Chapter 2
Mathi rolled me off him and said, “Move, move.”
I scrambled upright and dove toward a nearby larger tomb, hunkering behind it as I scanned the night. I couldn’t see the shooter and there was no sense of movement on the still air, but he was out there. I could feel it. Feel his tension and desperation.
That latter emotion was definitely odd.
Mathi knelt beside me. “You okay?”
I nodded. “You?”
“I’m fine, but my coat is utterly ruined.” His tone suggested the shooter would pay for that thoughtlessness.
“Have you any idea where the shot came from?”
While I could feel his presence, the stillness of the night and the lack of wind was making it difficult to sense a direction. I could gather the air and send it on a quest, of course, but that might well take more time than we had.
“From the highest point of the tree line near Grosvenor’s Road,” he replied.
I carefully peered past the edge of the tomb and scanned that area, though I was unlikely to see anything when it was so far away. My night sight was pretty good—and well beyond that of a human—but it wasn’t as sharp as Mathi’s. He might not be Myrkálfar—who could see in the darkness as easily as they did daylight—but a light elf’s night sight remained far sharper than most other fae.
Air stirred briefly, and I jerked back sharply. A second later, something hit the edge of the tomb, and stone chips flew. “Well, he’s definitely still there. How do you want to play this?”
“I don’t suppose you can call down a bolt of lightning or two, can you?”
I half smiled. “If there was a cloud in the sky, maybe, but there’s not even a scrap of wind.”
“What about gathering the air and using it as a weapon? You’ve done that before.”
“Yes, but I need to at least see the person I’m attacking. It’d take too long to gather enough air for a broad blanket attack.”
“Then we do it the hard way.”
I raised an eyebrow. “I’m not liking the note of anticipation in your voice.”
He smiled. “I’m a Dhār-val. We do relish the odd bit of danger. Gets the blood moving.”
I snorted softly. “What’s odd about that statement is the fact I never sensed that predilection in all the years we were together.”
“That’s because you got my blood moving in other ways.” He motioned to my left. “It’s pretty simple—you run out and head into the trees, drawing his attention from me.”
“I’m bait, in other words.”
“As the old saying goes, what is good for the gander is good for the goose.”
I half smiled. “That’s presuming I am the target. There’s no certainty?—”
“Yeah, there is.” He lightly touched my right arm, and it was only then I noticed the hole in my jacket’s sleeve. “If not for me seeing the brief flash of movement and the puffiness of this godawful jacket, you’d now be dead.”
I leaned forward and kissed his cheek. “Thank you for saving my life.”
“I haven’t very many close friends, Bethany, and I’m not about to let one of those few be taken from me. Not if I can at all help it.” His hand slid down to mine, squeezing lightly before releasing. “So, we get this bastard, and we squeeze every little bit of information from him. Agreed?”
“Agreed.”
“Then go. But please, keep in mind that whole ‘me not losing a friend’ comment, and don’t get shot.”
I smiled and kissed his cheek again. “Promise.”
“Then I shall meet you at the top of that hill.”
I nodded, took a deep breath, then thrust upright and charged out, running hell for leather across the path and up the hill. A bullet pinged into the ground beside me, spraying dirt across the side of my calves; a heartbeat later, grass and dirt flew up from the ground inches from my toes.
Either our shooter was a very bad marksman, or he was trying to maim rather than kill me.
I had no idea which was true, and no intention of finding out. Aside from the whole “I like life too much” aspect, there was my promise to Mathi to consider. I started to zigzag, although I wasn’t entirely sure how much it would actually help.
I hit the treed area, but their cover was sparse and didn’t alleviate the overall danger, given I was still below the shooter and most of the trees here were winter bare. For several heartbeats, the barrage fell silent, then air stirred sharply to my left. I went right, ducking behind a lovely old oak. Her gentle song turned to one of pain as three bullets thudded into her trunk.
I dragged up the bottom of my coat and drew the two knives. Dark purplish light flickered down their fullers, an indication someone was spelling close by. Unfortunately, the knives weren’t capable of telling me where, and that meant I had better move before that spell had a chance to find me. I thrust to my feet and ran on, weaving through the trees, the ground gently rising as I drew closer to the cemetery’s boundary. Bullets continued to thud into the ground inches from my feet, which only strengthened my suspicion that the shooter was deliberately missing.
I scanned the rise above me but couldn’t see him, despite the sparsity of the trees and the fact I was now close enough to hear the snick of bullets being fired. Which meant the spell the knives had reacted to—were still reacting to—was most likely a shadow shield. They were the next best thing to an invisibility shield, and far cheaper to purchase.
From up ahead came a flurry of noise—wood splintering, cloth tearing—followed by a venomous and yet oddly desperate curse. Then, a heartbeat later, another sharp snick.
No metal speared into the ground near my feet. That last bullet had not been aimed at me.
Several yards farther on, I saw the body.
He lay at the base of the scrubby embankment that separated the cemetery from the road, the bottom half of his leg bent back against his thigh at an unnatural angle. There was a small handgun loosely clutched in his left hand that, given the length of the barrel, obviously had some sort of silencer attached.
He wasn’t moving, wasn't breathing, and after a moment, I saw why.
On the left side of his head, just behind his ear, was a small scorch mark and a slightly rimmed, neat round hole from which blood trickled. He’d been shot—killed—though whether it was by his own hand or another’s, I couldn’t say.
Another shot rang out, the sound muted by distance but coming from the general direction of the very first shot.
Fuck, Mathi .
I spun and ran as fast as I could back through the trees, my grip on the knives so fierce that my knuckles practically glowed. I wasn’t quiet and wasn’t attempting to be.
Then in a voice that was clear but filled with an odd sort of annoyance, he said, “You can ease off, Beth. I’m not hurt.”
I came out of the trees into the top row of several lines of old graves. Mathi was standing close to an old grave marker, and at his feet lay another man. I slowed and, after a quick look around, sheathed the knives and walked toward him.
“What happened? Did you deck him after he shot at you?”
“That last shot wasn’t at me. He killed himself.” The annoyance remained in his voice, though little crossed his expression. “I tried to stop him, but wasn’t fast enough.”
I halted beside him and rubbed my arms. “There’s another man in the trees back there, and he also appears to have killed himself.”
“It’s rather odd behavior for hitmen.”
It was indeed. “Have you looked for an ID?”
Mathi nodded. “Nothing on him.”
“I guess that isn’t surprising if he was a professional.”
“No professional would ever miss as badly as this man did—or indeed, make a stupid move when their target is in clear view, thereby giving that target a chance to escape.”
“Unless, of course, killing wasn’t what they’d intended.” My gaze jumped to the gun lying on the ground. “Would nonprofessionals have access to silencers? They’re both using them.”
A smile tugged at his lips. “There is such a thing as the black market, remember, and it is rather active here in Deva.”
And anyone wanting to purchase a firearm in the UK had to be registered and have an owner’s certificate with the caliber approved by the police. If these two were hitmen, then a legal purchase was certainly unlikely, but it never hurt to check. “You know, there’s something very odd about this whole situation.”
“In what way? The ghul warned us of danger, and a few minutes later, someone attempted to kill us. The only thing odd about the whole thing is the fact they took their own lives rather than simply disappearing.”
“Were they really attempting to kill us, though?” I glanced at him. “Even if they weren’t professionals, surely not even amateur shooters could miss us so badly. It seems to me they were deliberately doing so.”
“To what possible purpose?” He waved a hand to the dead man at our feet. “If it was simply a warning of some kind, why off themselves?”
“I don’t know, but there was an odd sort of desperation emanating from the other shooter. There was also a spellcaster in his vicinity, though I had no real sense of him or her.”
“Where’s your shooter?”
I motioned toward the trees. “It sounded like he fell down the embankment and then, rather than being caught, blew his own brains out.”
“Which implies they were ordered to avoid capture at any cost.” His expression was grim. “And that sort of compliance is generally only brought about by some sort of leverage or pixie magic.”
Said magic was a so-called blessing given to pixie women by an ancient goddess who had given us the so-called six gifts of womanhood—beauty, a gentle voice, sweet words, wisdom, needlework, and chastity. The women in my line somehow managed to avoid most of those—thank the gods—but we did have a variation on the gentle voice and sweet words theme and could either calm people down or control them with voice and touch. It worked on humans, shifters, and most fae, but not elves. Maybe if it had , I wouldn’t have wasted so many years with Mathi.
Though, in truth, it probably wouldn’t have mattered, because our split was the result of him breaking his promise to tell me if he took other lovers rather than the fact he actually had other lovers. Honesty was the key, not monogamy.
“It would certainly explain why our shooters appeared to be deliberately missing, as ordering someone to kill in a situation like this risks evoking the blood curse, and that’s something sane pixies avoid.” Though that did lead to the possibility we were dealing with an insane mind. “But I’m currently the only Aodhán woman in Deva, and there’s very few Tàileach.”
“That’s presuming it’s a Tàileach or Aodhán woman involved—are no other branches of pixies capable of mind enforcement?”
“It can technically be found in the other lines, but it’s mostly the two taller branches that have the variation.”
“But there’s also no indication the person behind this attack or indeed these two men come from around these parts.” He paused. “What about your aunt? It’s certainly possible she holds you responsible for her daughter’s death.”
“Vincentia’s dead because she ignored my warnings and worked for the wrong people.” I rubbed my arms lightly. “And it can’t be Riayn. She’s also dead.”
“No, she’s presumed dead,” he replied. “They never actually found a body, did they?”
“No, but it’s not like she could have left the property, given she was under the red knife.”
The red knife was the most serious of all punishments given out by the pixie council, and only applied for the most grievous of offenses. It was both a symbolic and physical cutting of ties, meaning not only were you excommunicated from pixie society and bound in one place for a period of ten years, but your ability to hear and use the song and power of trees was ripped from you. I’d feared a similar punishment after I’d deep mind read—and controlled—Vincentia, but had instead been tasked with working for Deva’s council for a period of two years.
As much as I hated being bound to them, it was certainly a far better option than the red knife.
“Dead doesn’t always mean dead,” he said, rather darkly. “There are ways and means of faking it.”
“Not when it comes to the red knife.”
His soft “hmmm” was loaded with disbelief, and in many respects, I couldn’t say I blamed him. If the gods were intent on causing chaos, then throwing my aunt into the mix would certainly be an excellent option.
“Did you have a chance to pat down the other man?” he added.
I shook my head. “You go do that; I’d better ring Sgott.”
Sgott Bruhn wasn’t only the head of the IIT’s night division, but had also been my mom’s lover for nigh on sixty years, and the only real father I’d ever known. He’d always treated me as one of his own, though I suspected I’d caused him far more grief than any of those born from his loins ever had, especially of late.
I dragged out my phone, noticed I had a message, but ignored it and made the call. As the phone rang, I trailed after Mathi, my gaze scanning the night. I couldn’t sense anything untoward, but that didn’t mean we were entirely safe, given the soft pulse still emanating from the knives. Our spellcaster was still out there somewhere.
Sgott answered after a couple of rings. “And what has happened now for you to be ringing so early in the morning?”
There was a decided edge of resignation running through his Scottish brogue, and I couldn’t help smiling. “I’m afraid someone decided I was the perfect subject for a little target prac?—”
“You’ve not been hurt?” he cut in sharply.
“No, thanks mainly to Mathi knocking me out of the way in time.”
“Given the Dhār-Val line has more lives than cats, I take it he’s also okay?”
“Yes, and before you ask, I haven’t questioned either shooter. They topped themselves before either of us could get to them.”
“That is rather unusual behavior for a professional. Or indeed, anyone I would judge as sane. Where are you?”
“The old Deva cemetery, up near the Grosvenor’s Road embankment, several hundred yards past the gate on that side.”
“It’ll take us about ten to get there.”
“See you soon.” I tucked the phone away and stopped a few feet away from the dead man Mathi was patting down. “Sgott and his people are on the way. You find anything?”
“No phone, no wallet, and no car keys. He’s not even wearing a watch.” He motioned toward the body. “And the fact he came out on an evening like this without a coat suggests he was likely driven here, either via a cab, Uber, or whoever told him to shoot himself.”
“We’re only presuming the latter.” I scanned the area again. “The frost is light on the ground here, but it’s possible our spellcaster left some prints further along.”
“Unless he went up the embankment and over the fence.”
“Even if he did, there’d be some evidence of it. We should look.” I glanced at him. “It’s better than standing around doing nothing but freezing our butts.”
“Oh, I can think of one or two ways we could keep the chill at bay, but sadly, you refuse to even entertain the prospect.”
“Because you’re past entertainment, not current or future. Shall we move?”
His sigh was a dramatic thing, though amusement danced through his bright eyes. “I guess if I have no other option?—”
“Well, you could stand here and stare at a dead man.”
“Not something I’ve ever been prone to do, even when responsible for said death.”
“You know, there’s a part of me horrified by that comment, and yet, also intrigued.”
“As our ghul noted, the Dhār-Val line does have something of a reputation.” He carefully stepped around the body and fell in step beside me. “Two shooters and a spellcaster is certainly what most in the business would consider overkill, and suggests once again we’re not dealing with professionals.”
We came out of the trees, but there was no sign of disturbance on the frost-kissed grass or indeed the embankment. Either our caster walked more lightly than elves, or they had wings.
As the faint sound of approaching sirens began to bite the air, I shoved my cold hands into my pockets and said, “This is useless.”
“I would have to agree,” Mathi said. “But hopefully, there’ll be a tracker amongst Sgott’s people, and they’ll have a little more luck.”
“I wouldn’t be putting money on it. If you ask me, this has all the hallmarks of a carefully planned, even if not perfectly executed, event.”
“Which brings to mind a question—how did you learn about the ghul’s presence? I had no idea one existed here, and I’ve been living in Deva far longer than you.”
I wrinkled my nose. “Overheard a conversation between a couple of customers and asked them about it.”
His eyebrows rose. “New customers, by chance?”
“Tourists, so yes.” I glanced at him. “You’re thinking it was a setup?”
“Well, you have to admit it’s likely.”
“The ghul wouldn’t be party to such a thing. They are honest folk.”
“But, as she said, two visits in under a week is rather unusual. It’s a shame she wouldn’t tell us what that other person wanted. I suspect it might provide some clue as to her identity.”
The wail of sirens ended abruptly, but blue and red light washed across the darkness. The silence briefly felt heavier, but the sound of approaching voices soon changed that. I didn’t hear Sgott’s voice amongst them, but maybe he was still on the way or had simply sent the investigative team that was closest.
“You head up there and meet Sgott’s people,” I said. “I’ve got a tree I need to heal first.”
He raised an eyebrow but kept on walking. I moved back down the slope, following the song of pain until I found the bullet-ridden old oak. I brushed my fingers down her trunk, then gently connected to the golden rivers of her energy, following the network of fibers until I found the deeply embedded bullets. One by one, I gently eased the metal back up the tunnel it had gouged, healing the wound behind it as I went. As the bullets neared the surface of the trunk, I tugged a sleeve over my hand to catch them, then reconnected the torn fibers over each entry point, allowing the river of light and the tree’s song to once again run rich and unimpeded.
But as I stepped back, the faintest glimmer of red caught my eye. It was hanging from the very tip of a low-hanging branch of a nearby tree, and very much looked like several strands of fiery red hair.
My heart leapt in hope. The woman I’d briefly glimpsed in the ghul’s memories had traded strands of red hair, so there was every chance that these strands belonged to our caster. And if we could find her, then maybe she could lead us to the pixie who’d magicked our dead men.
I walked over to untangle the strands from the limb, but the minute my fingers touched the hair, my second sight leapt into action.
In quick succession, I saw a thin woman with a nest of wiry red hair and, on a silver chain around her neck, a pendant in the shape of a half circle with two uneven lines underneath it. While I’d never seen the latter before, I certainly knew the woman.
It was none other than Maran Gordon, the caster who’d firebombed the tavern and aided the two shifter thieves who’d stolen the moonstone from me.
Except, it couldn’t be—I’d killed her when she’d claimed the sword of darkness and attacked me and Vincentia.
Did Maran have a twin? A sister? I had no idea, but maybe Sgott would.
It was also possible we were dealing with the multi-shifter we only knew as Carla Wilson—the woman who was second-in-command to the hereto unknown man in control of the Ninkilim—but as far as any of us were aware, she was not also a mage.
I scanned the area yet again, but there was—unsurprisingly—little evidence or clue as to the direction the woman had gone. If we were dealing with a sister, then it was likely she had similar talents and was at least somewhat adept at concealment and body-morphing spells. Even if she was using some sort of magical shield, she was also smart enough to remain under the tree line, where the frost hadn’t ventured and prints wouldn’t show. A tracker would undoubtedly find her scent, but that was unlikely to end in a result given that, by the time they arrived, she’d have had more than enough time to jump into a vehicle and disappear.
The bigger question right now was, if this wasn’t a random attack and someone had placed another contract on me, who’d brokered it?
It surely wouldn’t be Kaitlyn Avery. While she was Deva’s—and maybe even England’s—largest broker of illegal services, she knew far better than to get involved in any way with another contract on me. She was already walking a fine line with Sgott, and one more transgression would see her thrown in jail. And no matter how much goodwill she’d built with Ruadhán—Mathi’s father—by supplying him various bits of information, she knew well enough even he could not help her if Sgott pressed forward with charges.
However, she wasn’t the only broker in town, even if she was the largest, and any one of the minor players could have accepted the commission. I had no idea how many we had here in Deva, but I suspected there’d be quite a few given this was basically a black-market hotspot. Sgott would no doubt be aware of them all and task his people with interviewing them, but it just wasn’t in my nature to sit back and let others sort out my problems. I was just like my mother in that respect.
Of course, Mom had also ended up dead...
I shoved the thought away and resolutely made my way back to the body of the man who’d broken his leg. Mathi wasn’t there, but two others were—a man taping off the area and a woman taking photos. The latter was the fox shifter who’d attended the fire-bombing at the tavern.
I gave her a nod and asked, “Is Sgott here yet?”
“He’s up with Dhār-Val at the first body.”
“Thanks,” I said, and continued on.
Sgott had his phone in his hand, obviously taking a statement from Mathi, but turned as I came out of the trees.
“You canna stay out of trouble for very long, can you?”
The amusement in his voice echoed through me. He was a big bear of a man—quite literally, given he was a bear shifter—broad of shoulders and chest; thick, wiry brown hair; brown skin; and a fierce, untamable beard. He also had a heart as big as his body, at least when it came to those he considered family, anyway. “Yeah, sorry, but that was Mom’s lot in life, and it appears to be mine now. You got any evidence bags?”