by Keri Arthur
Which also fit in with what Henry had said. “I’m not finding the term ‘normally’ comforting. Not in this situation.”
“And you shouldn’t. I rather suspect we’re going to find quite a few more of them before this is all over.”
“Fabulous.” Not. “How on earth could any human woman live long enough in Darkside to give birth?”
“Elves are not only capable of great magic but are also great influencers. And weak minds are easily swayed.”
“Yes, but we’re talking Darkside here. You know, the place many call hell?”
“Only fools and religious folk believe it to be so. As I’ve said, it is simply a dark reflection of this world.”
“Filled with twisted, bloodthirsty, crazy beings.”
Mo’s chuckle drifted softly on the warm air. “In case you’ve not seen the news of late, there’re more than enough of those types existing right here in the light.”
A fact I really couldn’t dispute. “Okay, so presuming said women gave birth and their halflings somehow survived into adulthood, why aren’t they subject to the same restrictions that the dark elves have here?”
“There are theories suggesting that while human blood does steal magic from dark souls just as it does witch, it also offers halflings protection against the light.”
“Whose theories might they be? Yours?”
She chuckled again. “No. There was reportedly one who existed in Layton’s court. It’s even said her wickedness is the reason he combined the two thrones and ended true witch rule in England.”
I raised my eyebrows. “How could a halfling get past a court full of witches? The darkness in her tell would have given the game away in an instant.”
“Unless she inherited the elf ability to influence.”
“Even the greatest influencer wouldn’t be able to fool an entire court, surely? Besides, this particular halfling was capable of magic.”
“Not necessarily—the tracker on Henry was a simple one and held no hint of darkness in its strings. I think it likely she purchased rather than made it.”
I scrubbed a hand through my still damp hair. “Then how in the hell do we catch this bitch?”
“By tracking down whomever she’s dealing with.”
“Because that’s going to be so much easier.”
My voice was dry, and Mo smiled. “We start with the one real lead we actually have—Tristan Chen. You did get some of his hair when you went to his hotel earlier, didn’t you?”
I nodded. “It’s in the backpack Luc still has.”
“Good.” Her voice was crisp. Decisive. “Then once he arrives in the morning, we’ll find your treacherous ex and make the bastard talk.”
The sharp ringing of the phone dragged me from a deep sleep. I groaned softly and groped around on the bedside table for several seconds before I found and answered it.
“Good morning, dearest sister—how are you this fine morning?”
I forced open an eye. It was met by darkness. “It’s not morning here yet, fuckwit, and you well know it. What the hell are you doing up at this hour?”
He chuckled. Evilly. “I haven’t gone to bed yet. What’s this about Gareth and Henry? What saintly thing have they done now?”
Gotten themselves dead … or close to. I rubbed a hand across my eyes. “You sitting down?”
“No, but I very soon intend to be lying in the arms of a gorgeous man, so be a dear and get to the point.”
I took a deep breath, gathering courage, and then told him what had happened.
He was silent for a long time, and then softly said, “Fuck.”
“Yeah.”
“How’s Henry?”
“He’s alive. More than that, I can’t say. The Preternatural boys whisked him to one of their secret hospitals.”
“Under full witch guard, no doubt.”
“Yes. But the attack makes no sense, Max. None of this is making any sense.”
“It does if the De Montfort link to kings is stronger than everyone thinks.”
“If that were true, there’d be some evidence of it somewhere. Besides, everyone is searching for the Okoro and Valeriun family bibles, not the De Montfort.”
“That’s because the De Montfort bible was destroyed decades ago.”
“You knew about that?”
“I asked Mo about it a few years ago,” he said. “What’s she planning to do now?”
“Go after the bitch behind it all, obviously.”
“But how? Even she can’t track someone without some form of their DNA.” He paused. “The halfling didn’t leave behind a tell or anything else trackable, did she?”
“There was a tell fragment, but it disintegrated before Mo got there. If there was anything else, I dare say the Preternatural boys will let us know.” Or rather, Luc would.
He grunted. “Then how the hell is she planning to find the halfling?”
“Via the one person who seems to be the connecting force—Tris.”
There was a long note of silence. “Tris is looking for the bibles, true, but that doesn’t mean he’s involved any deeper.”
“Except he is.” I quickly told him about the hecatomb and the woman Tris had driven there. “He’s responsible for at least one murder, Max. Given the number of bones in that place, it’s very possible he’s responsible for a whole lot more.”
“Fuck.” It was a short, sharp explosion of anger. “I can’t believe he was—” He cut the rest off and took a deep breath. “You’re right—there’s no other option now. He has to be caught and questioned. You’re doing so today?”
“Yes. As soon as Lucas arrives.”
“Good.” He paused. “Given what’s happened to our saintly cousins, what’re Mo’s thoughts on the likelihood of darkness drifting my way?”
“Given the list we retrieved from Jackie’s—”
“What list?” he cut in sharply.
“She was doing some sort of Okoro family tree. You, Gareth, and Henry were all on it, along with some guy named Jules.”
“Jules Okoro? Never heard of him.”
“He wasn’t directly related to Mom’s family.”
He grunted. “Are any other family members on it?”
“No, thank god. It’s bad enough that you are.”
“Well, at least there’s one more person between me and death.”
He sounded far too cheerful for my liking. “Hey, Gareth and Henry didn’t take any of this too seriously either, and look what happened to them.”
He sighed. “I promise to be careful and keep a low profile. ”
“If that’s even possible for you.”
He chuckled softly. “You’d be surprised.”
I would indeed. “Seriously, watch your back, Max. And make sure you send me a text every morning and evening, just so I know you’re okay.”
“That will get tedious very quickly.”
“Better tedious than dead, bro.”
“You do realize that by the time you don’t get a text from me, I could be dead and there’s nothing you could do about it?”
His tone was dry, and I couldn’t help smiling. “So you’re volunteering to text every hour?”
He snorted. “Morning and night it is. Just be sure to take your own advice, sis. I can’t protect you on this one, and the Blackbirds’ priorities will always lie with the heirs rather than the sister of an heir.”
“I’m aware of that.”
“Good. Chat later.”
“Enjoy your gorgeous man.”
“Oh, I intend to.”
At least one of us was, I thought, and shoved the phone back onto the bedside table. Sleep, however, proved elusive and, hearing someone moving around downstairs, I threw the covers off and shivered my way into trackpants, a thick woolly sweater, and my zombie slippers.
It wasn’t, as I’d expected, Mo, but rather Luc. He wore old leather boots, jeans that hugged him in all the right places, and a woolen sweater that was the same glorious shade as
his eyes. Max’s last comment rose to taunt me, and I couldn’t help feeling a little envious of him right now.
Luc’s gaze scanned me briefly, leaving in its wake a trail of prickly heat that did not help my mood.
“Good morning,” he said, his tone warm and soft.
“It’s definitely morning, but calling it good could be a stretch.” I grabbed the kettle and filled it. “You’ve obviously still got the key.”
“I do.” He put a dob of butter into the frying pan and let it sizzle. “Thought it would be easier than constantly knocking and then being forced to hold a conversation out on the pavement.”
“It’s definitely easier, but nowhere near as amusing. How’s Henry?”
He poured the mix into the pan—he was making omelets, I realized. The fact he could cook only added to his appeal—especially when combined with the whole unshaven thing he had going at the moment. It was pretty damn sexy.
“Henry’s stitched up, drugged up, and still alive as of an hour ago.”
“I gather you and Jason questioned him last night?”
“Yes, although I doubt we got anything more than you or Mo did.”
“Probably not.” I paused. “Did he tell you about the woman?”
Luc flipped the omelet, added ham and cheese, and then glanced at me. “It appears you were right.”
“And it’s the one time I really wished I wasn’t.” I leaned against the counter and crossed my arms. “Did Jason or his team pull anything out of Gareth’s bedroom that could help us track her?”
“The only DNA found was either Gareth’s or the demon’s. The woman must have been fully covered up and prepared.”
“I know she got in through the window, but from everything Mo’s said about halflings, they’re human in shape and can’t fly like many demons. So, how did she escape? She can’t have jumped out of the window—aside from the fact it was closed when we found it, it’s a three-story drop to the ground.”
“We have no idea who closed the window, but we do know she went up, not down—we found a tie-off point. We’re not exactly sure what happened to her after that.”
“Huh.” I glanced around as Mo’s door opened and she stepped out. She looked a whole lot stronger this morning, despite the shadows under her eyes. “Would you like a tea?”
“That,” she said, her severe tone at odds with the amusement lurking in her expression, “is a very stupid question for someone I’ve raised since practically a babe.”
I grinned. “Not really. Not considering just how often you change things up.”
“Tea is the one constant in my life, as you’re well aware.” She sat down at the table. “And one of those omelets would make a fine accompaniment, young man.”
Luc smiled, slid the omelet onto a plate, and then handed it to her. “It’s ham and cheese.”
“Perfect.” She accepted the cutlery I gave her with a nod. “Did you bring our backpack?”
“It’s sitting over on the coffee table.”
“Good.” She popped some omelet in her mouth, and something close to bliss crossed her expression. “Gwen, if you don’t marry this man, I damn well will. This omelet is close to perfection.”
Luc chuckled. “A compliment from the woman who issues so few immediately has me wondering what she wants.”
Her offended expression was at odds with the devious twinkle in her eyes. “It’s a sad state of affairs when a simple compliment raises suspicions.”
“In this case, I think it could be justified.”
“Possibly.” She waved her knife somewhat grandly. “But we’ll get to that after I finish this divine omelet.”
I pulled three mugs out of the cupboard and began making our tea and his coffee. “Finding Tris’s location via a spell will be easy enough, but how are we going to restrain him? He’ll be suspicious the minute he sees me. No matter what you think of him, Mo, he’s not dumb, and he knows how rarely I leave Ainslyn.”
“He might well be suspicious, but I doubt he’ll react immediately. And if he does—” She shrugged. “His magic can’t actually hurt you.”
“Yes, but let’s not forget, he is physically stronger than me.”
“While that may be true, there’s more to fighting than mere strength,” Luc said. “I’ve seen you fight. I’m not sure I’d back me against you if it came down to it.”
I snorted softly. “A lovely compliment, but one that is total bullshit.”
“Not necessarily.” He handed me the next omelet, his expression serious. “You’re fast, your fighting style is unconventional, and you don’t react as most would expect.”
“The ‘most’ in that statement being men,” Mo observed with some amusement. “Simply because most men are always underestimating women. Tris will be no different, my dear.”
I transferred the drinks across to the table and then sat down to eat my omelet. It was, as Mo had already observed, quite divine. “That still doesn’t address the point of how we’re going to capture him. The minute he sees Luc, he’ll react.”
Luc frowned. “Why? We’ve not yet—” He paused. “He saw me entering the shop the night of the storm?”
I nodded. “I said you were Mo’s guest, but I’m pretty sure he suspected the truth.”
“It shouldn’t make that much difference,” Mo said. “Once you’ve distracted him, our Blackbird can take him down the old-fashioned way.”
I raised my eyebrows. “The old-fashioned way being?”
“Blow darts, of course.”
I laughed but cut it short when I realized she wasn’t joking. “Seriously? In this day and age?”
“In this day and age”—Luc plated the last omelet then joined us at the table—“a dart gun is a simple and easy method of taking someone down without raising any major suspicions.”
“Except darts in real life don’t work like they do in the movies. It can take up to ten minutes for the drug to take effect.”
“Which is where you’ll come in,” Mo said. “Tris has never been one to refuse a free feed—take him to a nearby café or something.”
I didn’t think it would be that easy but, given the only real certainty in this whole situation was our ability to find him, I guessed we had no option but to play it by ear.
I finished the omelet, then, as Mo began preparations to make the tracker, went upstairs to do my teeth and pull on warmer clothes. Once I’d found my spare bike jacket, I dug out my stone knife from the back of the drawer and strapped on its wrist sheath. Then I grabbed my wallet and phone and headed downstairs.
Mo had woven Tris’s hair into a ball of gently pulsing golden strings. “He’s in Nottingham.”
“What the hell is there?” I asked. “Aside from a fictional sheriff, that is.”
“The High Sheriff of Nottinghamshire is an actual position that still exists, although it’s mostly ceremonial these days,” Mo commented. “And I think if Tris is sniffing around the place, there’s either an heir living there or perhaps one of the bibles they were looking for.”
Luc’s expression was grim. “It’s the former.”
Anger surged through me; at Tris for stepping so thoroughly into darkness, and at me for not sensing something was so desperately wrong sooner. Maybe if I had, I could have changed … nothing. Absolutely nothing. Tris had never been one to be swayed from a course of action once he’d set his heart on it. “Is the heir already under guard? Or is he another indirect heir?”
“He’s indirect; I’ll contact Jason and ask him to send people over.”
I returned my gaze to the pulsing sphere sitting in front of Mo. “I take it Luc will be using that?”
“I’ve already tuned it to his energy. It hasn’t got a very long range though, so you might have to cruise around for a while before it activates. Oh, and Betty lives there now, so feel free to use her as an excuse if Tris initially questions your presence. I’ll word her up.”
I nodded and glanced at Luc. “We’d better go. If he gets wind of the pr
otection detail, he might just leave the area.”
Mo followed us across to the top of the stairs. “Once you’ve secured him, give me a call. I’ll fly in and get the truth out of the little bastard.”
“Will do.”
We headed out. Once Luc had sent his text, I said, “I’m surprised you weren’t annoyed by Mo’s insistence she be the one to question Tris.”
“I expected it.” He tossed me a helmet. “Besides, she’s probably forgotten more about interrogation than I’ve ever been taught.”
Undoubtedly, given at one point very early on in her life—well before Max and I had ever come onto the scene—she’d worked for the High Witch Council, which had once been the equivalent of the Privy Council and responsible for advising the king and his executive on matters of the state. These days they were little more than an oversight council who settled disputes between witch houses. Of course, said disputes—while rare—were often brutal, bloody, and complicated, and only the most powerful spells could cut through all the crap and magic to ferret out the truth. Mo had been one of five witches tasked with ferretting.
It took us nearly two and a half hours to reach Nottingham, thanks to road works on the A50, but the finder spell came to life as we entered the city and guided Luc through a myriad of streets. Eventually he stopped not far from what looked to be an old market square.
“According to this,” he said, “Tristan’s coming from the right, walking toward that Costa Coffee place.”
I studied the red-and-black building for a moment. “How are you going to dart him without raising suspicions? It’s rather open here.”
Not to mention busy.
“I’ll loop around him and dart from behind. No one will see me or the gun.”
“But won’t Tris, at the very least, sense you manipulating light?”
“Did you, up on the island? Or in the King’s Tower?”
“Well, no, but—”
“It’ll be fine, Gwen. Stop worrying.”
