Horn of Winter (Relic Hunters #5)

Chapter 7

Chapter

Seven

“Cynwrig’s building?”

“Aye, though none of the immediate family are likely to be there. Where are you?”

“With Darby, just heading onto Hoole Way.” I glanced at her. “Do you know where Lùtair Enterprises is?”

“Yes—I’ll get you there as fast as I can.” She paused. “Tell Sgott to warn his people and the cops there’s a bright red mini coming in hot.”

“I’ll send a car to meet and escort you.” He paused and quickly spoke to someone, though the conversation was muffled, suggesting he was holding the phone close to his chest. The seconds seemed to tick by extremely slowly. “I’ll have two cars waiting for you at the Fountains Roundabout. They’ll run lights and sirens front and behind, and get you here faster.”

“Awesome,” Darby said with a wide grin. “Always wanted to truly test the handling and speed of this little beastie.”

“I take comfort in the fact that you have, at least, done an advanced driving course.” His voice was a gravelly mix of amusement and concern. “But please do try not to bend my girl or your good self.”

“Not to mention the mini.” She swung around the first roundabout adeptly at speed then flattened her foot again as we barreled toward Fountains Roundabout. The mini hugged the ground as well as any rat. A speedy red rat.

“How bad is the ice encasement?” I asked Sgott.

“The ground floor exits and windows are iced over, but the rest of the building remains free, though frost is starting to creep slowly up the stonework.”

I frowned. “That’s a different approach to the attack on Kaitlyn’s—and a whole lot faster.”

“Different building could explain it.”

Maybe. I’d imagine any Lùtair building would have been constructed with a means of countering magic, given they were capable of it themselves. But it could also be a matter of this attack happening too close to the other. It was an undisputed fact that all magic had its cost, and I certainly knew from experience that the rule also applied to the use of godly relics. “Are you able to evacuate?”

“Yes, because nearly all the buildings in the business park are two story, and they all have external fire stairs. We’re just moving people up to the first floor and getting them out via the stairs and fire ladders to the windows.”

At least that was something. Up ahead, blue-and-red lights spun brightness through the gloom. “I can see our escort, so we’ll see you soon.”

As we pulled into the roundabout, the first cop car took off. The second fell in behind us, and we were quickly whisked through the various other roundabouts until we reached the A483 and then the business park. The area did actually look like a park rather than the usual concrete and brick expanse of most business hubs, and was filled with lots of green space and a variety of gorgeous trees, both old and new. The cops up front slowed, forcing Darby to do the same, and we all turned right into a parking area that was filled with cars and emergency services.

A policewoman directed us to a parking spot and, once we’d stopped, Darby and I climbed out and were escorted through the mess of vehicles and into a small, grassed area filled with the vibrant song of youngish oaks. It wasn’t hard to spot the building under attack—it was a black, almost monolithic structure in a sea of red-brick modernism with mirrored windows and a towering front entrance. In the face of all that darkness, the ice stood out starkly. It covered all the ground floor windows and the main entrance area, a thick barrier that gleamed with blue-white intensity in the gloom of the day. Sharp fingers of ice were extending toward the first-floor windows but seemed to be moving very slowly. I would have thought that, given whoever was behind this attack had to be close enough to see both the building and the ongoing evacuation, they’d have sped things up a little. But maybe death wasn’t their intent. Maybe they were simply after destruction. Material destruction.

But what in the hell was the connection between Kaitlyn and the Lùtair building?

As Mathi had noted earlier, the Lùtairs did not need her help when it came to acquiring black market services. They dominated the damn thing, for fuck’s sake.

Sgott glanced around as we approached. “We’re just evacuating the final few people now. We’ve also done an aerial search of the entire area. We’re not finding anyone even remotely suspicious. No drones, and no person or persons perched high on a rooftop.”

“That makes no sense,” Darby said. “No matter what the kind, witches generally have to see the person or item they’re working on for the spell to work.”

I wrinkled my nose. “Perhaps they scouted the location at an earlier date, or are familiar enough with the area to direct their attack from afar.”

“It’s also possible they’re using one of the many vids available on YouTube that go into great detail discussing this place,” Sgott commented. “They do hold great fascination to both architects and aesthetes.”

I frowned at him. “What the hell is an aesthete?”

“Someone who has an eye for design and appreciates works of art and fine things,” Sgott replied, his gaze meeting mine. “Do you think your knives can counter the ice here without destroying the building?”

“I have no fucking idea at this point, but there is at least one thing in our favor this time—the entire building isn’t as yet encased.”

And while the glittering fingers continued to creep toward the first floor, the building’s roofline remained relatively clear. Which, again, differed from Kaitlyn’s, but until we discovered who was behind these attacks, we really wouldn’t have any true understanding of his or her motives.

“You might want to evacuate the rest of the area though,” I added. “Especially given what happened last time.”

He nodded and began speaking into his phone again. As people began moving away from the building, I scanned the sky, extending my senses enough to feel the caress of untamed wildness within the clouds. The promised evening storms remained a few hours away.... The thought stopped. Just for an instant, I caught a wisp of... something else. Something other than the distant rumble of thunder and lightning. A presence that spoke of humanity.

It was gone before I could clearly define or even pin it, but it had definitely felt female.

Not Harold Gould then, though it was yet possible he could give us her name given there were supposedly only five ice witches within the UK—unless of course, there’d been an influx of talents in recent years, or she’d been lured in from overseas. I guess it would be one way of avoiding the guilds here tracking your magical markers.

Sgott returned his attention to us. “Okay, the area is clear and all yours.”

“Thanks.” I retrieved my knives then handed the purse to Darby. “You two might want to retreat to the tree line. If the explosion has the same force, that should offer enough distance.”

“If the explosion has the same force,” Sgott said, “that’ll put you right in the eye of danger. This is a far bigger building, remember, and you barely got away in time at Kaitlyn’s.”

And only because he’d run in and saved my ass. Still, I wasn’t about to admit that I was every bit as worried as him about survival, if only because that would make him worry even more.

“I’ve a hot date tonight, so you can be sure I’m not about to let any damn explosion make me miss it.”

Though even as I said that, I couldn’t help but wish that it was Cynwrig I was meeting. Cynwrig I’d be falling into bed with. Cynwrig’s arms that would wrap around me as we fell into blissful slumber.

Of course, it was possible that I could have all that if I dared to take what the bracelet offered, but was I just...

Scared, I guess. Scared of risking a possible long-term relationship for short-term gratification.

Darby touched my arm lightly, perhaps sensing the inner turmoil. I smiled, and though she no doubt saw the tension running through it, she didn’t say anything. She just turned and followed Sgott back to the trees. I drew in a deeper breath to fortify my nerves, then, after tightening my grip on the knives just a fraction, strode determinately toward the black blot of a building.

As tempting as it was to head for one of the windows, where the ice was much thinner, the true heart of the attack seemed to be the vast ice sheet covering the main entrance into the building. Though it was impossible to see doorways or glass through the thick bluish gleam of the ice, fat icicle fingers spread out from this main clump, moving across the portico’s internal roofline far faster than they were on the rest of the building.

I stopped at the bottom of the three steps that led up into the portico, my gaze sweeping the gleaming black stone floor. Though ice clawed across it, a clear path remained. I had no desire for any of it to touch me—if it could freeze and utterly demolish a building, then it likely could do the same to flesh if given half the chance. Just because Kaitlyn’s condition had been caused more by the chill that came with the ice rather than it actually capturing and encasing her didn’t mean they wouldn’t attempt such a maneuver with me—especially now he or she knew exactly what I could do.

I raised my gaze to the bluish wall directly ahead, then gathered several strings of the gently stirring wind and spun them all around me, resulting in a whirling barrier few would see, but one that would hopefully afford some protection if I stuck my knives into the ice and exploded the whole damn building again.

I forced my feet up the steps and across the black stone, carefully skirting around the few icy fingers that crossed my path. They didn’t chase after me, but I had this weird feeling the person behind this attack was suddenly aware of my presence.

A feeling that was all but confirmed when the activity of the ice above jumped into another gear, and the fat fingers running across the roofline motored over the concealed gutters and disappeared up onto the roof. I had no idea what the witch intended, but I suspected I had better act now, before all the fingers reaching up the sides of the building met with those on the roof.

The chill radiating off the thick block of ice was nowhere near as strong as it had been at Kaitlyn’s, but it was still cold enough for my nose and fingers to tingle. I scanned the width of the wall, looking for the best spot to attack, but there didn’t appear to be any obvious weak spots. With a half shrug, I raised both knives, drove them into the ice, then released them and stepped back.

As at Kaitlyn’s, nothing happened for several seconds. Then the knives pulsed, and thunder rumbled in response, despite the fact the storm remained a good few hours away. These knives were definitely drawing on my connection with the weather to enhance their own power. Beira had said that no one truly understood how my genetics would combine with the triune and what might come of it, so was this recent ability of the knives to connect with the storms—seemingly without any input from me—an example of that? They’d always been basically autonomous when it came to protecting me from spells, but I’d always presumed it was a protection that extended to all the women in my line who’d used them. I actually had no idea if that were true because, like so many other things, Mom never mentioned it.

The knives pulsed again, and the sky responded, the sharp crack of thunder loud enough to make me wince. A second crack followed a heartbeat later, one that came from the ice rather than the sky. A fissure had formed in the ice directly above me and quickly became a spider web of cracks that spread rapidly across the ice covering the portico’s roof. Large slabs began to fall, shattering as they hit the black stone, sending deadly spears of gleaming ice spinning in all directions. I hastily ramped up the vortex surrounding me, and not a moment too soon; the gleaming spears aimed at my heart were neatly spun back into the portico’s vastness.

More chunks of ice slammed down, thick enough to kill. The stone under my feet vibrated with each blow and the heat radiating from the blades increased. The roof above me quickly cleared of ice, and though I couldn’t physically see the rest of the building, both the rumbling thunder overhead and the wind that spun around and over it told me it was now also free. Which just left this wall.

As the burning power focused solely on it, the ice witch attacked.

It was something I felt more than saw—a sudden chill in the stone under my boots—but through it, I could feel her power and presence. My second sight flared to life, and a vision rose—a woman huddled in front of a laptop that showed what looked to be multiple street views. Her hair was short and spiky, glittering silver in the pale shafts of light streaming in from the window behind her, her skin pale and wrinkled, and her long face drawn. Emaciated almost. Around her neck was a simple leather cord attached to a drinking horn—one that she gripped with her left hand, from which a constant stream of icy particles dripped. They never hit the floor; instead, they spun away into the ether, no doubt heading for this building.

I frowned and tried widening the scope of the vision fractionally. There was movement around her, voices and conversations, a continuous wave that suggested she was somewhere public. If she was , then there had to be some sort of protective or concealment magic happening alongside the main spell, because surely someone would have noticed the relic if not the ice. As the vision began to fade, I caught sight of a familiar sign.

She was sitting at my favorite burger joint down at the river, not far from the boat hire place, no doubt using their free WIFI.

The vision slipped away completely, and awareness returned. Frost now crept over the toes of my boots and up the heel. I couldn’t allow it to touch my skin. Dared not.

I swore and spun myself away from the portico, using the air surrounding me like an overly large if unseen beachball. I bounced down the steps and rolled across the grass, the world spinning around me. It was so disorientating that I briefly lost control and crashed into the branches of a lovely young oak. As the air bubble began to dissipate, I slithered gently down to the ground, the tree’s song filled with confusion over the brief but thankfully harmless impact. As the remaining slivers of wind slipped away, I scrambled upright, my gaze on the black building. Ice continued to fall in chunks, but there was only one section remaining now, and it was off to the right of the entrance. I could no longer feel the witch’s presence; perhaps she’d simply given up the fight once I’d bounced away from her attack. Or perhaps that attack had taken the last of her strength.

“Bethany? You okay?” Sgott asked, his voice sharp with concern.

My gaze snapped around. He and Darby were running toward me. “Yeah, fine, but I know where the witch is—she’s at Two Chicks and a Patty near the boat hire dock. She’s tall, thin, mid-fifties at a guess, and has short, spiky silver hair.”

Sgott immediately got onto his phone, though I had serious doubts even a bird shifter would get there in time to stop her escape. Darby stopped a couple of feet in front of me, her narrowed gaze sweeping me critically. Then she caught my hand, holding it firm as her healer energy flooded through me, scanning for any internal damage.

After a few seconds, she let me go, her expression relieved. “You’ve little more than a few scratches and some impending bruising, which is pretty close to a miracle given the speed you came tumbling away from that building. Damn near gave me a heart attack.”

I smiled. “I had a bubble of air around me. I wasn’t in any danger of being hurt.”

“The bruising threatening to develop down your spine counters that comment to some extent. I did take care of them, by the way. Can’t have an achy back getting in the way of good sex now, can we?”

“We definitely cannot.”

“Okay,” Sgott said as he stopped beside Darby. “We’ve two teams, a witch, and a shifter on the way to Two Chicks. If she’s still in there, we’ll get her. But at least now we have a description to work with.”

Which wouldn’t do much good if she wasn’t the brains behind these attacks, but simply another employee. To be honest, if Keeryn was anywhere near as proficient at creating concealment spells as Maran had been, how could I even be sure that what I’d seen in the vision was the witch’s real form and not a concealment? Especially given my second sight had already proven unable to see past such spells?

I crossed my arms. “You want me in to do a facial composite?”

“I’ll send Jenny around to the tavern tomorrow. I’m thinking you need to be getting home and resting up for your big night.”

I laughed. “Yeah, I don’t think Eljin will appreciate me faceplanting into the middle of my fancy appetizer.”

“Never a good thing,” Sgott agreed sagely, then motioned to a nearby officer. “Mandy will escort you both back to the mini. Please obey the speed limits on the way back.”

Darby laughed. “I think the cobwebs have been well and truly shaken from her engines today.”

“No doubt, but the warning still applies, given the number of speeding tickets you have on record.” He stepped back and motioned us forward.

As we fell in step behind Mandy and moved away from him, Darby said, “So where’s Eljin taking you tonight?”

“Viridis.”

Darby sucked in a breath. “Is he aware that was one of the first places Cynwrig took you to, and that it’s likely to raise unwanted comparisons, no matter how much you try to avoid it?”

“No, and I won’t be mentioning it either. Besides, we’ll likely be in a completely different area, given Cynwrig appeared to have a permanent table there.”

“Well, he does like treating his harem well.”

Indeed, he did. And I did not want to think about how much I missed that. Missed him.

And I was seriously becoming something of a lost cause who really needed to move on.

Would I though?

Probably not, I thought, a smile tugging at my lips. At least, not until I’d decided whether it was worth the risk of donning the bracelet and tasting the delights of sex on the dreaming plane.

Darby dropped me off close to Eastgate Street and as I walked down to the tavern, I sent the two names to Mathi, asking if he could chase up some contact details and telling him why I needed them. The tavern wasn’t busy, and, after checking in with Ingrid again, I headed upstairs. Eljin wasn’t picking me up until eight, so that gave me a good four hours to sleep before I had to start getting ready. After opening the old sash window just enough to allow a slither of wind entry, I connected to the frame’s fibers to lightly lock it in place, ensuring that no one else—not even a damn rat—could get in. Then I stripped off and fell into bed. I was asleep before my head hit the pillow.

Eljin opened the umbrella, then offered me a hand and helped me out of the Uber. The night was positively shitty, the storm I’d sensed earlier having hit about an hour ago. I’d been briefly tempted to just wear dress pants and a warm sweater, but this place—and this man—deserved something better. After much indecision, I’d gone with a form-fitting emerald-green sheath dress, long, soft leather boots, and a thick woolen coat. Eljin hadn’t seen the dress yet, and I was definitely anticipating a heated reaction.

The room we entered wasn’t particularly large, but filled with Victorian splendor. The tables were well spaced, the lighting muted, and while there was no evidence of a bar, there was one here and it served some seriously good—and seriously expensive—alcohol.

A dapper-looking older woman approached, took care of our coats and the umbrella, and then, after checking our booking, said, “Please, this way, Mr. Lavigne.”

Eljin didn’t answer. He could barely even nod. The dress and the boots, it seemed, had the desired effect.

We were led through the stylish and beautiful room to a staircase near the back. I once again ran my fingers across the worn and obviously original volute at the base of the stairs and let them drift along the curved oak handrail as we moved up. Its song danced through me, and I couldn’t help smiling. This building had been a long and happy resting place for the wood in this staircase, and there weren’t many left in Deva of this age that could make such a boast.

Last time I’d been here, we’d been escorted to the more intimate loft space, but this time, we stepped off at the first floor and were led across to a cute table located between the lovely old Victorian fireplace and the sash windows dominating the front of the building. There were three tables here, all occupied by couples. This was not a place where you brought kids.

The older woman—whose name was Leanne, according to her badge—seated us, then handed us a drink menu. “Would you like to order a drink now, or would you prefer a few minutes to scan the menu?”

I placed my purse under the table, then said, “I might try the Glenlivet Nadurra, please.”

“And you, sir?” Leanne asked.

He pursed his lips, then said, “I’ll have the Royal Salute Old Snow.”

“Both excellent choices. I shall return with your drinks and to take your meal order presently.”

As she walked away, he leaned forward and crossed his arms on the table, his gaze sliding slowly from my lips to my neck to my breasts. My nipples puckered, despite how warm the small room was, and a smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

“That dress leaves little to the imagination and I have to admit, I’m somewhat torn.”

I raised an eyebrow, amusement lurking. “Over what?”

“Over the fact that I was not the only man in this room or the other who was admiring your luscious curves.”

“I have no problems with other men looking.”

“So it would seem.” His gaze rose to my neck. “You’re not wearing your mother’s seeking stone.”

“I took your fears about being burned at the wrong moment to heart and decided to wear a simple gold chain instead.” I still had it with me, because instinct kept insisting I needed to keep it close, but it was currently tucked in a side pocket of my purse. My knives remained safely hidden at home, however.

“And the possibility of deflation recedes, for which I am grateful.”

I laughed. “So am I, trust me.”

Once Leanne returned with our drinks and took our order, Eljin pulled several sheets of folded paper from his pocket and handed them to me. “Lugh said you were after these notes on Borrhás’s Horn. He apparently translated some of Nialle’s worst scrawls for you.”

I smiled and accepted the paper. “When he was on an information roll, he used to resort to a mix of scribble and shorthand. Lugh could always read it, but not many others.”

“My writing tends to do the same; problem is, I often can’t read it afterward, which is why I now use speech-to-text programs. I take it the horn is your latest search subject?”

I nodded. “First official one for the council.”

“Nice of them to start with something easy.”

I tucked the papers into my purse without looking at them. “Why would you say that?”

“Well, you’re a storm witch, and the horn controls the weather, does it not?”

“Not the weather, per se. More the ice within a storm.”

“Which, as a storm witch, you should be able to sense.”

“If I was trained, maybe, but I’m not.” I half shrugged—hoping he’d take it as a sign I really didn’t want to talk about it—then picked up the Glenlivet and drew in its scent. It smelled of apple and pears, with hints of nutmeg and oak, vanilla cream, and white pepper, and was fresh and lively on the tongue. Absolutely lovely, but perhaps a little bit too fruity for my palate. Not that I was going to waste a single drop.

He took the hint, and the conversation moved on, flowing easily between the two of us over the three courses of the meal.

Leanne came back once the dessert plates had been cleared and asked if we’d like a coffee or perhaps a brandy. Eljin met my gaze, eyebrows raised in question.

I smiled and said, “I think we’ll just have the check, thank you, Leanne.”

“I do so love a woman who understands silent communication,” Eljin commented as Leanne walked away.

“More like a woman desperate to get her man into bed.”

He laughed, and, once we’d paid, we headed back downstairs. Eljin helped me into my coat, his fingers brushing across my nape, leaving a heated trail. I shivered, and he laughed again, pressing a hand against my spine as he opened the door, and we stepped outside, keeping to one side of the building’s awning, out of the rain, as we waited for the Uber. As thunder rumbled a promise of more violence to come, Eljin wrapped an arm around my waist and pulled me close, pressing my length hard against his. The heat and anticipation surged, then his lips came down on mine, and any awareness of anything and anyone else momentarily slipped away. The kiss was wanton, filled with intensity and passion, and it left me breathless and needy.

It was nothing like any other kiss we’d ever shared.

I shivered again when he released me. He didn’t say anything, but his eyes gleamed knowingly as he helped me into the back of the Uber. His apartment was the penthouse suite of a lovely old red-brick church that had retained all its beams and original windows when it had been converted into five apartments a few years ago. It was located within walking distance of the river and the museum, and also happened to be close to the tavern.

He opened the door and ushered me inside as the internal fires continued to rage. I wanted this man as I’d never wanted before, and I couldn’t help but wonder if maybe I’d had too much wine. Attraction and desire was one thing, but this was something else entirely. Hell, it was close to Cynwrig levels of wanting.

I swallowed heavily and tried—without any real success—to regain control over my hormones as I handed him my coat and 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. Their song, though muted, was rich and warm, a consequence of being one of the few churches that had undergone major renovations without major destruction. On the street side of the building there were two beautifully simple stained windows, and at the other end of the room, a compact but well-equipped kitchen. Beside this was a chrome-and-glass staircase that wound up to the loft bedroom.

His hand slid around my waist again, and I went up in flames. It was a ferocity that was obviously shared, because he wrapped a hand around the back of my neck, holding me still as his lips came down on mine, hard and desperate. For several minutes there was nothing but this kiss, this man, and the wanton hunger that surged between us. His fingers found and undid the zip at the back of my dress, then he hooked his fingers under the garment’s shoulders and slid it down my body, taking my knickers with it. His gaze swept my nakedness, and he swore softly in French. I smiled and, with shaking, desperate hands, helped him undress; his pants, shirt, and shoes quickly joined my dress on the floor.

“The boots can stay,” he growled, then lifted me up, pressed me back against the nearest wall, and sheathed himself deep within me. A low moan of utter pleasure escaped my lips, and I leaned my head backward, eyes closed, simply enjoying this most basic of moments.

Then he began to move, and I wrapped my arms around him, moving with him, increasing our rhythm, riding him hard, desperate for completion. When it came, it was glorious.

For several minutes, we were still, our foreheads touching and our rapid breaths mingling. Then he laughed and brushed his lips lightly across mine. “Well, the intended slow seduction certainly did not happen, though I am not inclined to apologize.”

I grinned. “There’s nothing wrong with fast and furious.”

“No, there certainly isn’t, but I am a man who generally likes to take his time and fully explore his partner and her needs.”

I grinned. “You’ve done that before and can certainly do it again. As many times as you wish, as often as you wish, in fact.”

“And what of the competition?”

“Currently out of the picture.” Which wasn’t a lie even if it felt like one. Until I put the bracelet on my wrist, Cynwrig was not in my life.

“Suggesting I need to do all in my power to ensure he remains that way.” He shifted his grip on my butt, and I couldn’t help but notice the man remained erect. Perhaps someone had spiced our foods with an aphrodisiac, because he certainly wasn’t the only one primed for another session. Our sex life had never been lacking, but this... this was another level of intensity. “Shall we continue this upstairs?”

“If we don’t continue somewhere , I’ll be most disappointed.”

He laughed and, despite our intimate lock, carried me up the stairs with surprising ease, where we did indeed continue on long and hard into the night. When I finally slept, no dreams hit, which was the first time that had happened since I’d been staying overnight at Eljin’s. A good omen, I couldn’t help but think.

But when I checked the Eye in the morning, lightning flashed furiously in its dark heart. It did not approve of being pushed aside, even if only for the night.

That, however, turned out to be the least of my problems. The mother of all headaches hit, and neither copious amounts of tea nor the strongest painkillers Eljin had were cutting it. And I wasn’t the only one suffering, which suggested maybe it was something we’d consumed last night.

He eventually bundled me into an Uber with the promise to ring me on his lunch break. I closed my eyes as the driver swept into peak hour traffic, which meant it took longer to arrive back home than it usually did. By the time I climbed out of the car, I was feeling nauseous. The cause simply couldn’t be having too much to drink—unlike elves, we pixies had a high tolerance for the stuff—but I also hated to think the problem lay with Viridis.

I ran upstairs, stripped off, and headed into the bathroom for another shower. The hot water helped the ache in my head but not so much my stomach, and a few minutes later, I was hunkered over the loo, dripping water all over the floor as I vomited my heart out.

When I’d finally finished, I stepped back into the shower to clean up, then dried off and stumbled into my bedroom, where I fell into bed and a deep sleep comforted by the gentle song of the old building.

The phone ringing woke me who knew how many hours later. I groggily groped for it on the bedside table, then remembered it was still in my purse, which remained in the living area. I swore, flicked off the bedding, and padded out naked to retrieve it.

It was close to three in the afternoon, and it was Mathi rather than Eljin.

“What’s up, Mathi?” I scrubbed a hand across my face. While I felt decidedly better after the sleep, a dull ache remained in the back of my head.

“You sound like shit—everything okay?”

“I think I just ate something last night that disagreed with me. I’m fine.”

“I’m not convinced. What say I collect coffee and a bacon butty from the shop just down the road from you, and we do some research while you eat and recover. We do have a relic to find, and the council will be wanting a prelim report in the next twenty-four hours.”

“Sounds like a plan.” And there was nothing quite like a thick bacon butty to chase away a lingering headache, no matter what the cause.

“I’ll see you in about twenty, then.”

Meaning he was already on his way here. I hung up, then checked for missed calls. There were several from Eljin, so I sent a text back explaining what had happened, then added that while I felt better, I might stay home tonight. Alone, I was tempted to add, but held off.

Sounds like a good idea , he wrote back. Call if you do want some company. Happy to just sit and watch TV with you.

A vague sense of relief stirred, which probably had more to do with the lingering headache than any desire not to see him tonight. You’ve been here how many times now, and you’ve never noticed how very rarely I watch TV?

Several shocked emojis came back. Then what the hell do you do to relax?

Read. Eat. Drink. Have sex.

Well, if you feel like company doing any or all of those, you know my number.

I sent him a smiley face blowing a kiss, went down the stairs to unlock the door, then hustled back into the bedroom to get dressed. Mathi would definitely take nakedness as an invitation, and I wasn’t in the mood to deal with all that right now.

The building’s song announced his arrival as he entered via the main door. I got out plates and cutlery, putting them down on the table as he headed up. The delicious smell of bacon preceded his arrival, and my stomach rumbled in appreciation. Obviously, it had finally gotten over whatever had caused this morning’s upchucking episode.

His gaze scanned me quickly and critically, and came up relieved. “You look far better than you sounded on the phone.”

“That’s because your call woke me up from a very deep sleep.”

“Sorry about that.”

“You brought me a butty and coffee, so you’re forgiven.”

He laughed. “If I’d only known bacon was the path to forgiveness, I might have tried it earlier.”

“There are some problems even a butty cannot resolve, and that’s when you bring chocolate.” I reached for one of the paper bags, slid out the toasted sandwich, then reached for a knife to slice it in two.

“Well,” he said, bedevilment dancing through his expression, “the butty has at least gotten me back up here. Now I just need to get?—”

I balled up the paper bag and tossed it at him. “Do not finish that sentence.”

He batted it away with another laugh. “I can but try.”

“And you’re certainly very trying. Eat your sandwich. As you noted, we’ve work to do.”

Once we’d finished our meal, I retrieved the papers Lugh had given me and spread them out on the coffee table. He edged forward on the sofa, his arms crossed over his knees as he studied the three bits of paper.

“You know,” he said after a few minutes, “none of these make a whole lot of sense, even with Lugh transcribing them.”

“It’s just random bits of information Nialle found while searching for the Claws. According to Lugh, he often jotted stuff he found on other relics he thought the museum might want to chase up at a later date.”

“Meaning these”—he paused and motioned to the papers—“fifteen random bits of musings all concern the horn?”

I nodded and pointed to two words sitting on its own page—Ballynastaig Souterrain. “That sounds like a location to me.”

“Could be.” He retrieved his phone from his pocket and googled it. “Okay, it’s an ancient underground structure that’s part of a larger Iron Age fort, and is located within the Ballynastaig Stone Fort, near Gort in Galway. Might be worth checking it out, because the old gods do have a liking for hiding things underground.”

I had no idea where Gort was, but I was familiar enough with Galway, given that’s where my aunt had moved to when she’d had the falling out with Mom. “I saw the witch using the horn, Mathi, so even if it had been kept there, it’s not there now.”

“Perhaps not, but by investigating its former resting place, we might uncover some useful information about it.”

He gave me his phone so I could look at the images. What remained of the fort’s stone walls and earthen ramparts were overgrown and dotted with trees, and the souterrain in its center was rather small and wild-looking. The thick slabs of stone it had been constructed with did at least appear to be in good shape, despite their lean.

I handed the phone back. He tucked it into his pocket, then said, “I’m not seeing anything remotely useful in any of the other notes though?—”

“Which might be because they’re partial rather than whole sentences that make little sense overall. They will mean something, even if we don’t understand it.”

He grunted. “What about the codex librarian—did it give you any information about the horn?”

“It said the horn was designed as a gift to a queen who wished to bring winter down on all her enemies and that it had been cleaved in two so that it could not be used in such a manner ever again.”

“Well, someone has obviously found a way to make it whole again.” He tapped the word revenge on the second page that had been circled several times. “This suggests we were right—whoever is wielding this thing is out for revenge.”

“Seems like.” I swept my gaze over the three pages again, then tapped another half sentence. “‘Destroy via gods’ fire’ could mean the forge of the gods we discovered. Nialle wouldn’t have known about it when he was doing this.”

“Why would he note a means of destruction if he was researching for the museum, though?”

I shrugged. “Because it never pays to overlook any information, however unlikely it is to be useable. Or so Lugh once said.”

He briefly pursed his lips. “The quickest and easiest way to check the souterrain would be to take a private jet over to Shannon Airport and have a car waiting.”

“And you can do all that at short notice?”

He smiled somewhat wryly. “I will never be outdone by a Lùtair when it comes to this sort of stuff, especially when I have the advantage of being able to charge the costs back to the council.”

“Which makes me suspect the jet you will be hiring may well belong to Dhār-Val Enterprises.”

“And they will of course be billed at a competitive market rate.”

I laughed. “So generous of you.”

“They are abusing my position on the council and my friendship with you to use me as a liaison, just as they used Cynwrig’s attraction to you. They pay neither of us a stipend, so it’s only fair they are charged in other ways.”

Which made me wonder what Cynwrig had been charging back to them. “You could quit the council.”

“And lose an advantage over my competitors by knowing what changes the council intends to implement to rules and regs before they come into being? Do not be so na?ve.”

I laughed. “Isn’t that called insider trading and illegal?”

“Technically, no, given the legal definition of insider trading is the buying or selling of a publicly traded company’s stock by someone with non-public material information about that company. I am neither buying nor selling stock. I merely use it for my own company’s benefit. As do, I may point out, most there.”

“Still sounds shady to me.”

“You run a tavern, not a multimillion-dollar company.”

“Oh, knifed through the heart.”

“A comment that would have more impact if you weren’t smiling so broadly.”

I laughed again and motioned to the papers. “So, we head there tomorrow and investigate?”

He nodded. “If we leave by seven, it should give us plenty of time to investigate the site and get back home. Unless, of course, you’d like to stay overnight. Galway is a lovely place.”

I couldn’t help smiling. “I’d rather sleep in my own bed.”

“Or Eljin’s?”

My smile grew. “I tend to get more sleep in mine.”

“Undoubtedly. A wise man never lets a luscious woman go to waste when she’s in his bed.” He rose and dragged a slip of paper from his pants pocket. “Before I forget, here’s the address and phone number for Harper Jones. Couldn’t find any details for Harold Gould, so maybe he died or simply moved out of the area.”

“Thanks.” I reached out and accepted the paper. Harper also lived in Hoole. Perhaps it was a favorite area for guild members. “Male or female?”

“Female, about thirty years old.”

I glanced up. “What database did you have to break into to get this information?”

“None. She’s listed with IIT, and though her file was sealed, they’re still tracking her movements.”

“Meaning whatever she did as a juvie was pretty damn bad—should I be worried?”

“Aside from the occasional speeding and parking fines, she’s been clean since she turned eighteen, so I wouldn’t think so.”

“Good. I’ll go have a chat while you make the arrangements for tomorrow.”

“Do you want company?”

“It’s less intimidating if there’s only me.”

“I can do unintimidating.”

“No, you can’t. Not with people you don’t know, anyway.”

Mathi could certainly turn on the charm when he wanted to, but like most light elves, the face he presented to the world in general was cold and unemotional.

He didn’t disagree. I listened to the vibration of his movements as he moved down the stairs, then picked up my phone and brought up the souterrain images. At first glance, it didn’t appear to be all that deep or large, but if there’s one thing I’d learned over the last few weeks it was things weren’t always as they seemed. And they very definitely weren’t as safe as they sometimes appeared.

In any other situation, I would have instantly called Cynwrig and asked him to come with us. Lùtairs were, among other things, manipulators of stone, which would definitely come in handy if the souterrain decided to collapse three seconds after we’d entered.

But this wasn’t any other situation. I sighed and, after grabbing a couple of painkillers to take care of the lingering remnants of my headache, shoved on a pair of boots, swept up my purse, phone, and the piece of paper holding the address, then headed down to the back lane, grabbing one of my waterproof coats on the way. It wasn’t raining—in fact, for a winter’s evening, it was quite pleasant—but I wasn’t about to risk the distant rumblings becoming a full-fledged storm.

I was lucky enough to catch a passing cab on St. Werburgh Street and, despite the traffic, it didn’t take us all that long to get over to Hoole. Harper lived in a two-story, red-brick, semi-detached house on a tiny side street opposite a kids’ small soccer field. It wasn’t a particularly large or attractive place, with a black door situated in the middle of the building and three weirdly placed windows that formed an odd V-shape up the front. There was a white Ford parked to the right of the building, just in front of an untidy-looking picket fence that divided both the front yard from the back and her property from the next-door neighbors. A proper wooden fence sat at the rear of the yard. The whole area was obviously very close to the A41 because the constant rumble of traffic was very audible.

As the cab drove away, I walked up to the front door, rang the bell, and then stepped back to scan the upper window. A curtain twitched, and though I didn’t see anything more than a brief flash of pale skin, it did tell me there was someone home. Whether it was Harper or not was another matter entirely, as I hadn’t thought to ask Mathi to get a description as well.

No one bothered to answer the door, however, so I rang the bell again, then pressed my fingers against the thickly painted door and slipped inside the faint music of the old building.

There was indeed someone home.

Trouble was, at that very moment she was heading out the back door, running like hell for the back fence.