stronger than hers, fortunately.”

Even if my skill level probably wasn’t.

I followed them down the lane and, once they’d cuffed the suspect, unleashed the wind.

As the taller of the women led her back to the car, the other said, “You done a search of her house?”

I raised an eyebrow. “I legally can’t.”

She smiled. “The boss said you sometimes ignore legalities.”

“That could be true, but not in this particular case.”

She laughed. “And when we leave?”

“I’m calling an Uber and heading over to the cemetery. I’ve a ghul I need to speak to. Oh, and tell Sgott that our ice witch apparently comes from Wicklow but isn’t registered with the guild.”

She nodded and climbed into the driver’s side of the vehicle. As they took off, I rang an Uber, then walked down to the end of the small court to wait for it.

Night had fallen by the time I reached the cemetery.

I once again followed the path around to the right until I was standing in the bowl-shaped seating area surrounded by the old oaks.

For several minutes I simply stood there, my eyes closed and my mind deeply immersed in the incandescent pathways of power that flowed all around me; it was beautiful and powerful, and it went a long way to easing the background niggle of utter weariness.

Maybe I needed to come to this spot more often. While the tavern’s song was familiar and comforting, this was probably the closest thing I would get to an ancient forest, even in a city as old as Deva.

“Do you come to revive your senses, or do you have another question for me?”

I opened my eyes. The ghul’s filmy presence hovered near one of the seats to my left. “A bit of both, really. This place is truly magical.”

“Why do you think I call it home? Aside from the practicalities it offers one such as I, that is.”

Those practicalities being her dining habits. “Does that mean you’re affected by the energy that wells here?”

“It does not revitalize me as it does you and your kind. But places of peace such as this are a draw to those sensitive to the energy here, whether they are aware of it or not, be they human, fae, or shifter.

It provides a wide range of conversations and people to follow and has been an invaluable source of information over the years.”

“I’m surprised more people haven’t come here to tap that information.”

Her scratchy laugh echoed across the silence, but this time, unlike last time, nothing stirred in the distant shadows. “Not even your mother did, though she knew of my existence.”

“You knew Mom?”

“I followed her on a few occasions. She acknowledged my presence, which was gratifying, but she never asked any questions.”

“And that offends you?”

“Perplexes. I am aware she used others.”

Suggesting the ghuls, while they tended to be solitary beings, did have some means of communicating with each other when necessary. “Perhaps she believed you would have no knowledge of the information she was seeking.”

“If one does not ask, one cannot be certain.”

“Then I shall ensure to ask, even if I know you can’t or won’t answer.”

Her amusement swam sharply around me. “And the question you are here to ask tonight falls into the latter?”

“Kinda.”

I hesitated. “The woman who came to see you last week, was she a pixie?”

“Yes.”

“What kind?”

“Aodhán, like yourself.”

Instinct stirred uneasily. “Can you describe her?”

“Aside from what I have already said, she had green eyes, but was older, taller, and less bosomy than you. Though she was wearing a hood, the few strands of hair that escaped were red, streaked with silver.”

Which was a pretty damn close description of my aunt. But then, it was also a pretty damn close description of any older pixie from the Aodhán line.

We might be one of the more human-looking pixies, but certain characteristics—like the red hair and frost-green eyes—did run through the lot of us.

Even so...

“You said she limped—do you think that was real?”

Once again the ghul’s sharp amusement swam around me. “It was real. I followed her.”

“How far did you follow?”

“She went into an inn opposite the old Roman gardens. I could not follow her in, of course, but I did not see her come out, though I remained near listening to the conversations of those within.”

I knew the gardens and, as far as I was aware, there weren’t that many inns or hotels in the area.

“Thank you.”

I paused. “Would you like payment for the information?”

“I appreciate the offer, but not this time. Perhaps when I have something related to the horn or those who wield it, I will.”

I nodded, bid her good night, then left.

As I walked back to the gates, I dragged out my phone and rang Mathi.

Technically, I should have called Sgott, but he’d probably heard enough from me for one day.

Besides, if it was my aunt—and seriously, I couldn’t see how it could be given the only way she could have avoided the restrictions of the red knife was via death, and if she’d died, she simply couldn’t be here—I wanted to be the one to confront her.

She was family, even if she’d denounced any connection.

I at least owed it to Mom’s memory, if not my aunt, to give her time to explain what the hell was going on before I called Sgott and the pixie council on her.

I couldn’t avoid doing the latter for very long. Dare not, in fact. I was in trouble enough with them; I didn’t want to risk them extending my time working for the council.

“Hey, Mathi,”

I said, the moment he picked up. “Are you busy?”

“Your timing,”

he replied, “is as impeccable as ever.”

His tone was dry but edged with frustration. I couldn’t help but laugh. “Gods—don’t tell me I’ve caught you mid-coitus again?”

“Thankfully, it’s more the seduction phase this time.”

“I take it she’s not in close proximity?”

“No. You’re now listed as ‘The Council Project’ and have your very own ringtone. I told her I had to take the call and moved into another room.”

“I’m not sure I like being listed as a project.”

“And yet, a project you are and will remain until I once again get you into my bed. And yes, I am aware that will likely never happen. What is it you wish?”

“I thought I’d let you know I have several possible leads, but we can discuss them tomorrow. I take it everything is arranged?”

“Yes indeed, and I did send the details. One of these days, you will stop ignoring my messages.”

“Force of habit, sorry. I’ll let you get back to proceedings.”

“Thank you.”

He paused. “You’re not following a lead alone tonight, are you?”

“No, because right now, I’m leaving the cemetery, having just had a nice chat with the ghul.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“I’m just scouting, nothing more.”

“I am not convinced. Give me a few minutes and I’ll come?—”

“If you come in a few minutes, your partner isn’t going to be pleased,”

I cut in with another laugh. “I’m fine, Mathi, and I’m not stupid.”

“No, but you can sometimes act rashly. You and Lugh are very much alike that way.”

And so was Mom. He didn’t say that, but he didn’t really need to. “Stop talking to me and get back to your seduction. I’ll ring before I do anything too rash.”

“Promise?”

I sighed. “Yes.”

“Good. I will see you in the morning.”

He hung up, and I checked my messages.

There was a text confirming he was picking me up at seven.

I tucked my phone into my purse, then shoved my hands into my pockets and followed the lane to the nearest bridge crossing.

There was a surprising number of people out and about considering the bite in the air, but maybe they were all enjoying the momentary break in the weather.

And it was only momentary—the threat of more rain ran heavily through the gathering wind.

As I reached the other side of the river, an odd prickle ran across the back of my neck.

I carefully glanced around but couldn’t see anyone in the nearby area overtly watching me.

Which didn’t mean anything, given we were dealing with someone who had the use of a concealment charm of some kind.

This area was fairly well lit, but there were still patches of darkness remaining in which someone could hide.

I walked under the old Roman gateway and headed toward Duke Street; the sensation of being watched faded but didn’t entirely go away.

I did my best to ignore it—it was either that, or investigate the area another day, and I was here now—so I followed Duke Street until I reached the old city walls dividing the street from the old Roman gardens.

According to Google, there were a couple of hotels scattered over several nearby blocks, but the first one happened to be called The Old Roman Inn.

It was described as a two-story, old-fashioned pub with a couple of B&B rooms upstairs, and both the name and the location were just too perfect not to check out first.

It turned out to be a Victorian rather than Roman building situated on the corner of two streets.

Lights burned brightly from the three windows on each side of the ground floor, but there were no lights shining through the windows on the floor above.

But they obviously had a good crowd in if the babble of conversation was anything to go by.

I opened the lovely old door and stepped inside.

I might as well have stepped back in time.

The walls were adorned with lots of World War One memorabilia and old tin advertising plaques, the wallpaper underneath old-fashioned and faded.

Wainscoting covered the lower half of the walls, the dark wood matching the small but ornate bar.

There was also a small fire, the large green tiles forming the surround holding images of white trees.

Seating was a mix of old-fashioned booths and time-worn tables and chairs.

I spotted a booth for two in the back corner and made my way through the tables and claimed it.

A middle-aged woman bustled over a few seconds later, her cheeks red and her smile warm.

“You here for a meal or just a drink?”

“Both, I think.”

“Excellent.”

She handed me a menu. “Special tonight is beef cottage pie with a cheese, potato, and leek topping, accompanied by steamed veg.”

“That sounds perfect. I’ll have a double whiskey, too.”

“Any preference?”

“Glenfiddich?”

She nodded. “I’ll be back with your drink in a few minutes. Dinner will take about twenty.”

“That’s fine.”

She collected the menus and hurried away.

I crossed my arms on the table and looked around the room, studying the customers and listening to the various snippets of conversation.

Once my drink arrived, I picked it up with one hand and let my other drop under the table, running my fingers over the darkly stained wood.

The building’s inner song was strong and sweet, and I slipped into her network easily, following the weblike lines of energy up to the next floor.

There were two ensuite bedrooms up there from the feel of things, the weight of furniture in each almost identical.

There was a small additional bit of weight in the bedroom to the rear of the building, but it was too light to be human.

A suitcase or bag of some sort, I suspected.

Neither room was currently occupied, so I followed the network of energy around to the door frame of the room that contained the suitcase.

A trick that I—and most other pixies with the ability to manipulate wood—often used to give forewarning of an intruder was to lightly weave the frame to the door.

Even if said intruder was another pixie, there was usually some lingering evidence of their presence in the song of the wood.

The door here remained unaltered.

I continued on, following the glowing golden rivers to the outside of the building and the room’s window frame.

It also showed no sign of alteration.

Did that mean the ghul had been wrong and the pixie she’d followed wasn’t staying here? Possibly, but I doubted it.

That other pixie had snared the ghul’s interest, and I rather suspected she’d kept watch on the entire premises for much longer than she’d made out.

If that pixie had slipped out another entrance, the ghul would have noticed.

I pulled out of the network and sipped my drink, debating what I should do next.

Questioning the owners about whoever was staying up there was out, if only because I didn’t want them warning their guest someone was asking after them.

And I couldn’t use the pixie obedience magic on them because it would leave a tell for the other to sense.

I checked the terrain images on Google Maps, which told me there was a sturdy metal staircase along the side of the building that led onto a small walkway and a gate.

That was obviously what guests used to come and go when the pub was closed.

There also appeared to be rear cameras, though whether they worked or not was another matter entirely.

Still, I wasn’t about to risk a little external breaking and entering until I knew for sure whether the room’s occupant was my aunt.

I certainly did not want to barge in on some innocent pixie.

A younger waitress arrived with my meal and cutlery.

I thanked her and hungrily tucked in.

It was the best damn pie I’d eaten in ages.

As I sat back with a satisfied smile, the older woman approached. “Can I get you something else, dear? A dessert, perhaps? I can recommend the apple pie and homemade ice cream.”

I hesitated, and then nodded. To hell with the waistline. “And a pot of English Breakfast would be good, too. Tell me, have you rooms to rent here?”

“Aye, two, although one is booked for the next week. You looking for accommodation?”

I nodded. “We just need the one night, if that’s possible.”

“We can do that, no problems. We’ll sort it out when you’re paying up before you leave.”

“Perfect. Thank you.”

Once she left, I dragged out my phone and rang Eljin.

He answered immediately. “I hope this call means you’ve changed your mind about tonight?”

“Sadly, I’m flying out early tomorrow with Mathi?—”

“Council business, I take it?”

he cut in.

“We got a lead on the horn, and another on a woman who may know the name of the person behind this whole mess. They’re in the same area, so we’re combining searches.”

“Then to what do I owe the honor of this call?”

“I was wondering if you might be available tomorrow evening?”

“Always, though I take it you have something more than a mere date planned?”

“I need company for a cover story.”

He laughed. “More than happy to help out.”

“Excellent. I’ll send you the details when I book the room.”

“Room? I like the sound of that.”

“There’s no guarantee of sex, I’m afraid. It’s a watch-and-wait operation.”

“Understood, but I will point out that sex isn’t the be-all and end-all of a relationship.”

“You would be the first man in history who thinks that.”

“You obviously hang around the wrong sort of men.”

Given my terrible luck with men, that was undoubtedly true. “I need to go. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“I look forward to it.”

He hung up, and I spent the next couple of hours having a few more drinks and enjoying the atmosphere while listening to the old building’s song, waiting to see if the other pixie arrived upstairs.

She didn’t, so once it neared closing time, I paid the bill and arranged to stay tomorrow night, using Eljin’s name.

At least that way, if the innkeeper happened to mention the presence of another pixie to their other guest, they’d get his details, not mine.

The storm I’d sensed earlier had hit full force by the time I stepped outside.

I tugged up my hood, shoved my hands in my pockets, and headed home.

I’d never minded walking in the rain, and honestly, by the time an Uber arrived I could have been almost home anyway.

Which didn’t mean I wasn’t soaked by the time I got there—I certainly was.

I shucked off my coat, dripped upstairs and, once I’d cranked up the fire, quickly stripped off and jumped in the shower to warm up.

But as I was tugging on my thickest, fluffiest dressing gown, my fingers brushed the Eye, and it flared to life, spinning dark lightning through the firelit shadows.

There were visions to be had.

I sucked in a breath and released it slowly, and made myself a mug of tea first, using one with a lid to keep it hot while I used the Eye.

Then, after grabbing a block of peanut caramel crisps to refuel after, I tucked my knives into the gown’s other pocket and headed for the loft.

Once comfortable on the sofa, I crossed the knives on my lap, placed one hand on them, and wrapped the other around the Eye.

Maybe it was the growing connection between me and the triune, or maybe I was simply becoming accustomed to using my second sight, but my mind’s eye was swept away so damn fast it was briefly disorientating.

The shadows faded enough to reveal stone steps leading down into a shadow-filled chamber that was surprisingly large, with a roof made of stone beams that fit tightly together.

The entire thing was partially flooded and the air thick and damp.

The vision moved toward the back of the chamber, where a step and an arch seemed to indicate a doorway.

It highlighted a symbol carved into the center section—that of lightning—then swept on, through the stone, into a deeper darkness that went down, way down, into the ground and a smaller chamber.

Under a single beam of improbable moonlight sat a horn whose metal rim was frosted and icy.

The vision shifted fractionally, revealing the horn had been neatly sliced in two lengthwise.

This was Borrhás’s Horn. Or at least, one part of it.

Underneath it, carved into the stone and written in a language I didn’t understand, were three long sentences.

Then that vision faded, and I was spun into another location entirely. One that provided no images, only sound.

Which meant I was about to “see”

Carla and whoever her damn boss was.

I swore softly, but it wasn’t like I could alter anything. Not until I found some way of getting past whatever shield they were using and forced these visions into sound and sight mode.

What news from the council? the man asked, his cold voice once again tinny-sounding. He was definitely using some sort of voice modulator along with the damn shield.

The Harpē remains low priority. Carla’s voice was clipped and somewhat annoyed. They have sent the pixie witch on a quest for the ice horn.

Mathi remains her control?

Yes. You have not spoken to him?

I have no reason to, especially on a matter such as this. That is not our way.

A comment that very much suggested this man knew Mathi, if only peripherally. Interesting.

What of the potion Linette created? Did it have the desired effect?

Linette was a new name. Shame they didn’t mention a surname, but Sgott had the group’s secretary in custody, so a quick Q&A session might be in order.

It did not. It was far too strong and all-consuming.

Unease slithered through me.

All-consuming was definitely what I’d felt with Eljin last night, but it had to be a coincidence.

Didn’t it? The museum had thoroughly vetted his past before he’d been offered the position there, so if there’d been any shady or unsavory connections, they would have been found.

Besides, why would he have mentioned a past altercation with the Ninkilim if he was one of them? Even if it had been meant to make me less suspicious, it was too easily checked and ran the risk of raising suspicions if not true.

No, these two had to be talking about the council members.

Carla definitely had her claws into at least a couple of them, and she’d likely be aware of the new testing measures implemented after it was discovered Gilda had been drugging Mathi.

That they were now attempting to find another drug to use that would not be picked up in the screening was a totally logical step.

All-consuming is not a bad thing when the aim is to lower inherent barriers.

It is when control is lost by both parties. One cannot question if one cannot control one’s own actions. I have asked for it to be watered down.

The man sniffed. It was an unimpressed sound. The longer this all takes, the higher the probability of discovery. They are all too alert to our presence now.

The old gods dare not move directly against us. Not yet.

No, but they are becoming more active. We need to find a reason to have the Harpē moved further up the council’s list.

I am working on it.

Work harder.

Even I have a limit as to how many lovers I can take on without raising suspicions.

Given your history, I find that hard to believe.

That history has benefited yourself just as much as our master over the centuries. Her tone was amused rather than annoyed.

It was a rather illuminating comment, because if Carla had been active for centuries, she had to be something other than just a face shifter.

Shifters did have a longer lifespan than humans, but the longest living shifter on record had been just under two hundred years old.

From what these two were implying, Carla was far older than that.

Which suggested she was either part elf or part pixie. Knowing our luck, it would be the former rather than the latter, which would give her immunity from pixie truth magic.

And I would hope they will continue to be of benefit in centuries to come, the man replied coolly.

And is that why you have chosen this location ? The amusement in her reply was stronger. Because you wish to partake in an aforementioned benefit?

I do find myself in need of your tender administrations.

She laughed, a surprisingly saucy sound, but thankfully, the vision faded on what was the beginnings of a sexual encounter.

I released the Eye and closed my eyes, breathing slow and deep to ease the erratic pounding of my pulse.

I was beginning to suspect the cost of using the Eye was the one thing that would never change, no matter how proficient at using it I became.

After a few minutes, I grabbed the chocolate, opened it up, and broke off a couple of rows to munch on while I sipped my tea.

I felt a little better once I’d finished both, but tiredness nevertheless hit.

I really didn’t feel like moving, so I simply stretched out on the old sofa, tugged a blanket over my body, and went to sleep to the sound of the old building’s song and warm memories of Mom’s presence.

Mathi’s chauffeur picked me up at the appointed time and drove me over to the company’s private airfield.

A flight attendant in a dark green suit greeted me and ushered me into the cabin, seating me in a luxurious lounge seat before offering me a cup of tea.

Mathi—who was seated opposite—was on the phone but gave me a nod and a quick, tense smile before getting back to his conversation.

From what I could gather, the contract his company had missed out on might just be up for negotiations again.

Given what he’d said about his dislike of losing, I did not want to think about how that might have come about.

Once the plane had taken off, I was offered a delicious selection of pastries along with a selection of hot foods, all of which were sublime.

The Dhār-Vals did not skimp when it came to providing the finest hospitality on their planes.

Mathi didn’t eat and didn’t end the call until the plane had landed at Shannon and was taxiing to its assigned position.

“Sorry about that,”

he said. “Got notification of a contract breach by an opposition company and had to jump on the opportunity while it existed.”

So, not the contract they’d recently lost. “When did it all go down?”

“Got the call at one last night. Been dealing with it since.”

Something almost animalistic gleamed briefly in his eyes. Like most light elves, Mathi considered the hunt and securement of a deal one of the great pleasures in life.

“Meaning you haven’t slept?”

“No, but that is of no matter. A good deal sealed is something I find very invigorating.”

“Yeah, I know,”

I said, smiling in memory. “But you’ll have to wait until we get back to Deva and your latest prospect before you unleash said vigor.”

“Ah, you’re a cruel woman, Bethany Aodhán.”

“And you, dear Mathi, would take a mile if given an inch.”

He laughed and, with a hand pressed lightly against my spine, guided me down the stairs and across to the waiting silver Mercedes.

Once we were underway, he said, “Any updates since I saw you last?”

I quickly told him about the pixie and what I’d seen in the vision. He frowned. “The ‘that is not our way’ comment suggests we are dealing with a highborn Ljósálfar elf, but there are very few I’m on good enough terms with to talk about the family’s business, let alone council. I don’t even talk to my father about the latter.”

“Whoever this person is, they’re a rat god acolyte, and surely that’s a rarity amongst the Ljósálfar population, highborn or not.”

“Yes, but how does one search for inclinations like that? Given how despised Ninkilim are, even today, it is unlikely they would be vocal about it.”

“Could you talk to your father?”

“Possibly, but remember, it is extremely likely rat followers have infiltrated both the IIT and other government bodies. We’d run the risk of alerting them.”

“Can your father keep the search off books?”

“Again, possibly.”

He paused. “We might have better luck searching for Carla Wilson, given the IIT has issued warrants for her arrest.”

I raised my eyebrows. “They have? When?”

“She became a person of interest after the deaths of those men in custody. I should have no problems pulling up her records or doing a search through the archives.”

“She has multiple identities though.”

“Yes, but if she was a prostitute picked up by the IIT at some point and given the option of becoming an informant, there will be some record of her somewhere. All we have to do is find it.”

“Worth a shot, I guess.”

After all, what was the worst that could happen? They already knew we were looking for Carla, and even if there were records to be found, it wasn’t like they’d list all her other identities.

Fingerprint and DNA records of her original identity might be a possibility, though, depending on whether such things were recorded back when she was initially arrested.

We continued on toward Gort, then cut across to Cloonteen and headed up a narrow bitumen road that went through several small but pretty villages until we reached our destination.

Mathi pulled over and parked next to an old iron farm gate.

“The fort is on private land, but I’ve arranged for us to enter.

There’s a couple of flashlights in the back—can you grab them while I ring the owners to let them know we’re here?”

I slung my purse over my shoulder, then climbed out and moved around to the back of the car to get the flashlights.

The fort lay in the field directly ahead, and looked like little more than a sweeping, grass-covered mound dotted with lovely old trees.

From what I’d read online, the walls that couldn’t be seen from where I stood were two meters high in some parts but missing or collapsed in others.

Mathi climbed out of the car, then locked it.

I handed him a flashlight, and we headed into the field, closing the gate behind us to ensure no stock could get out.

The ground was wet and muddy underfoot, and the trees barren, their limbs reaching for skies that held little light thanks to the thick blanket of clouds.

There was no rain in them, thankfully, but the day remained cold, and the wind held a definite bite.

As we made our way up the earthen rampart, the stone wall appeared, though it remained well camouflaged by long grasses and thick stands of youngish trees.

We walked around the top for a few seconds until we found a gap, then half slid down the other side into the enclosure.

Google had said the area was about fifty meters in diameter, but it was so badly overgrown it looked much smaller.

Various remnants of stone buildings poked through the long grass, and yet more saplings filled the area, their joyous song bright in the air.

We found a faint path coming in from the right and followed it left into a narrow alleyway.

The souterrain revealed itself slowly, the entrance support stones possessing the same lean I’d seen in my vision and almost concealed by the saplings growing in front of it.

The roof slab—which had to be at least a foot thick—was covered by vines that draped over the entrance, and while it was little more than a bare brown curtain now, that would change come spring.

I flicked on my flashlight, then bent and shone it into the darkness.

The light danced across the five moss-covered steps and the dark still water shimmering beyond.

“Do we know how deep that is?”

Mathi asked.

“Nope, but if you can get me one of those dead sticks off to your right, I’ll test it.”

He did so. I carefully moved down the steps, keeping one hand on a sturdier sapling just in case I slipped. Once I’d brushed away the brown ivy curtain, I leaned forward and pressed the stick into the water. It went down about a foot before hitting something solid.

“Should have brought gumboots,”

Mathi commented.

“Yeah, sorry, should have mentioned that.”

I had seen the water in the vision, after all. “I blame the early start and the lack of food until we got onto the plane.”

“There was nothing or no one stopping you from getting up a little earlier?—”

“Don’t you dare swear at me, Mathi Dhār-Val.”

He laughed, a warm sound that slid uneasily across the dark water. Trepidation stirred through me, though the knives remained silent and I had no sense of magic or spells within the chamber.

Which didn’t mean we wouldn’t trigger something once we stepped into it, of course.

Mathi joined me on the fifth step and skimmed his light across the chamber’s width. “Google says this place stretches back seven meters, but I’m not seeing any end walls.”

“They’re there, if the vision is to be believed.”

I placed my free hand on the stone lintel to my left and carefully stepped down. Water seeped into my shoes and soaked my jeans, making them cling to my calves. It was also goddamn icy. I had woolen socks on, so my toes weren’t in any immediate danger of frostbite, but it was still uncomfortable.

I used the stick to test the ground ahead before I stepped onto it, and we slowly made our way across the chamber. The ripples of our movement fanned out slowly, and an odd sense of... expectation?... began to stir in the deeper shadows.

My knives remained inert.

I flexed my free hand and resisted the urge to reach for one of the blades. I might feel better with the weight of it in my hand, but it wasn’t as if I had to be holding them for them to work against anything that might be forming.

We waded on for what seemed like forever, but eventually, a damp stone wall thickly decorated with moss and lichen came into sight.

I swept the light across its length, looking for the arch I’d seen in the vision, and spotted it slightly to the left of the wall’s middle.

There was no sign of the step, but given the water was deeper now than what I’d seen, perhaps it lay underneath.

It wasn’t until we got closer that I saw the carved symbol.

“That,”

Mathi said, as my light pinned it, “looks like a very crude drawing of a lightning bolt.”

I nodded and carefully edged forward until I’d found the edge of the single step, then stepped up. A faint flicker of energy ran down the sheathed knives, something I felt rather than saw. There was magic here, but it wasn’t threatening.

I scanned the arch for a second and then, not sure what else to do, pressed a hand over the worn image.

For several seconds, nothing happened.

Then the knives pulsed, and the carved image came to life.

Light shot across the old stone, tiny bolts of bluish-white that fled to the very edges of the arch. With a groan not unlike that of an old man rising, the stone pushed back several inches, then slowly slid to one side.

“Loving those sound effects.”

Mathi shone his light on the newly revealed steps. Water from the cavern spilled over the sill, making the black stone shimmer wetly, and the air was icy cold and extremely foul. “But I’m not loving that scent.”

“No.”

I drew a knife and warily stepped through the archway. Lightning briefly danced down the blade’s fuller, but it was more in response to my touch than any threat coming from below.

The stone steps were narrow and a little crumbly, and the trickling water didn’t make them any easier to traverse.

I went down sideways, watching where I placed my feet, relying on the knives to warn me of any sort of magical danger, though the air’s foulness and how damn difficult it made breathing without giving in to the urge to puke seemed to be the main threat right now.

Below us, just beyond the reach of our flashlights, a tiny beam of light appeared, hitting the plinth, the golden stand that had once cradled one half of a god’s horn, and the body that lay in a crumpled heap at its base.

“Ah, fuck,”

I muttered. It was obviously a woman, but her position made it hard to discern anything else.

“A crude but apt statement in this sort of situation,”

Mathi commented.

I stopped on the last step and swung the light around.

The chamber was small and round, and unlike the one above, absolutely dry.

I swung the light up to the ceiling, looking for the source of the light beam, but it seemed to be emerging out of solid rock.

Magic? Given this was a chamber that had once held a godly relic, that was more than a little likely.

I swept the light around one more time, but whatever protections had been here had obviously been dismantled when the horn had been stolen.

“Are we going closer, or are we just going to stand here?”

Mathi asked, amusement evident.

“Personally, I’d be voting for the latter, given the stench, if not for the need to know who our dead person is.”

And breathing through my mouth rather than my nose was not helping. This close to the body, the stench of putrefaction was so bad, it coated my throat and made my stomach churn all the more fiercely. The iciness in the cavern might have delayed the inevitable decay, but it hadn’t stopped it.

In the flashlight’s bright beam, the concave nature of the back of her head was very evident.

“Hit from behind,”

Mathi said.

“Yeah.”

I scanned the shrunken figure for a second, then got out my phone and handed it to Mathi. “Record the body position and me moving it. Sgott and whatever team he calls in from down this way will still be pissed at us, but at least we’ll have a record of our interference for them.”

He immediately recorded not only her position, but also added the immediate area and the plinth for good measure. When he was done, I tugged my sleeve over my hand, then bent, gripped her bony shoulder, and lightly pulled her onto her side.

Her face was skeletal, the skin little more than white parchment stretched over bones, which somehow made the rose tattoo running down the left side of her face stand out even more starkly.

Shock ran through me, and I couldn’t help the gasp that escaped.

“What?”

Mathi immediately said.

“I know her.”

My gaze rose to his. “It’s Peregrine Stace—the woman who’d been staying with my aunt when we delivered the red knife.”