by Keri Arthur
“What happened to your clothes?” His voice was deep and velvety.
Everyone else looked around at this—Mo in warning. Obviously, the less said in the assessor’s presence, the better. “Long story. Is it safe to head upstairs to my room?”
“The stairs are safe,” my brother said, “But your room is pretty much a write-off.”
“Can I get to my wardrobe?”
“Not yet.”
“Grab something from mine,” Mo said. “We’ll worry about accessing your clothes later.”
I headed into her bedroom and wasn’t entirely surprised when Luc followed me. I dropped my knives onto her bed, then walked over to the wardrobe and began sifting through her clothes, looking for something that was more my style. Which was extremely difficult given her love of vibrant colors and patterns.
When it became obvious I wasn’t going to say anything, Luc said, “I take it things got nasty at the gate?”
I glanced briefly over my shoulder. As specimens of manhood went, he was pretty damn perfect. He was tall, with well-muscled arms and lovely wide shoulders combined with the lean but powerful frame of an athlete. His short hair was as black as sin, his eyes the most startling shade of jade, and his face … Simply saying gorgeous in no way did it justice. The man put angels to shame.
“You didn’t ask Max?”
“Didn’t have a chance—the assessor was already here when I arrived this morning.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t stay the night.” I pulled out a pair of flowery purple pants and matched them with a fluffy white sweater. “Especially when Max said you’d come back here after heading across to King’s Island.”
“I was intending to stay, but I got a call from Jason.”
“About what?”
“You answer my question, and I’ll answer yours.”
I snorted and walked over to the drawers. While I wasn’t about to start wearing Mo’s knickers or bras—the latter of which probably wouldn’t fit anyway—she did have a few support tank tops that would probably stretch enough to do the same job short-term. And they were an infinitely better choice than having my breasts freefalling. That would get real uncomfortable, real quick.
I took everything over to her bed then dropped the towel and reached for the tank. An odd sound had me glancing around. Luc had turned away.
A smile tugged at my lips. “I know Blackbirds were the chivalrous knights of old, but if I was worried about you seeing me naked, I’d have mentioned it.”
He crossed his arms and kept his back to me. “Of that I have no doubt.”
“Then why turn away?”
“It’s for my own good.” He paused. “Where did you get that scar running down your right side? It almost looks as if your skin has been melted.”
My smile grew. If he’d noticed the scar, then he obviously hadn’t turned as quickly as I’d thought. And while there was little chance a glimpse of bare butt would ever change his damn mind about the two of us, I couldn’t help hoping it at least made his nights—and his dreams—a little more uncomfortable.
“In a sense, it was—I got hit by a dark whip. By the time I told Mo, the damage was already done.”
“It was stupid to delay telling her.”
“So Mo informed me. What did Jason want?”
I didn’t have to see him rolling his eyes to know that’s exactly what he was doing right now. “Remember I asked him to look at the traffic and security cams to see if he could spot the car that dropped Tris off the day he was shot?”
“He found it?”
“Yep. I joined him last night to raid the place.”
I pulled on the fluffy sweater and then reached for the pants. “What did you find?”
“Not a whole lot—the place had basically been cleaned out by the time we got there.”
“Probably right after they shot Tris.” That seemed to be their modus operandi.
“Actually, I don’t think so. It looked more recent and hurried.”
That raised my eyebrows. “Does that mean you did find something useful?”
“Paperwork similar to the stuff you found in that deconsecrated church they blew up.”
Meaning it was written in elvish. “Have you or the preternatural boys found anyone who can transcribe them yet?”
He shook his head. “However, Ricker remembers—”
“Who’s Ricker?”
“A fellow Blackbird—”
“And related?”
It was a guess, but it made some sense, as Blackbirds were only ever sourced from the Durant line. Their ability to manipulate both light and shadow had once made them the perfect king’s guard—and assassins, if the brief comment Luc had made was anything to go by. Weirdly, there were only ever twelve Blackbirds at a time and, even in this day and age, they were only ever men. It seemed that while Blackbirds might have dragged their chivalrous ways into the twenty-first century, the whole idea of equality hadn’t accompanied it.
“Yes—cousin.” He paused. “Why?”
I smiled, unable to resist teasing him. “Maybe I want to discover whether all Blackbirds have the same ironclad rules when it comes to attraction.”
“Ricker is bound.”
“Meaning married, I take it.”
“Yes.”
“Which still leaves me ten possibilities to explore.”
He made a noise that sounded an awful lot like a low growl. “How about we concentrate on the business at hand rather than your hormones?”
I sighed, even as delight danced through me. “You’re no fun, Luc.”
“Ricker,” he continued, obviously deciding to ignore my comment, “remembers seeing a translation scroll in the Glastonbury archives. He’s been sent to fetch it.”
“Did you find anything not in elvish?”
“A partial phone number. It matches the one you found in Tris’s bag.”
“Meaning it could belong to their controller.”
“Or at least someone else connected to this whole murderous scheme. Jason’s running a search, but considering it’s only a partial, there’s likely to be a ton of matches to check out.”
“I’m dressed if you’d like to turn around.”
He did so. His gaze skimmed me again and, deep in his rich eyes, desire smoldered. “I’m not entirely sure that sweater is much better than nakedness.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment—”
“You should, because the nakedness was pretty stunning.”
I grinned. “So much for chivalrously turning around before you spotted too much.”
“I’m a Blackbird, not a saint or a fool.” His voice was dry.
“Mo would likely debate the latter.”
“That’s because she sees romantic issues through rose-tinted glasses.”
“Romance? Is that an admission that there might be something more than lust happening here?”
He did the eye roll thing again. “Can you concentrate for five minutes?”
I made a show of glancing at my watch. “Five it is. I take it a warrant has been issued for the owner of the car?”
He nodded. “Her name was Karen Jacobs, in case you’re interested.”
“Was?”
“She was killed three weeks ago. Her body remains unclaimed at the coroner’s.”
“How was she killed?”
“Single shot through the head. Now, before my five minutes run out, how about you start answering some questions?”
“Only if you come closer.” I sat on Mo’s bed and patted the space beside me. “And don’t worry, I won’t bite—unless you beg me to, of course, and we both know that won’t happen.”
He shook his head and walked over. “And we both know why.”
“Ignoring fate never ends well, Luc.”
“This isn’t fate. This is everyday, normal human desire and attraction—and it’s something I can’t act on while I’m working.”
The image I’d caught in his mind—an image of a woman in a bl
ood-soaked red dress—rose. “Because you did once before, and it ended in tragedy.”
“Yes.”
I sighed. It was a good reason, and if he’d been willing to explore the depths of what lay between us after all this was over, I might not be so annoyed with the man.
But he wasn’t.
He was more than happy to pursue a sexual relationship, of course, but he’d already stated it would never be anything more than that. And I’d absolutely had it with relationships that were based on nothing more than sex. I wanted more. I wanted the box and dice—a man who loved me, who wanted to raise kids with me, and who, more than anything, wanted to grow old with me.
Tris had never been that man, and Luc wouldn’t even consider the possibility. It seemed my luck with men really was on a roll—in the absolute worst way possible.
I quickly told him what happened at the gate and our discovery of Jules Okoro. “I’m actually surprised you didn’t follow Max to the gate, especially given how little you trust him.”
His amusement rolled across my senses, somehow setting them alight. “Until Jason’s call, I was intending to. Did you search Jules’s place?”
“No, because it may have been a crime scene, and we didn’t want to spoil any possible evidence.” I studied his beautiful profile for a second. “Why?”
He shrugged. “I was just wondering if he was connected to what’s been happening—other than being a possible but unlikely heir, that is.”
“If there’s anything to find, I daresay Jason will find it—you did pass the information on, didn’t you?”
He nodded. “He said he’d send a team up there immediately.”
Mo appeared in the doorway. “We need to skedaddle over to Barney’s.”
I grabbed my knives and rose. My arm brushed Luc’s and momentarily disrupted my equilibrium. I really did need to keep my damn distance from the man … but that was likely to get harder and harder. I didn’t have his will of iron, and I’d never really been all that good at fighting desire. My long, casual relationship with Tris after we’d officially broken up was evidence enough of that. “I take it the assessor’s gone?”
She nodded as she turned away. “He’s going to hustle the claim through so we can rebuild ASAP.”
Luc followed me from the room. “Why are you going over to Barney’s?”
“His nephew has enhanced the writing on the back of the throne. He wants me over there to transcribe it.”
“And can you?” he asked.
“The glyphs look similar to the ones on Einar, so possibly. Won’t know until we get there though.”
Einar—Mo’s dagger—had not only been carved out of a solid piece of black stone eons ago, but also had a life and heartbeat of its own. Its power was very different to that of Nex and Vita; it was almost as if the hunger and the means to kill demons and dark elves had been vital to its creation.
Mo cast Luc an amused look and added, “I presume you are coming with us?”
A smile tugged at his luscious lips. “Of course.”
“Where’s Max?” I asked, realizing he wasn’t in the room. “Don’t tell me he’s nicked off again?”
“No, he hasn’t” came Max’s reply. “He’s upstairs cleaning the mess in his room before Granny-dearest tells him off.”
“Call me that again, and I’ll come up there and box your ears, young man.”
“I’ll be out the window before you get to the top of the stairs, old woman.”
“I wouldn’t bet on that,” Mo replied.
Max’s laughter echoed down the stairs. “Actually, neither would I. Say hello to Barney for me.”
Mo walked over to grab her purse. “I’d normally suggest we fly across, but given the weather and the fact Luc can’t fly—”
“I’ll drive,” I said. “I doubt Luc will easily fit in the back of your Leaf.”
“I’m not entirely sure the back of your mini will be much of an improvement,” she said, amused.
“I’ll be fine.” His voice was dry. “I’ve been in tighter positions many times before.”
“I just bet you have,” Mo said. “And I’m betting they involved a lady or three, too.”
Luc laughed and didn’t deny it while I tried not to think about getting hot and heavy with Luc in the back seat.
I grabbed my coat and keys off the hook near the stairs and, once we were all in the car, drove through the cobblestone streets until we neared Dame’s Walk. Barney had an apartment on the first floor of a building that not only overlooked the Ainslyn River but also had parking for residents and guests out front—a rarity in this part of town. Once I’d stopped, we climbed out and walked over. Mo keyed us in, then led the way up the creaky wooden stairs; one thing was sure—no one would ever creep up these things without Barney knowing about it.
He opened the door as we approached, swept Mo into his arms, and kissed her soundly. “You took your damn time, woman.”
The twinkle in his brown eyes belied the soft rebuke in his words. Mo laughed and patted his cheeks. “You know what they say about those who wait.”
“Yeah, they end up with burned lasagna.”
“You cooked?”
“I did. Figured you probably wouldn’t take the time for breakfast.” He glanced past her. “Gwen, Luc, nice to see you both.”
He stepped back and waved us all in. His apartment was situated on the corner of the building and benefitted from windows on two sides. The bedroom and bathroom lay at the rear, while the kitchen and living areas were to the front. There was a surprising mix of features—high ceiling, ornate cornices, and ceiling roses juxtaposed against an ultramodern kitchen and furniture—but the room itself was light and bright and had the added bonus of glass doors down the far end of the room that led out onto a small balcony.
Mo took off her coat and strode over to the pin-neat glass-and-chrome dining table where three large photographs sat. “He’s done a good job enhancing these.”
Barney grabbed the oven mitts and pulled out a large tray of lasagna. It smelled absolutely divine. “The question is, are you able to read the glyphs?”
I stopped beside Mo and peered at the first photograph. The glyphs that had been almost impossible to see on the back of the throne were now crystal clear. It was also evident that each photograph held a different line, which surprised me. I’d only seen one when we’d been examining the back of the old throne—obviously the others had been all but hidden in the grime.
“The glyphs are older than the ones on Einar, but there’re enough similarities to make a fairly reasonable guess.” She paused, her eyebrows furrowed and expression intent. “The first line reads, On the darkest day, in the darkest hour, when all hope has been extinguished—”
“I’m not liking this,” I muttered, “it’s already sounding decidedly grim.”
She ignored me and picked up the second photograph. “The Blackbirds will rise, a hand will draw the one true sword, and—” She paused and picked up the last photograph. “—a lost throne shall be reclaimed.”
“That’s not a prophecy I’ve heard before.” Barney glanced at Luc. “Have you?”
“No, which is surprising given—” He stopped, his head snapping around.
That’s when I heard it—the soft creaking of stairs. At the same time, Nex began to pulse.
“Barney,” Luc said softly, “are you expecting any other guests?”
“No, I’m not.” He placed the lasagna on a board, then took off the mitts. “There’s an easy way to find out who it is, though.”
He walked across to a small control panel on the wall to the right of the door and pressed a button. An image immediately flicked up on the screen. The two women climbing the stairs were dressed in plain blue overalls that had Ainslyn Express Couriers emblazoned on the left breast pocket. Both looked rather ordinary—one was short, stout, with a thick thatch of brown hair and skin that was perhaps a little too pale, the other her polar opposite.
But a closer look reveal
ed their eyes were red more than brown, their painted nails ventured into claw territory, and their ears held a definite point.
Halflings.
And Nex had reacted to their presence. Interesting.
Luc reached back and drew the magically concealed Hecate. The spirit blade—which contained the soul of a witch whose penance on death was not only entrapment in the sword but to destroy the dark forces whose power she’d coveted in life—began to hiss.
But a soft scrape had my gaze darting toward the balcony. A figure dropped from somewhere above us, landing in a light crouch. As he rose, I spotted the gun in his hand.
And it was aimed at Mo.
Chapter Four
“Shooter on the balcony!”
I knocked Mo sideways and down as the glass doors shattered. The bullet aimed at her smashed into the wall behind instead, showering both of us with plaster. I twisted around and grabbed a couple of chairs, throwing them down lengthwise in front of us. It wasn’t much protection, but it was better than nothing.
Hecate was screaming, a sound accompanied by the clash of steel against steel. The assassin at the window was still firing, and the bullets ripped through the apartment, tearing apart furniture, floor, and walls alike. Fragments of wood and glass spun through the air, deadly missiles that hit with an accuracy the shooter lacked. The metal chairs continued to protect us, but the shooter only had to take a couple of steps inside and we’d be easy targets. I needed to do something—and fast.
“Stay down,” I muttered.
“Don’t,” Mo said.
I gave her the same sort of look she’d so often given me when I said something stupid and drew Nex and Vita.
After a deep, fortifying breath, I pushed up onto my knees, instantly drawing the shooter’s attention, then slapped the daggers together and imagined a shield of sheer electricity. Lightning shot from the ends of both blades and whirled into a pulsing, dangerous net that caught and then incinerated every bullet flying toward us. But the only way to ensure we were really safe was to stop the gunman. I flicked a finger out, and a matching streak of blue-white light shot from the center of the shield. The shooter’s eyes went wide even as he pushed up and back, but he wasn’t anywhere near fast enough. The lightning hit him, incinerating him as easily as it had his bullets.