Blackbird Rising (The Witch King's Crown Book 1)

by Keri Arthur

  I snorted. “Only in certain situations.”

  Barney’s brown eyes twinkled. “Have you been listening at the door again?”

  “Don’t need to. The pair of you aren’t exactly quiet.”

  Mo patted Barney’s arm. “Just ignore her. The poor child is suffering a distinct lack of sexual satisfaction at the moment.”

  “Seriously, can we save such comments for a more appropriate time and place?” I motioned toward the concealed tunnel. “Where does it come out?”

  “According to our records, the old docks,” Barney said. “But the exact location is a little fuzzy. We also have no idea what condition it’s in.”

  “Our arsonist obviously used it, so it can’t be in too bad a state.”

  “True.”

  Mo glanced past me. “Where’s our Blackbird?”

  “Upstairs ringing his people. He’s taking the throne into custody.”

  Barney raised silvering eyebrows. “Why?”

  “The dark elf was attempting to destroy it—maybe because there’re glyphs on the crest rail.”

  Mo held out her hand. “You obviously took photos.”

  I handed her my phone. She enlarged the photos and studied them intently for several minutes. “The glyphs certainly hold some similarity to the ones on Einar, but it’s hard to make out what they’re saying.”

  “Send them to me,” Barney said. “I’ve a nephew who could probably enhance them for us.”

  She nodded and immediately forwarded them. As his phone beeped, Lucas stepped into the vault. The sheer force of his presence had me sucking in air … and I couldn’t help but wonder if it was something to do with his witch power—a natural magnetism that came with the ability to manipulate light, perhaps.

  His gaze swept the three of us and then came to rest on the destruction. “Do we know if anything was taken?”

  “Aquitaine lineage records.” Barney held out his hand. “Barnaby Lancaster, head of Ainslyn’s witch council.”

  Lucas introduced himself and briefly clasped Barney’s hand. “Book numbers?”

  “Four, six, and eight,” Mo said.

  “Those being the lineage records of Uhtric’s son and two daughters.”

  “And you know that instantly how?” I asked, unable to keep the skepticism out of my voice.

  “Because I’m a Blackbird, and it is our duty to know such things.” Amusement touched his tone again but failed to register in his expression. “It does surprise me that the books were taken after the attempt to draw the sword this morning rather than before.”

  “An oddity that also occurred to me,” Mo said. “I’ve asked Jacqueline Lancaster to check on the two known descendants working up her way.”

  Lucas nodded, an indication that he knew exactly who Jackie was. “Owain—another member of our order—has been sent up there, so no doubt their paths will cross.”

  “Excellent,” Mo said crisply. “In the meantime, I suggest you get that gorgeous butt of yours into the tunnel and see if our arsonist has left any clues behind. My granddaughter will accomp—”

  “That is unnecessary—”

  “I beg to differ,” Mo cut in. “This is my town, Blackbird, and you had best never forgot that.”

  Barney cleared his throat. “Our town, you mean.”

  “Of course, dear boy.” Mo patted his arm. Barney’s expression was one of tolerant amusement. She made a “come here” motion with her fingers, and the sunsphere skittered across the room. “Use this to light the way—the batteries in that flashlight look ready to fail.”

  Lucas studied her for a second and then followed the sunsphere into the tunnel. I couldn’t help but note that the man’s jeans hugged him in all the right ways.

  “You can thank me later,” Mo said, clearly knowing exactly where my thoughts—and eyes—were. “In the meantime, in you go.”

  She didn’t offer Einar, which meant she didn’t expect us to hit any trouble. I dropped and, on hands and knees, pushed through the illusion into the tunnel. The air was dank and filled with rot and age. Moisture dripped off the walls, fat drops that landed on my head and neck and made me shiver. Riverlets ran past my fingertips, and in the distance, lit by the golden light of the sphere just ahead of Lucas, strings of moss swayed lightly. Either someone had only recently traversed this tunnel or the exit was open.

  What was absent were the teasing scents I’d now smelled twice. But I guessed that was to be expected if the exit was open. The fresh air could have dispersed them by now, even if it weren’t doing such a great job with the rest of the smells in this place.

  I shuffled forward, trying my best to keep my gaze on the ground rather than the well-formed butt ahead of me. It was a task that became increasingly easier as the tunnel’s walls closed in and the sharp edges of rock threatened to shred my shoulders if I wasn’t careful. Whoever created this tunnel certainly hadn’t bothered with niceties like smooth walls.

  “Given the trouble we’re having moving through this tunnel, I have to wonder how our arsonist got three books through here.” I inched past an outcrop of rock that had a hooked edge not dissimilar to a crocheting needle. “There’s not enough height for a backpack and there’s no evidence of anything having been slid along the floor.”

  Lucas pushed sideways past an even larger outcrop. Sharp edges scraped across his chest, tearing open his shirt and slicing into skin. “He could have used some sort of hover spell.”

  I reached the outcrop and shuffled past sideways. Unfortunately, my breasts didn’t fare a whole lot better than his shirt, and I swore.

  He immediately glanced back at me. “You okay?”

  I nodded, despite the stinging. “I’m not seeing any leftover spell strings though.”

  “If he’d created the spell in the vaults, you likely wouldn’t. Not given how fast the leftover echoes of such a minor spell fade.”

  Which was true enough and somewhat frustrating. We continued on. The tunnel got no smaller, but it did get wetter and colder, the latter thanks in part to what looked to be an old brick stormwater drain joining it. Thankfully, this also meant we could stand rather than crawl, but it didn’t ease the chill settling into my bones.

  After another ten minutes or so, daylight began to invade the tunnel and the cry of gulls filled the air. Lucas stepped over the remnants of a metal grate, then stopped. I did the same, wiping the moisture from my face with the sleeve of my sweater as I looked around. While I didn’t immediately recognize the area, the stormwater outlet sloped down to the sea, and just above that was a set of stairs that curved away to my right.

  But to my left …

  I instinctively backed away, my heart lodged somewhere in my throat and my mind not wanting to believe what my eyes were seeing.

  The gateway was six feet high and made of a stone that shone a deep, dangerous blue-black in the light of day. Like the gateway bridge that provided an entry point onto the island, it was arched, but the carvings here were grotesque abominations that depicted demons both cavorting with and destroying human figures. I could almost hear the screaming of all those being fucked, tortured, and hacked, often all at the same time …

  I gulped and tore my gaze away.

  The archway had no door and to anyone not witch-born, would appear to be totally blocked by stone.

  But that was an illusion.

  And this was something I’d never thought I’d see. Not here in the heart of old Ainslyn, at any rate.

  An open gateway into Darkside.

  Four

  “Well, that at least explains how the dark elf got into the tower.” Lucas’s voice was grim.

  I eyed the entrance uneasily and fought the urge to run deep into sunlight. “How could a new gateway appear without anyone knowing?”

  Especially here, in Ainslyn?

  “It didn’t. It’s an old one that’s been reopened.”

  “Deliberately? Or did the locks placed on the gate fail naturally?”

  “The locks on a
ll the minor gates have been gradually failing over the last half century, but in this case, they were deliberately smashed.”

  “How can you tell?”

  “There were light locks here—” He pointed to an area on the right side of the gate—just above what looked to be a demonic orgy—then swept his hand around the arch. “As well as here, and here. If you look closely enough, you can see the stretched and torn remnants of them.”

  I crossed my arms and studied the gateway. After a moment, I spotted them; they spoke of thunder and lightning as much as magic, and reminded me a little of the power that had pulsed from the sword. Entwined within those remnants were several tiny strings that had a vaguely familiar feel. I frowned, trying to pinpoint why, but there simply wasn’t enough magic left.

  “Whoever broke the seal was a witch rather than a dark elf—”

  “Not just a witch,” Lucas cut in. “But one with Aquitaine blood. Only an heir could smash the lock open like this.”

  “Why would an heir—especially one intent on claiming the crown—want to do that? No one wins if Darkside is unleashed.”

  He glanced at me, expression shuttered. “Power. It’s always about the power.”

  “Uhtric’s heir has access to more power than most witches could ever imagine.”

  “Once he draws the sword, yes. But what if he’s not so well endowed, magically? What if he seeks help to claim what should not be his?”

  “But from demons? Or dark elves? That makes no sense at all.”

  Lucas shrugged. “To you and I, perhaps. To someone who would go to any lengths to attain power? Perhaps not.”

  “But—” I stopped and shook my head. Until we knew more about the person behind all this, there was little point in guessing at motives. “If you’re aware the locks are fading, why isn’t something being done to strengthen them?”

  “The magic’s source was Uhtric’s. None of us can alter or even reinforce the spell.”

  “But you could’ve placed backup light spells around them.”

  His smile held little warmth. “We did, and yes, they’re regularly reinforced. Having too many open gateways is not something any of us want—not when Uhtric’s crown remains unclaimed.”

  “It’s unclaimed because your lot have it hidden.”

  “So the rumors would have you believe.”

  My gaze narrowed. “Your people don’t have the crown?”

  He raised an eyebrow, his expression giving little away. “There’s no doubting you’re of Moscelyne’s bloodline, is there?”

  “Meaning what?”

  “Nothing.”

  “I’ve heard that enough times from Mo to know the opposite is generally true.” Annoyance ran through my voice, despite my best effort to keep it in. “What of the Hell’s Gill gate then? Is that magic still holding strong?”

  “Yes. But if it is an heir behind all this and they have teamed with Darkside, then we’ll be in real trouble.”

  “Why, if the magic locking Hell’s Gill is holding strong?”

  “Because the sword is the key to the gate. What it locked in, it can also unlock.”

  “Well, fuck, isn’t that great news.”

  “I’m surprised you didn’t know.”

  “You wouldn’t be if you knew Mo better. She has a tendency to dish information only as needed.”

  He grunted. “Why don’t you walk on and see if there’s any sign of our arsonist. I need to shore up this gate to prevent further incursions.”

  “Said arsonist will be well gone by now. If you want me to leave, Lucas, just say it.”

  “Luc.”

  I frowned. “What?”

  “Call me Luc. And yes, I need you to leave. There’s a chance either the demons or the dark elves will sense the new restrictions being placed over the doorway and attack. While demons might be incinerated by sunlight, dark elves are a touch more resilient.”

  “Then consider me gone.” I hesitated. “Are you coming back to our place once you’ve finished?”

  “Yes. Moscelyne has yet to answer my question about your brother.”

  “I wish you luck on getting that sort of information without giving out some of your own first.”

  I spun on a heel and walked away. His gaze was an uneasy heat that burned into my spine and sent shivers dancing across my skin. There was no doubting I was fiercely attracted to the man, but there was also something about him that made the more sensible bits of me wary. He was, after all, hunting my brother, and I had a bad feeling he would do anything—use anyone—to get to him.

  It was the “why” that bothered me. There was more to the story than what he’d already told us.

  I jumped over a wave that lapped the edge of the watercourse, then bounded up the steps leading up to the narrow but long sea wall that curved around the bay, providing a safe harbor for what had once been a major fishing hub. These days, the only vessels using it were small pleasure craft, and even then, they were few and far between. The new port, which was close not only to the city and the relocated fish markets, but also a vibrant café scene and nightlife, was where most boats moored these days.

  At least the fog had finally burned off; though it remained chilly, the skies were clear and blue. I drew in a deep breath to wash the smell of rot and darkness from my lungs and glanced around. As suspected, there was no sign of our arsonist—but then, he was hardly going to hang about the scene of his crime or leave an easy clue or two for someone like me to follow.

  I scanned the pretty pastel houses that lined Beach Road, but couldn’t see anything that tweaked my instincts. Aside from the cafés that belonged to the two small hotels situated at either end of the old harbor, there was nothing open.

  I hesitated, then strode back along the sea wall and onto Dame’s Walk. After pausing on the edge of the cobblestone street for a couple of push bikes to go past, I jogged back to the first hotel and scanned the entrance to see if there was any indication that a witch might have stepped inside. It was, at best, a vague hope, as only the strongest of witches left “presence trails,” as I liked to call them. There might be no indication that our arsonist belonged to the upper echelon, but there was also no indication that he didn’t.

  Unfortunately, there was no vague glimmer, no fading wisps of energy or power. Oh well …

  I shoved my cold hands into the front pockets of my torn and grubby sweater, then headed back along the street, all senses alert but finding nothing untoward. Once I’d checked the other hotel, I swung into a small lane and wound my way through the multitude of streets until I was home.

  After grabbing a hot shower to warm the chill from my bones, I tended to the scrapes on my breasts—which were thankfully minor—then made a pot of tea and plonked down on the sofa. It was well after eleven, so if the fog had cleared the airport as quickly as it had here, Max should be in Paris by now.

  I grabbed my phone, hit his number, and waited for the call to go through. The phone rang … and rang. Either he was screening calls or he had his phone switched off, and the latter wasn’t likely.

  Just as the automated message service was about to kick in, there was a soft click and then he said, voice dry, “Well, if it isn’t my dear sister. What’s up this time?”

  “Plenty.” I quickly filled him in. “The Blackbird also wants to talk to you about a break-in at the British Museum a few days ago.”

  He snorted, the sound one of contempt. “Of course he does.”

  The back of my neck prickled. “You were there at that time?”

  “Of course I was—I had to do a presentation at the Okoro Foundation, remember?”

  No, I did not. “But why would he think you’re involved in the break-in? Was the meeting near the museum?”

  “Close to. But I dare say the cause was more the altercation I had with one of his compatriots a day or so later.”

  “What? Why?”

  “He tried to question me. I was late for a date. Let’s just say things got a little heated.”


  “Is that why you suddenly decided you needed time off in Paris? And why there’s such a mess in your bedroom?”

  “Could be.” Amusement ran through his voice. “Although the latter is also due to the fact I couldn’t immediately find something I needed and then not having the time to clean up.”

  “Damn it, Max, why didn’t you tell us any of this?”

  I could almost see his shrug. “I thought the situation would blow over and didn’t want to worry Mo.”

  “Didn’t want to get dressed-down by her, more likely.”

  “That might also be true.” The amusement was deeper. “Listen, I need you to cover for me—”

  “No.”

  “Sis—”

  “Don’t ‘sis’ me. You assaulted someone. I’m not covering that sort of shit up, Max. Not anymore.”

  “Fine.” His voice was curt. “Give him my number, then. But I’m not coming home until my damn holiday is up.”

  “Fine.” I paused. “Did you have any trouble flying out this morning?”

  “No—why would I?”

  “The fog, dummy.”

  “It was gone by the time we got to the airport.”

  “We?” My eyebrows rose. “I thought you and Liam had broken up?”

  “We did—ages ago.”

  “So is this a new lover? Or a new business opportunity?” Max didn’t really have that many friends. Not of late, anyway.

  “Both, but until the formalities are over and the deal delivered, it’s all hush-hush. But it’s going to change our lives, Gwen.”

  The excitement in his voice had my eyebrows rising again. “I actually don’t want my life changed—I’m quite happy as I am.” Well, aside from the whole lack of sex thing, anyway.

  “And that’s why I was sent to the Okoro Academy and you were not.”

  I snorted. “The fact you have the Okoro ability to control storms might have had something to do with it, too.”

  “As I’ve said before, I can feel the power in you, Gwen. You’re just too damn scared to step outside your safe little box and reach for it.”

  That was the second time today I’d been told something like that, and it did not make me happy. “Thanks, bro. Love you too.”