Chapter 3 #3
He sounded resigned, and I couldn’t help smiling. “Did you ever get in touch with your friend Frank to ask him about the people in that newspaper article Treasa gave me?”
Said article had been about an archeological site in Portugal and the unusual number of accidents that had occurred during the dig, which had eventually led to the site being closed and subsequent rumors that the area was cursed.
It had been accompanied by a somewhat grainy picture of the dig team standing in the middle of what looked to be an Iron Age hill fort, but no names had been listed.
When I’d shown it to Lugh, he’d known two of them, though only one remained alive.
“No, because thanks to everything that happened over the last few days, I totally forgot all about it.” The rustling of papers echoed down the line, suggesting he was now searching for it. “Why?”
“Could you push it to the top of your priority list? I think we need to know why Treasa thought it important we get that.”
“Will do.” He paused. “Thing is, I seem to have misplaced it.”
I frowned. “Really? Where are you?”
“At the office. I’m sure I put it in the in-tray.”
“Would anyone have taken it?” Would Eljin? If so, why? He wasn’t in that picture; hell, he was only a couple of years older than me and would have been in his mid-twenties at the time that article was written, and likely to have still been in university.
“I can’t see why anyone would,” Lugh was saying. “Besides, I’m the only one with a key into the office. Even the cleaners don’t come in here.”
“Well, that explains the rubbish everywhere,” I said with a laugh.
“I’ll have you know there is no rubbish in my office.” It was said with mock haughtiness. “They are all vital pieces of information.”
“Yeah. Right, brother.”
He chuckled. “I do put the bins outside the door for the cleaners every night, so there is in truth no actual rubbish in here. That does make it even odder it’s disappeared, however.”
“Luckily, I did take a photo of it, so I’ll shoot it across to you.”
“Ah, excellent.” He paused. “How did things go yesterday? I meant to call but—”
“You forgot, not only because all the prep for the auction took precedence, but because you knew I was safe, well, and with Mathi,” I finished dryly.
“Well, yes,” he admitted, amusement evident. “But don’t tell Darby all that. She wouldn’t understand.”
Darby understood him far better than he realized. I quickly updated him on everything that had happened yesterday, then added, “I don’t suppose you’ve heard of either relic?”
“No, sorry. I’ll search the archives for the pectoral, but I’m loath to do a search for the blade, given we’ve probably at least one Ninkilim working for the museum, keeping tabs on me.”
“Probably, though if they did take the article for whatever reason, it’s all the more reason for us to find out why.”
“I agree. I’ll ring Frank this afternoon. He won’t be up at this hour, as he habitually sleeps in. We used to have a devil of a time getting him to a dig before noon.”
I snorted. “It’s a wonder he was ever employed.”
“He’s considered one of the preeminent professors in the antiquities field, even now that he’s semi-retired.
That gives his behavior a pass for many, especially given he is otherwise a studious archeologist. You want to come around for dinner tomorrow night?
I should have something from him by then. ”
“Love to—just remember to warn Darby.”
“You, dear sister, would make anyone think I had the memory of a fish.”
“Well, it is a truth universally known that, when it comes to your brain, day to day events have little memory traction in comparison to relics.”
He laughed. “Okay, I’ll give you that one. See you tomorrow night.”
“I shall bring wine and champers.”
“Excellent.”
I smiled, hung up, and sent the image across to him before I forgot, then finished my tea and contemplated my next step. Before I could decide what that should be, Mathi rang.
“When I said afternoon, I meant late afternoon, not a few minutes after noon,” I drawled by way of hello.
“Yes, sorry, but there’s been another break-in, this time in Handbridge.”
Handbridge was one of Deva’s more upmarket districts, located on the southside of the river. “Same M.O.?”
“Almost exactly. I thought we could go around there to see if you can pick anything up.”
“And your father?” I said, amused. “He made it pretty clear yesterday he thought I was a hindrance rather than a help.”
“He respects your abilities, Bethany, and to repeat what I’ve already said, he does not hate you. But you’re a pixie, and a middle class one at that, and he is, above all else, a Ljósálfar of royal blood in his middle years. He cannot help his manner.”
Which didn’t excuse it. At all. Still, it wasn’t like a leopard could change its spots this late in the game.
“I take it you’re on the way now to pick me up?”
“No, you have half an hour. I need to finish a few things here at the office first.”
“That at least gives me time to shower.”
“You don’t need someone to scrub your back? Happy to volunteer, dearest Bethany.”
“The days of you, me, and adventures in the shower are well and truly over, as you well know.”
His sigh was more than a little on the dramatic side. “Indeed, I do, but I continue to live in hope.”
“You already have three prospects to share a shower with,” I said, amused. “You don’t need a fourth.”
“I’m Ljósálfar,” he drawled. “It’s never about needing, it’s always about wanting.”
I rolled my eyes, said, “I’ll wait at the top of the lane for you,” and then hung up.
After finishing my tea, I headed into the bathroom for a quick shower, then got dressed. The wind whipped around me, coming in from the window I’d locked open about an inch almost a week ago now, chilling my skin even as it stirred an idea.
I grabbed my coat, phone, and handbag, and clattered down the stairs, heading out the back of the building and down the old lane that led into St Werburgh Street. Almost directly across the road was my target—a lovely red sandstone cathedral.
As I waited for a gap in the traffic, I dragged out my phone and sent Mathi a text, letting him know where I’d be, then ran across the road to the wrought-iron gates.
They squeaked as I opened them, but the sound was lost to the sudden rumble of thunder overhead.
A storm was coming... not just weatherwise, but also life wise.
I shivered but shoved the sliver of foresight aside and continued on.
The gardens that surrounded the cathedral were lovely, even in the middle of winter when there was a decided lack of color and foliage, but my target was down in the memorial section of the church grounds, where the freestanding bell tower stood.
It was a far younger construct than the cathedral, having been commissioned in the early seventies after the original tower was deemed no longer safe to house the bells, and was a modern interpretation of the old Roman watchtowers that had once guarded Deva’s stone walls.
Directly in front of it was a circular rose garden bed that almost completely surrounded a large seating platform.
In the summer months it was usually claimed by parents resting up while their kids ran wild through the gardens, but right now the whole area was empty.
There were undoubtedly a myriad of other more comfortable places to commune with the wind, but they weren’t likely to be much safer—outside of a protective circle of magic, anyway.
It might be mainly humans who considered church grounds sacrosanct, but there were very few other races who’d risk spilling blood on such holy ground. Karma, and all that.
Of course, I could now form a variation of a protective circle when gripping my knives, but it did take a toll on my energy, and I needed all that and every scrap of concentration to commune with the wind, at least until I was more practiced at this whole thing.
Overhead, the thunder cracked again. I silently counted—a childhood habit that I really had no need for now, given how easily I could read the power and locations of storms these days—but had barely reached three when lightning speared the heavy skies.
While it never came close to striking me, its power shot through my body, making the tiny hairs on my arms and the back of my neck stand on end.
The storm felt impatient. Felt like it was ready and waiting for me to be one with it again.
I shivered yet again, briefly wondering at the advisability of this, especially when I had no real idea what my father had been trying to do when it came to the inner darkness.
Still... it was the easiest way I knew of uncovering truths without being seen or involving someone else, and I basically had nothing to lose by trying.
I sat down on the platform, crossed my legs and then tugged my coat over my knees.
After a deep breath that did little to calm the nerves—though they came from the task I was about to assign the wind and the answers it might bring me more than anything else—I reached for the power and fury that raged above me.
Connection was instant, but for several seconds, I did nothing more than revel in its chaotic beauty, letting it flow through me, around me, empowering and somehow cleansing me, though I wasn’t sure I could ever define what the latter meant.
A car horn sounded in the distance, making me start, drawing me back to my task.
I closed my eyes and got down to the business of crafting my request. Beira had told me that the wind was a weapon and a gatherer of locations, but she could never reveal deeper information such as identity, because wind and storms were of land and trees, cities and seas, and had no care for those who dwelled in any of them.
And yet, I had already done what she said couldn’t be done. If luck was with me, I’d do it again.