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

by Keri Arthur

  “Then we’ll start with that.”

  It didn’t take long to get there. Luc once again showed his badge and explained the situation. Luck, for once, was on our side. Tris had booked a room yesterday evening.

  The manager escorted us up to the room, but remained outside as we went in. The room was basic but comfortable, with a double bed on the left, and a desk, flat-screen TV, and a wardrobe to the right. There was a good six feet of space between the two, which was rather unusual in a three-star hotel. Tris’s bag—the same one he’d been using in Ainslyn—sat on the desk rather than a foldout luggage stand propped against the wall.

  “You check that,” Luc said. “I’ll check the drawers and bathroom.”

  I nodded and walked over. A look inside revealed only one complete change of clothes, which suggested he hadn’t really planned to be here more than a night. I dumped them all onto the desk and ran my fingers around the base of the bag. Nothing unusual met my touch. I checked his jeans pockets and shook out the shoes, with the same result. I shoved them back in and checked the side pockets.

  “Nothing here,” I said as Luc came out of the bathroom.

  “And yet again nothing but basic toiletry items in there.” He motioned to the bedside table on the other side of the bed, close to the window. “You want to check that?”

  I did so. On the top of the table, beside the phone was a notepad and pen. Though there was nothing written on the paper, something had obviously been written on the previous page and then torn off. I picked the notepad up and held it closer to the window.

  “It looks like he jotted something down, but I can’t make out what it is.”

  “Let me look.”

  I tossed the notepad across and then opened the drawer under the bedside table. Something rattled in response. I frowned and opened it wider. The item rolling around was a ring—a blue-stone ring. One that reeked of darkness and power, and which bore uncanny similarities to the ring I’d found in the ashes of a demon.

  I shouldn’t have been angry or even surprised—not after everything I’d already learned about Tris. And yet I was.

  I grabbed the pen, shoved it through the ring, and brought it out into the light. “Look what I just found.”

  Luc sucked in a breath. “An oath ring.”

  “Yeah, and it’s almost exactly the same as the one the demon that attacked Jackie had been wearing.”

  Luc moved around the bed but made no move to touch the ring. “It’s not the control ring but rather one of its subsidiaries.”

  I frowned. “How can you tell?”

  “The lack of script on the surface of the ring.”

  “Why would Tris have it then?”

  “Because he’d bound himself to whomever holds the control ring.”

  “But why would he even contemplate that? He might not have had Chen powers, but he was by no means lacking when it came to magic.”

  And yet even as I said that, I remembered his desire to be far more than he was. Remembered how his father’s disdain for what he could do had always colored his actions and decisions. It wouldn’t have taken much to convince Tris to swear an oath if the ultimate end prize had been great enough.

  “A throne—or rather, helping a king regain it—would surely provide more power and wealth than even Tristan could have imagined.”

  “I don’t know about that—he was capable of imagining quite a bit.” I paused for a moment, uneasily watching the light flicker across the ring’s almost oily-looking surface. “There’s one thing I don’t get in any of this—”

  “Only one?” Luc said, echoing an earlier comment with an amused glint in his eyes.

  I nudged him lightly with my shoulder. “Even if the heir gains the crown and draws the sword, what good will it do him? He can’t claim rule over the UK—Layton’s spells are still in effect and they utterly protect the current royals.”

  “All spells can be broken—you’ve noted that yourself.”

  “Yes, but we’re talking about a spell that has survived for hundreds and hundreds of years—the fact it still stands is testament to its strength and Layton’s skill in crafting it.” I hesitated. “Or has it not been tested before now?”

  “Oh, it’s been tested, but never by the Witch King’s heir bearing the sword of all power. And if he opens Hell’s Gill …”

  The last thing I wanted right now was to worry about that possibility. “Surely Layton would have also woven countermeasures into his spells to protect his heirs against the use of the sword.”

  “Perhaps, but by all accounts, Layton wasn’t always on good terms with common sense or sanity.”

  “So Mo said.” I motioned toward the ring. “Is there any way we can use this to track down the master?”

  “I don’t personally know, but I daresay someone at headquarters might.”

  He tugged a small silver-lined bag out of his pocket and opened it up. Once I’d tilted the pen and let the ring slide inside, he sealed the bag and tucked it away.

  “Did you manage to see what had been written on that notepad?”

  He shook his head. “But it’ll be easy enough to figure out—all we’ll need is a pencil.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “Does that old trick actually work?”

  “You obviously don’t watch many mystery movies—the technique always works.”

  I smiled. “I think it’s pretty well established that movies don’t often deal with reality.”

  “True, but in this case, it is fact based, as long as Tristan placed enough pressure on the pen for the writing to be indented on the page underneath—which it obviously has.”

  He motioned me to follow him, and we headed out. Once he’d told the manager to lock the room until forensics arrived, he borrowed a pencil and lightly shaded the indented area.

  What appeared was an address.

  “That wouldn’t happen to be where the heir is stashed, would it?” I asked.

  “No, thankfully.” He pulled out his phone and tapped the address into it. “It’s over Radcliffe-on-Trent way, a stone’s throw from the river.”

  I frowned “That’s some distance from here, isn’t it?”

  “Seven miles or so. Why?”

  “Is that via car? Because Tris was walking when he was murdered, so it’s possible he was dropped off somewhere near Costa.”

  And that would explain how the killer had not only known exactly where he’d be but also what time he’d likely get there.

  “That’s presuming this address is actually where he was last night.”

  “I think it was.”

  “Why?”

  “Because my gut is saying it was.”

  “Then in the gut we must trust.” He pulled out his phone and then motioned me forward. “I’ll get Jason to order a check on security and traffic cams. We might get lucky and spot who he was with.”

  We returned to his motorcycle and quickly drove across to Radcliffe-on-Trent. The house located at the address was a small pebbledash bungalow and was the last house in a dead-end street. The river lay behind it, and a tree-covered cliff ran the full length of the street on the right—though this house was the only one of the three that had it as part of its boundary.

  Luc stopped in the parking space in front of the bungalow and killed the engine. There was little evidence of life in any of the three houses, and the only car in the street was parked up the other end, close to a line of green bins.

  The bungalow was small but neat-looking. Lace curtains covered the only front window, and a small green garden shed sat between the house and the cliff. To the left, a hedge-lined concrete path led to the other side of the house and, I presumed, the front door.

  I got off the bike and handed him the helmet. “How are we going to tackle this?”

  “You go knock on the front door. I’ll scout around the yard.”

  I nodded and followed the path around to the front door. There was no doorbell, so I knocked. The sound echoed but drew no response. I trie
d again, and then looked around as Luc appeared down the far end.

  “Anything?”

  He shook his head. “But the lawn is neat and the garden beds are well tended, so someone obviously lives here.”

  “No one’s answering the door.”

  “Is it deadlocked?”

  “No. It’s a simple latch bolt from the look of it.”

  “Good.” He stopped beside me and pulled a credit card from his wallet. “Keep watch while I open her up.”

  I stepped back, but only kept half an eye on the street, watching as he forced the card in the gap between the door and the jamb. He grabbed the door handle and, after several seconds of twisting and pushing the card around, turned the handle, opened the door, and motioned me in.

  “And just where did you learn that trick?”

  “Jason taught me—it’s fair to say he skirted the edges of criminality when he was younger.”

  We’d entered straight into a combined kitchen-living area. The carpet on the floor was worn, as was the rocker-recliner that faced the small TV on the wall opposite. A two-person sofa sat under the lace-lined window, with an old-fashioned radiator to the right of it. The kitchen was small but neat, and there were a bowl and two cups sitting upside down on a draining board. The air had a slightly musty smell, suggesting the house had been closed up for a while.

  “How’d he get from being a thief to being a chief investigator with the Preternatural team?”

  “Luck,” Luc replied. “Let’s see what’s down the hall.”

  As it turned out, there wasn’t a whole lot beyond two bedrooms and a bathroom. The place was pin neat, and there was nothing to suggest anything untoward had happened to whoever was living here.

  I followed him back into the living area. “Why the hell would Tris have written this address down? There’s nothing here to find.”

  “Maybe because he found and removed whatever it is they were looking for.”

  I motioned toward the furnishings and the various knickknacks scattered about. “This place obviously belongs to an old couple—what on earth could they possibly have that would interest a killer heir and his allies?”

  “That’s something we may now never know.”

  I looked around for a second and then frowned. “Tris made a comment that wherever he was last night was crawling with beetles. I haven’t spotted one here yet.”

  “Maybe they went somewhere else after they raided this place.”

  “Except there was no indication anyone else had forced that door.” Not that they needed to when Tris was a magical locksmith. “What about the shed? Anything in there?”

  “Nothing more than a mower and a few garden tools.”

  “Then why the hell were they here?” The inner frustration was very evident in my voice. “Are you sure there’s nothing outside?”

  “Nothing in the garden, but maybe there’s something closer to the river.”

  “Or maybe the cliff—the trees are certainly thick enough to be hiding all manner of things.”

  “Possibly.” He motioned me out. “Let’s go explore.”

  We made our way around to the back of the house and pushed through the shrubs providing a boundary between the yard and the long grass slope leading down to the river. There was no indication of digging, nothing to suggest that whatever Tris had been sent here for lay between where we stood and the river itself. Nor were there any moorings or short piers along the riverbank, either here or further along to the left.

  The tree-lined cliff dominated the skyline to our right. Cars following the road up top were briefly visible through the gaps in the trees, but there was little else to be seen. Frustration stirred as I studied the slope again … and spotted a very faint path—the sort of path that could have been left by someone walking through the long grass a few hours ago. Anyone could have been responsible for the trail, of course, but my heart nevertheless leapt. A vague hope was better than no hope.

  Luc had obviously spotted it, because he immediately followed it. The grass soon gave way to trees and scree.

  “There appears to be a very old path cutting across the base of the cliff.”

  “I guess that’s better than heading down into the water.”

  He glanced over his shoulder, his eyes bright in the muted light. “Blackbirds don’t swim?”

  “They can. They just have no desire to.” Especially when the day wasn’t exactly warm.

  The path was little more than a goat track that meandered haphazardly through the trees. Though cars continued to rumble along the road high above us, there was little in the way of birdsong and no sign of squirrels or even hares. Which was odd, given gray squirrels, at the very least, were something of a pest in areas like this.

  “Hear that?” Luc said, after a few more minutes.

  “Define ‘that.’”

  “Running water.”

  I paused and listened. After a second or two, I heard the soft splashing. “If that’s a waterfall, it’s a pretty puny one.”

  “There’s no waterfall in this area that I’m aware of, so it’s more likely runoff from all the rain we’ve had of late. But Tris’s clothes were wet, and it wasn’t raining here last night.”

  “Then it’s worth investigating.” And it wasn’t like we’d found anything else.

  He continued on; the ground grew rockier and more uneven, with much of the scree looking fresh. There’d obviously been some kind of landslip here recently.

  We came out of the trees into a clearing filled with rubble and dirt. Several thin streams of water meandered down the slope toward the river; to our right, sitting in the middle of the semicircular landslip, was a jagged rupture that led into deeper darkness. The waterfall we’d heard splashed over the cave’s top lip and then joined the rest trickling toward the river.

  “Well, that certainly presents one possible reason for Tris clothes being wet,” Luc said.

  I eyed the gash uneasily. “You don’t think we’re going to find another hecatomb in there, do you? Because I really think my stomach has had its fill of bloody deaths today.”

  “It’s generally not the sort of place they set those things up—but I can’t give you any guarantee.” He glanced at me. “You can wait here, if you want.”

  “You already know the answer to that,” I replied mildly, “so why even suggest it?”

  “Because it is the gentlemanly thing to do.”

  “Maybe that’s why I’m not used to it—there’re no gentlemen in my life.”

  “That’s a very sad state of affairs.”

  “On that, we agree. But you could help fix the problem if you’d put your ethics aside.”

  “If a gentleman loses his ethics, he has nothing.”

  “Nothing except exceptional sex with a very hot blonde.”

  Just for a moment, something flared between us—something that was so raw and powerful, my breath caught in my throat and my pulse rate leapt.

  It disappeared as quickly as it had risen, but left chaos in its wake. At least it did in me; it was hard to say what effect it might have had on Luc. He was the poster boy for utter control.

  “Perhaps, once this is all over, the hot blonde and I can discuss that possibility.”

  “Which is the surest way to take all the passion out of the situation, Luc.” I motioned to the jagged entrance. “I don’t suppose you have a flashlight on you?”

  “No, but I don’t need one.” He raised a hand and wiggled his fingers. “Come along. I won’t let you trip over anything.”

  I twined my fingers through his and let him tug me forward. The water dribbling over the lip of the cave was icy and the rocks around it slick and slippery. We squeezed through the gash and moved forward cautiously. Other than a distant drip-drip, there was little sound in this place, and while the air smelled damp, it was free of the more “earthy” scent I’d smelled on Tris. If he had been underground digging shit up, it hadn’t been anywhere near this tunnel or cave or whatever the hell it was
.

  “Wait here,” Luc said abruptly, and released my hand.

  I crossed my arms as he moved away. After a few seconds, there was a soft click and light flared, so bright it made me blink.

  “I’m thinking it’s not a good sign that they’ve left flashlights here.”

  “Flashlights and hard hats.” He tossed me one.

  I shoved it on and studied the rough-hewn but narrow shaft that stretched ahead for a good fifty feet. The ground fell away at that point, and the space beyond was obviously large, given the light hit neither the ceiling nor a far wall. “How could a place like this have remained undetected for so long?”

  He shrugged. “There used to be a lot of mines in Nottingham—maybe this was one of them.”

  “Mines don’t usually create caverns though, do they?”

  “No, but there have been instances where tunnels have intersected such spaces. Shall we continue?”

  He walked on without waiting for a reply. The bright light failed to reveal anything more than fallen rocks and dripping water. The cave ahead wasn’t giving its secrets away easily.

  The floor began to angle down sharply, and the stone became slick with moisture and slime. My foot slipped out from underneath me, and I threw out my arms for balance, one hand catching the jagged edge of a rock. I gripped on tight and stopped the slide, my heart going a million miles an hour.

  Luc didn’t say anything; he simply held out his hand again. I accepted it. Now was not the time for any sort of pride-based foolishness; one broken leg in the family was more than enough.

  We reached the end of the slope and came out into the cave proper. It was huge—so vast the thick, glittering stalactites scattered across the roof high above looked more like barely developed pins than the centuries-old limestone structures they undoubtedly were. A stony forest of stalagmites dominated much of the floor, but there was a section to our right that was little more than a pile of stony rubble.

  I motioned toward it. “Is it possible that whatever caused the landslide also caused that?”

  “Maybe. Whether it’s the source of the smell on Tris is another matter, as it doesn’t look fresh.”

  No, it didn’t. We nevertheless picked our way across to investigate. Luc’s suspicions were right; not only was the fall relatively old—as evidenced by the fungi growing on the top layer of stones—there was absolutely no indication that anyone had dug into it recently.