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But I also wasn’t about to go there alone.

I might be foolhardy, but I wasn’t stupid.

Of course, Cynwrig would still be dealing with the aftermath of last night, and Lugh wasn’t due home until tonight, so that left me with Mathi.

Which, to be honest, wasn’t a bad thing. Not only was he a capable fighter, but also very determined to get to the bottom of the hoard’s theft, though his reasons were more personal in nature. The bastards behind the theft had made the mistake of attacking him several times, and now his Ljósálfar soul wanted revenge.

Badly.

I headed down to my bedroom to grab a coat, picking one with a good-sized hood lined with thick fake fur that would go some way to hiding my features. If we were dealing with the elf I’d seen last night, he knew what I looked like. A concealment spell would have been better, but they took time and money, and I didn’t have enough of the former right now.

I grabbed my spare credit card from its hidey hole—and made a mental note to cancel all the ones currently buried under Cynwrig’s building when I had the chance—then clattered down to my office on the first floor to call Mathi from the landline.

“Bethany,” he said, his cool tones holding the slightest hint of concern. “I heard there was an incident at Cynwrig’s last night. Are you all right?”

“Yes, but I wouldn’t call his entire building being blown apart and multiple people being killed a mere incident.”

“I’m afraid that in the world of the Myrkálfar, it would be considered such. And it is, of course, the result of a major flaw in their makeup. Few of our enemies live long enough to blow anything apart.”

I doubted those who double-crossed the Myrkálfar lived all that long, either. “This wasn’t an attack against Cynwrig or his people, and most of those who died were light elves.”

“I was not aware of that.”

“It would have been all over the news.”

“You know well enough that I dislike human news outlets. They are extremely unreliable.”

I smiled. Just because he disliked them didn’t mean he didn’t watch them—like most elves, he monitored what the governments of the day were doing and saying in order to counter whatever effects their decisions might have on his family’s business. Which just happened to be one of the largest forestry operations in the UK, and used the inherent ability of Ljósálfar elves to manipulate the living energy of flora to accelerate the growth of plantation forests. All their shiny marketing material went on and on about the protection this offered the remaining old-growth forests from logging, but the simple truth was there was big money to be made.

“Are you busy right now?” I asked.

“I am, rather extraordinarily, in the office working for a change, but there’s nothing on my desk that can’t be dropped if this is a booty call.”

“You, me, and booty calls are no longer a thing, Mathi, and you know this.”

“I do. That doesn’t stop me living in hope.”

“I thought the Ljósálfar dealt in realities rather than hope?”

“And the reality is we are good together.”

“Were good together. Accept it and move on.”

“I am not one to give up.”

Indeed, he wasn’t, and there was a part of me—an undoubtedly insane part—that enjoyed his chase, even if it would never end the way he wished.

“If you’ve a free hour or so, I need some help.”

“As ever, you only have to ask. What’s the problem?”

“The man who attacked Cynwrig’s is about to go after Kaitlyn, and we need to stop it.”

“Is that not a job better suited to the IIT?”

“Yes, and no.”

“An answer that clarifies the situation perfectly.”