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“It went through the usual channels, but I’ll request the file and the name of the researcher.” Mathi frowned. “There have been instances of reports being altered if enough of a financial incentive was offered, but it is rare.”

No doubt because of the Ljósálfar motto. Just because it was generally applied to businesses didn’t mean they wouldn’t also bring the hammer down on double crosses of a personal nature.

“Any idea of Carla’s new identity?” he added.

I shook my head. “But given the heavy layering of spells around the council’s halls to prevent any kind of magic, is it possible she’s a face shifter? If so, she could be anyone.”

“Face shifters are rare, so it gives us a possible lead,” Mathi said. “I’ll see if my father can pull some strings and get a list of all those currently listed within the UK.”

“She might not be registered with us, though.”

“Carla has been a practicing lawyer here in the UK for a very long time,” Cynwrig said. “If she was a registered face shifter, she would have been disbarred.”

“Still worth checking,” Mathi said.

Cynwrig didn’t disagree. “In the meantime, I’ll start an underground investigation to see which, if any, of the currently serving councilors have black market contacts.”

“Here’s hoping,” I said grimly, “we get enough of a lead from one of these searches to stop these bastards.”

“Amen to that.” Cynwrig paused as the waiter appeared to take our dinner orders. Once he’d done so, he added, “Did you see anything else in the Eye?”

I told them what I’d seen of Gruama then added, “No giant can live underwater for so long—not the giants folklore speaks about, anyway—so I’m not sure what we might be dealing with.”

“Something suitably dangerous, godly, and hard to kill,” Mathi said.

“Oh, that’s a certainty,” I muttered.

Lugh snared a chip. “Given everything we know to date about the shield?—”

“Which isn’t a whole lot.”

“I’m thinking,” he continued, giving me a disapproving glare for interrupting. Which, of course, only amused the hell out of me. “…that it won’t be an actual giant. It’s more likely to be either a supernatural entity or even a partial god.”

“A godling?” Cynwrig said. “Present company aside, there’s not many of them around these days.”

“But the shield wasn’t hidden in these days, was it?” Lugh countered. “So, the possibility very definitely remains.”

“Why would the scroll warn of ‘that which roams’ when the thing in that lake has no means to roam?” I said. “It’s a pair of hands without a body attached.”

“Hey,” Mathi said. “There’re plenty of legends surrounding murderous autonomous hands to imply they might once have been a thing.”

“Let’s hope not,” I said. “I saw Evil Dead II as a kid. I’m still scarred by it.”

Lugh laughed. “That was one hell of a fun movie.”

I rolled my eyes but didn’t disagree with him, even if, at the time, I’d been traumatized by the whole chainsaw scene. “If there is a godling—or even just murderous hands—down there, how are we going to deal with them?”

“Anything made with cold iron or silver will take care of most supernatural entities,” Lugh said. “And lucky for you, I do have two such items in my kit.”

He was referring to the hefty-looking foot-long metal stakes that he’d, rather incongruously, named Jack and Jill. Jack was cold iron while Jill was silver with an iron core, and, according to Lugh, they’d come in handy multiple times against a wide range of hellish ghouls often hanging around relic sites.

He was also of the belief that I should name my knives. According to him, names had power, and all godly items of power should bear them. He’d claimed that neither Mom nor Gran had done so because they weren’t theirs to name.

I thought the whole thing ridiculous.

The knives had been in our family for eons, so if naming them had been crucial to their usage, it would have been done well before now.

But if we were dealing with a godling, then using them would certainly sort out another family legend—that, thanks to the fact they’d been blessed by multiple goddesses, they could not only take out magic, but also certain gods. Not goddesses. Which did make sense—they’d hardly bless a weapon that could take them out.