Chapter 6 #3
“One has to try a lot harder. Time is a-ticking, my dear.”
I just about choked on my tea. “Really? You had to remind me?”
“Well, if the hot poker doesn’t work, one has to try other methods of ass movement.”
I rolled my eyes. “And the pectoral? Does he want it back, or shall I destroy it?”
“Return it to Liadon. She will ensure he receives it.” She thrust to her feet, drained her glass, then exchanged said glass for the bottle. “I shall be taking this with me, of course.”
“You only come here to replenish your whisky supply, don’t you?”
“And who can blame me if that were true? You do keep a mighty fine stock.” She skirted around the sofa I was sitting on and clomped down the stairs. But as she neared the door, she added, “Find the harp, find the thief, find the blade. The trail lies at your doorstep, Bethany.”
“Yeah,” I muttered. “Because it’s that damn easy.”
“If it were easy,” came her retreating reply, “the game would be no fun.”
“For the gods,” I shouted after her. “We humans could do without such fun.”
“You are neither human nor fae, my dear.” Her reply floated around me on a soft breeze. “Never was, never will be.”
And aside from the ability to read the wind and use storms as a weapon, what advantage had being a godling given me?
Godlings could still die—the fact my father’s very first daughter had found her death in these goddamn games proved that, not to mention the fact I’d barely escaped the death my aunt had planned for me—but what if the divine blood that ran through my veins provided me with an advantage I hadn’t yet tested?
What if it gave me a greater means of escaping death’s grip?
Perhaps I’d survived my aunt’s poisoning for the very reason that I wasn’t entirely fae.
What if my godly blood had dramatically slowed the poison’s progress through my body, thereby giving me that chance?
What if it could also keep my brain active for longer, meaning Darby would have more time to reach and save me?
If that were true, then there was hope of life beyond my father’s proclamation, and damned if I wasn’t going to hold on tight to it. Which also meant, of course, that I needed to get a magical tracer sooner rather than later.
I glanced at the time, saw it was close to twelve, and swore.
I hastily drained the rest of my cup and rose, quickly collecting my bag and coat before heading down the stairs after Beira.
Despite the fact there was little more than a minute between her departure and mine, she was nowhere in sight.
But then, she was goddess of winter and storms and really could move like the wind when she wanted to.
It was starting to drizzle by the time I got outside, so I zipped up my coat, tugged on the hood, and shoved my hands into my pockets.
I didn’t bother calling a cab. Eljin’s wasn’t all that far away, and I’d never really been averse to walking in rain anyway—an inclination no doubt due to who my father was.
I was at the end of Eastgate Street when my phone rang. I hit Answer and said, “Hey Mathi, what’s up?”
“Got the report a little later than he’d said, but there’s nothing in it that raises immediate alarms.”
More of the inner tension unwound. I’d definitely been expecting the opposite. Of course, where he and I were concerned romantically, it didn’t make a whole lot of difference. Eljin was a fun time, not a long time.
Of course, Cynwrig was supposed to fall under the same category too, but here we were....
“So, he did the touristy thing and spent time with his sister, nothing else?”
“Yep. Dawson even checked with the hotel to ensure they had separate rooms.”
“I would hope so, given they’re brother and sister, not lovers.”
“According to Dawson, one of the most popular excuses given by cheating partners is that they have to meet a family member.”
His voice was dry, and I smiled. “I’m surprised their lovers don’t demand to meet said family members.”
“Did you?”
“No, because he made it patently clear he wanted to spend time alone with his sister. Without actually saying that, of course.” I paused, glancing left and right before crossing the street. “Besides, we’re casual, nothing more. The only reason I wanted to check—”
“Was instinct saying something was off,” Mathi finished for me. “So, we do the background on the woman, just to be safe. Right?”
“Yes, because we’ve got a shapeshifter capable of attaining other forms running around with a knife that can enforce her will on others. There’s a chance he’s a victim and has no control over what he is doing.”
“You don’t truly believe that, do you?”
“Right now, I’m not sure what to believe.”
He sniffed. It was an unimpressed sound. “I shall see you tomorrow morning.”
“You will.” I hung up, tucked the phone away, and continued on.
The wind stole around me as I stepped onto the curb, and a myriad of different images hit my mind, briefly making me stumble.
I grabbed the nearby street light pole, holding on tightly as I came to grips with the giddying array of information.
Basically, all the images confirmed what Mathi had just said—Eljin, in London, with a woman who had gorgeous mahogany hair that fell in waves to her butt.
She was slender but beautiful, with pale skin that held an almost elvish luminosity.
“You alright, love?” someone off to my right said. “Do you need some help?”
I took a deeper breath, banished the wind’s whispering, and looked up. A kindly looking old woman was studying me with concern. I smiled and nodded. “Just had a bit of a dizzy spell, that’s all.”
“You should get yourself to the doctors and have that checked,” she said in a motherly tone. “Dizzy spells are never good at the best of times, let alone in someone so young.”
“I will, thank you.”
She hesitated. “Are you sure you’re okay? You don’t need me to call a cab or something?”
“I’m fine, really. I haven’t far to go until I’m home, anyway.”
“Perfect, then. Just make sure you take it easy,” she said and continued on.
I watched her for several seconds, then pushed away from the light pole and continued, following Volunteer Street down to the end before turning into Albion.
Eljin lived in the penthouse apartment of a gorgeous old church whose conversion had been done so well that the song of the old beams was so clear and loud I could hear it from the street.
I bounced up the steps, punched in the code, and opened the door.
The scent of Eljin’s aftershave—warm leather and exotic spices—hung lightly in the crisp, cold air, oddly fresher than it should have been given he’d been away for a couple of days.
I swung off my purse, took off my coat, and hung it up on the nearby hooks to dry off.
Then, after picking my purse back up, I walked into the main room.
It was a large, double-height expanse, with the lovely old oak trusses painted white to give the room an even airier feeling.
The wood song reverberated around me, rich and warm, and, on the street side of the building the light coming in from the two beautifully simple stained windows sent rainbows of color spinning through the room.
At the far end of the room was a compact but well-equipped kitchen and beside it, a chrome and glass staircase that wound up to the loft bedroom.
I walked down to the end and put on the kettle, and at that precise moment realized I was not alone in the apartment.
Eljin wasn’t in London.
He was here.