Horn of Winter (Relic Hunters #5)

Chapter 2.2

“Indeed.” He dragged a couple from his pocket. “What have you found?”

I carefully dropped the bullets into the first bag. “Dug them out of a tree—they’re from the second shooter’s gun, and I haven’t physically touched them. The other is several strands of hair from a woman the spitting image of Maran Gordan.”

“Maran’s dead,” Mathi said. “No matter how powerful the magic, there’s no coming back from cleaved in two.”

“I know, but when I touched the hair, I saw Maran.”

“It was more than likely Keeryn rather than Maran,” Sgott growled. “They’re basically two chips off the same block, and there’s only a year between them.”

“Maran has a sister?”

He nodded. “Has similar talents, too, though we’ve no evidence Keeryn followed the same dark path as her sister.”

“Well, that has obviously changed given the attempt on our lives here,” Mathi said.

I glanced at him. “If she’s kept her nose clean up until now, her taking a kill contract on me makes no sense.”

“Well, that very much depends on just how annoyed she is that you killed her sister,” Mathi noted dryly.

“How would she even know something like that? All the main players are either dead or in jail.”

“Maybe she found someone who could raise and talk to the dead.”

I guessed that was possible. Unlikely, but possible. “Even if someone has placed another contract on me, Kaitlyn is unlikely to be involved.”

“Indeed, because she’s well aware operating her business inside a prison cell would be nigh on impossible. And yes,” Sgott added, before I could say anything, “I’ll still talk to her.”

He wouldn’t be the only one talking to her, but I wisely kept that to myself. “Given both men shot themselves rather than be caught and questioned, it’d be wise to have a sniffer and a pixie present to make the relevant checks at the autopsy.”

“And now you’re telling me how to do my job?”

I grinned and held up my hands. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Then you’d best be giving me your statement and go home. And don’t forget, we’ve the commemoration at one.”

Mathi’s gaze shot to mine, his eyebrows rising. “You got an invite?”

I shook my head. “I’m Sgott’s plus-one.”

“Interesting.”

I frowned. “Why?”

“Because as far as I’m aware, they weren’t including partners on any invitations because of the sheer number of people who’d dealt with Gethen over the centuries wishing to pay their respects.”

My frown grew. “Then perhaps it was a mistake.”

“And perhaps it was Cynwrig’s way of getting around formalities.”

“Why would he do that for someone like me?” Someone who was a good time, not a long time.

“Why indeed?” His expression was speculative, but he didn’t elaborate. “Either way, if the invitation is for two, it would be considered rude if Sgott did not bring a companion.”

“Which is why I invited you, Beth,” Sgott commented. “Cynwrig knows well enough that Lugh is the only other person I’d consider bringing, and I wouldn’t call he and Cynwrig close.”

“Not in the same manner as he and I are, at least,” I said, with a twitch of my lips.

“Indeed. Now, best be giving me your statement.”

Once I had, Mathi and I left, walking silently through the many gravestones and tombstones, the occasional ghost our only companions.

“Do you want a lift home?” Mathi said, as we once again reached the old metal gate.

“No, but I would like a lift to Kaitlyn’s.”

“Sgott will not be pleased.”

“Sgott no doubt has every expectation that I’ll be doing this very thing.”

“Which doesn’t negate my statement at all. The car is this way.”

“You drove?” I said, surprised.

“Of course not.”

I laughed and slipped my arm through his arm. “So, you admonish me for dragging you out of a warm bed, but you do the very same thing to your poor chauffeur.”

“Henrick is very well paid to cater to out-of-hours avocations.”

“And, of course, sworn to secrecy.”

“No need, given he is well aware of what happens to those who tattle on a Dhār-Val.”

“There you go, horrifying and intriguing me all at once.”

“But not enough to intrigue you back to my bed, I’d wager.”

“No. And you know that.”

“Yes, but accepting the utter lack of hope given the centuries of living that remain ahead for us both is an entirely different matter.”

I laughed. “Hopefully, I’ll be spending those centuries with someone who loves me.”

“I do wish that for you, but it will never negate the optimism that burns within.”

Up ahead, a dark-haired man in his mid-fifties climbed out of the driver’s side of a silver Mercedes and walked around to the rear passenger door, opening it once we drew closer. “Where to, sir?”

“Kaitlyn’s, thank you, Henrick.”

The driver closed the rear door, then returned to the driver’s seat. As he drove off, a privacy screen slid up between him and us.

“She’s not going to be pleased at being woken at an ungodly hour,” Mathi commented.

“Do I look as if I care?”

He smiled. “No, but she’s definitely more taciturn when she’s had less sleep.”

Suggesting he had personal experience. I frowned. “Surely even a broker of her stature would be working mostly at night.”

“Surprisingly, only the lower rung operators do so at night. The higher up the brokerage tree you get, the less likely it is. I think they believe it adds an air of legitimacy if they work standard hours, though it does also make good business sense, as most of their higher-paying clientele would be keeping regular hours.”

“The Myrkálfar don’t.”

“Elves, be they Myrkálfar or Ljósálfar, have no need for her services.”

And yet, his statement about her crankiness suggested that wasn’t always the case. “Even if the contract was brokered by a lower rung operator, she’d still be aware of its circulation.”

“Yes, because the wise man—or woman in this case—always keeps a close eye on the market and the competition.”

Something in the way he said the latter had me glancing at him. “You and Eljin are not in competition. You left the race eight months ago.”

“I wasn’t talking about me. I meant Cynwrig.”

“Then Eljin has nothing to worry about. In fact, he’s the only horse in the running right now.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t be putting money on that.”

“Mathi, Cynwrig’s highborn, and they, like your lot, do not get serious about anyone outside their own race.”

“While highborns don’t often marry outside their own race, it has happened. It’s certainly not unknown for them to become serious about a partner not of their own kind.”

“You never did.”

A smile tugged at his lips. “ I am a Ljósálfar, and a very different proposition to Cynwrig. Besides, I was monogamous for nearly eight years, dear Bethany, and that is very much a record for me.”

Or indeed for any light elf. Myrkálfar elves were almost the exact opposite; not only were they far more emotionally connected than their Ljósálfar counterparts, but they also married for love, not profit or standing. Once their heart was committed, it never strayed.

Or so said the myths. Who actually knew if that remained true in this day and age?

“Does that mean there was someone else before Gilda?”

“A couple of someones. Occasional dalliances; nothing more.”

I harrumphed and glanced at the window, watching the steady procession of bright street lights sweep by for a second. “The thing is, Cynwrig is not only highborn, but heir to the Myrkálfar throne. He wouldn’t jeopardize that position for someone like me. Why would you even think that?”

“Sgott’s plus-one invitation is an interesting deviation to normal practice, as I said.”

“Well, it’s not like he’s personally sending out the invitations, so maybe, as I said, it’s just a mistake.” I half shrugged. “I guess we’ll find out this afternoon—if I get turned away, well, we’ll know who’s right.”

There was a small, weird part of me hoping that I was turned away, because that would mean he hadn’t bent the rules, that I wasn’t special, and therefore had no reason to hold on to the sliver of hope that Mathi’s comments had raised.

“They are unlikely to turn you away. They could not afford the affront to Sgott.”

I didn’t reply. There was little point. We’d know the truth soon enough.

We continued on through the silent night, eventually turning into Kaitlyn’s street. Unlike all the other times we’d paid her a visit, this time we parked right out the front. Mathi told his driver to remain in the car, then climbed out, offering me a hand as I slid across the seat.

The night seemed even colder than it had been earlier, and fingers of frost climbed up the nearby streetlight. Even the footpath bore a silvery sheen that weirdly did not seem to extend to the buildings either side of Kaitlyn’s. I glanced up; tiny icicles gathered along the edge of the building’s guttering.

Mathi stopped beside me and looked up. “That guttering looks new, so why are icicles forming?”

“Question of the morning, right along with, why the hell is the chill apparently confined to this one section of the street?” I glanced back to his car. Frost ran like water across the Merc’s roof. “You might want to get Henrick to shift the car further down, just in case this cold isn’t natural.”

His gaze snapped to mine. “Are you sensing anything untoward?”

I hesitated, studying the silent buildings either side of the road. The wind remained quiet, and I had no sense of any sort of weather magic happening, but still... “It just feels wrong.”

“Then move the car we most certainly will.”

As he leaned in to speak to Henrick, I walked across to the bright blue door. The small brass sign in the middle said, “Kaitlyn’s Kurios,” and there was an intercom and small camera on the wall to the right.

I leaned heavily on the buzzer and smiled up at the camera. After several long seconds, a sultry but very annoyed voice said, “Go away. I have no desire to talk to you, especially at this hour of the morning.”

“Sentiments I wholeheartedly agree with, but I have no choice and now neither do you. Get up, or I shall make you do so.”

“My bed is metal, so your threat is an empty one.”

I splayed my fingers across the bright blue door, feeling the chill in the wood even as I listened to the song of the inner fabric. It was faint, mainly because a good portion of the building was brick and concrete, but what remained nevertheless told me the location of her bedroom—top floor, to the right of the living area we’d previously confronted her in.

“Yes, but it sits on floorboards,” I replied evenly, “and I do not have to be within a building to alter or destroy it. Would you like a little demonstration?”

Her answering sigh was a sharp, put-upon sound. “Fine. Come on up.”

There was a soft buzz, and the door clicked open. Mathi reached past me to push the door all the way open. “Seriously, your threats are worthy of a Dhār-Val.”

My fingers had left a watery imprint on the wood and that only had trepidation stirring harder. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“You should.” He closed the door behind us and then followed me across to the stairs. I gripped the banister as I walked up, listening to the soft song and hearing the echo of Kaitlyn’s movements as she climbed out of bed and went into the living area. I hoped she was lighting the fire rather than grabbing a gun, because the latter would be inconvenient and probably result in me having to tear up the lovely old floorboards again.

Thankfully, when we arrived upstairs, Kaitlyn was kneeling in front of the large fireplace, stacking kindling on top of several firelighters rather than pointing a weapon our way. She was a dark-skinned, sharp-faced woman whose long black hair was currently contained within a green silk sleeping cap. She looked to be in her mid-forties, but the age spots on her hands suggested she was much older. How much older, it was hard to say, as she was part elf and had obviously inherited at least some of their slow aging genes.

She struck a match and lit the fire, then rose to face us, wrapping her loose, fluffy dressing gown more tightly around her body. “I will be putting in a formal complaint about this harassment.”

“Feel free. Sgott or one of his people will be here to interview you later this morning, so you can do it then.”

She frowned. “Why? I’ve done nothing to warrant his attention. Not recently, anyway.”

I stopped behind the well-padded armchair directly in front of the fire, keeping it between me and her. It probably wouldn’t offer all that much protection if she had a gun hidden in the voluminous depths of her dressing gown, but it was better than nothing. Mathi moved to my left and stopped next to the old sofa. If she did make an untoward move, he was within launching distance.

“Oh, you’ve done plenty ,” Mathi said, voice dry. “In fact, I know of a number of contracts you’ve placed in the last few days that are... shall we say, unsavory? My father isn’t the only one who has receipts, dear Kaitlyn.”

She studied him for a moment then lazily raised an eyebrow—a pretense at nonchalance countered by the quick flick of fear in her eyes. “And is it one of these contracts you—and Sgott—wish to speak about?”

“No,” I said. “I’m more interested in the one that’s been placed on me.”

“Not by me it hasn’t.” There was dry amusement in her sultry tone. “I am not foolish enough to go down that path a second time.”

“Someone has, and it would appear that Maran Gordan’s sister has taken up the option.”

“Keeryn has spent half her life refusing to join the family business. I doubt that has changed.” She threw some more wood on the fire and cast me a wry smile. “Although the gossipmongers whisper of Maran’s death and a certain Aodhán pixie being responsible. Revenge can be a mighty motivator.”

And if Keeryn had heard those rumors, it would certainly explain her accepting a kill contract on me. Why not profit while gaining revenge?

“Have you any idea who might have brokered the contract on Bethany?” Mathi asked.

Kaitlyn glanced at him. “I do not.”

“But you could find out, could you not?”

Though it was formed as a question, it definitely wasn’t. Kaitlyn stared at Mathi for several seconds, her expression a mix of amusement and wariness. I watched the silent battle and lightly rubbed my arms. Despite the fire, it seemed to be getting colder in here. Even the song of the building’s wood was beginning to slow as the chill increased.

Eventually, Kaitlyn said, “A favor given is a favor owed.”

“Or perhaps, a favor given is one receipt lost. The Oldaker incident, perhaps.”

That faint flicker ran through her eyes again but all she said was, “That would be ideal.”

“Good. You’ll contact me with the details the minute you uncover anything?”

“I will.” Her gaze returned to mine. “Is that all?”

I hesitated. “I don’t suppose you know if Keeryn Gordan is staying in town?”

“If she has accepted the contract on you, then she would have gone to ground. Just because she didn’t join the family business doesn’t mean she hasn’t the family talents. And, of course, that also means it’s unlikely she used her true persona to accept the commission. Maran never did.”

I raised my eyebrows. “I would have thought that would make contract breaches a trifle harder to deal with.”

“Aside from the fact few would dare breach any contract I broker, I always have a no-fault clause inserted to ensure problems do not rebound back on me.”

In other words, as long as she got her money, she really didn’t care. “Well, if you do happen to hear anything about her, could you pass it on?”

“It would be my utter pleasure.”

The insincerity positively dripped off every word. I smiled and stepped back, then hesitated, gaze scanning the shimmer creeping across the ceiling. “You haven’t annoyed a weather mage of late, have you? Because the chill in this place is invasive to the point of being unnatural.”

She waved the comment away. “The heating system broke down last night, and I’m awaiting the arrival of a plumber. They are rarer than hens’ teeth of late, apparently.”

“Which explains the chill inside, but not the concentration of ice that is happening on the exterior. It looks and feels targeted, Kaitlyn.”

Her gaze narrowed. “What is your second sight saying about the matter?”

“Absolutely nothing, but that doesn’t negate the fact that this just doesn’t feel right. It might be wise if you pack some things and spend a few days at a?—”

“I will never get a plumber here if I’m staying elsewhere,” she said crossly. “I’ll be fine.”

Famous last words, but it wasn’t like I could force her out. As a half elf, she was immune to pixie obedience magic. I waved a hand. “Fine. Your choice.”

“Indeed. Now please, do leave. I’d like to get a few more hours’ sleep before the day’s work begins.”

We headed out, the gently fading song of the building’s fabric sounding very much like a final goodbye. There was absolutely nothing I could do about that except hope that I was wrong, that it was nothing more than the lack of heating in an old and very likely insufficiently insulated building.

The front door’s locks slid firmly back in place as we left, the sound echoing in the cold stillness of the night. The ice on the pavement was thicker, the icicles longer. I studied the nearby buildings but once again had no sense that a weather witch or even a storm mage was near—though surely a storm mage would be more thunder and lightning than ice and a bone-deep chill.

And really, why would either be targeting Kaitlyn? If someone was after revenge for a contract she’d arranged, surely they’d go after the person who placed the contract or even the person who fulfilled it, rather than the intermediary between the two.

“So, what was the Oldaker incident?” I asked as we walked down to the car.

“An incident you’re better off knowing nothing about.”

“A statement guaranteed to fuel my curiosity.”

“Said curiosity will not be fulfilled.”

“Was it a hit? A theft? A deal gone wrong?”

He rolled his eyes. “Two of those three are correct. More than that, I cannot say.”

“Frustrating.”

“And I’m always willing to help ease said frustrations, but that is not possible in this case.”

He opened the car door, ushered me in, and then directed Henrick to the lane behind my tavern. It didn’t take us all that long to get there, and Mathi insisted on walking me down to the door. Thankfully, nothing untoward happened.

“Thanks,” I said, punching in the code, then holding the door open with my fingertips. “I’m guessing I’ll see you in a couple of hours?”

He nodded. “I’ll pick you up at eight forty-five. It shouldn’t take us all that long to get around to the council’s offices.”

I resisted the urge to kiss him goodbye—old habits continued to die hard—then headed in. Ye Olde Pixie Boots—the name Mom had given the tavern when she’d taken over its running after Gran retired—had now been home to three extremely long-lived generations of Aodhán pixies. It was a listed building that stood in the middle of Deva’s famous rows, and consisted of a small bar in the undercroft at street level, another at Row level, and our living area on the top floor. Aside from a few changes here and there, it was basically the same late medieval building that had been rebuilt on this spot after the fires that had destroyed most of the old city in the late 1400s. I loved the place and really couldn’t imagine living anywhere else. Which was going to be a problem if I happened to fall in love with any of the men currently—I determinedly cut the rest of that thought off. As I’d said to Mathi earlier, there was now only one man I dared gift my heart to, and our relationship was still too new to know if that was wise.

I took off my coat and hung it on the nearby hook, then headed down the long, rather narrow hall, moving past the various rear storage and cold store areas. But as I reached the door that separated that area from the small ground-floor bar, a sudden realization hit.

I wasn’t alone in the building.