Page 35

Maurice

V lad gives me an unimpressed look. “I told you. I have nothing until the Huntsman gets back in touch.”

Somehow—and I’m not sure how this has happened, being as I am still positive that the high fae who tried to trap me and Njáll is still out there—we have run out of jobs. I cross my arms over my chest and try to ignore the way my eye twitches.

“You have to have something .” I left Cheshire behind last night, holed up for the day, and didn’t sleep a wink.

I can’t stop thinking that we’ve failed.

And I can’t tell anyone because I don’t want to leave the Hunt, not really, but also if I don’t tell anyone soon, I think the words might just explode out of me.

“I have nothing, Maurice,” Vlad says. We’re in the living room.

Grant is curled up in the corner of the sofa, as usual, though he keeps lifting his head to give me a strange, searching look.

If I didn’t know better, I’d think the boy a psychic.

“The Huntsman will be in touch tomorrow, I am sure, if not later tonight. We will find something for you.”

I shake my head but press my lips firmly together so no sound escapes.

The other problem is that I am in London, and if left to my own devices, I know where I will go.

I cannot go back to Njáll again. There is every chance I will try to speak with him, and then the Huntsman will find out and carry out his threat.

“Isn’t there anyone I can check in on?”

“No one has caused problems, as far as I can tell.”

“No,” I say sharply, then shake my head. Grant is watching me again. “Just… If there are all these fae coming in, the ones who were already here have to be worried, don’t they?”

I cannot interpret Vlad’s expression. “That is not…” He trails off, then clears his throat and begins again. “It is not the Hunt’s duty to ensure the welfare of the fae.”

“Is that a no?”

Vlad hears the challenge in my voice. He frowns, eyes dark, and Grant isn’t even pretending not to watch us, though now his eyes are trained on his sire. When Vlad doesn’t say anything, Grant kicks him in the hip, not at all gently.

“Grant,” Vlad says tiredly.

“Spectra called yesterday,” Grant says, and compared to us, he sounds downright chipper. “Said she’d sensed some fae hanging around and could we go see if we could feel anything, too. But you said no.”

“The Huntsman said no,” Vlad says.

Grant shrugs. “Didn’t hear the words come out of his mouth.”

Vlad turns on him, giving him a glare that would make me wilt, but Grant tips up his chin and glares right back. Maybe he knows Vlad will never hurt him, but still—I’m impressed.

“Did she say that?” I ask Vlad.

He sighs. “Yes. I told her there was nothing we could do.”

“But I can do something now.”

“Maurice…”

“It’s this or something worse,” I say, already turning towards the door. “He won’t kick me out for this.”

“He threatened—”

“I’ll call you if I need anything,” I shout and make my way out of the house before Vlad can come after me.

It doesn’t take long to get to Beyond the Veil, though I feel the ripples of torn magic from the other side of the street. Fuck. There’s no way to see the damage from the outside; either some of her wards have held or whoever attacked left up warding to hide what they’ve done.

I can feel it, though. I can smell the blood.

I’m careful as I cross the street and approach, but the magic in the warding is all Spectra’s—I recognise it from the other night. The wards shiver over me as I slip inside, and I step through the jagged hole in the wall that is now visible.

The inside is a disaster. No bodies, no blood, but the scent of it still lingers. Chairs are shattered, glass sprinkled all over the floor. I can’t see anyone alive in here, but as I pull my magic, ready to reach out, I hear footsteps behind me.

I whirl around, magic flaring, and Sparrow is standing in the doorway Njáll and I followed Spectra through the other night, distrust written all over their face.

“The fuck are you doing here?” they ask.

“Grant said you called.”

Their expression softens slightly at the mention of Grant, hardening again as they take me in. “The Hunt doesn’t help the fae.”

“I’m not—We’re not—” I shake my head, looking around. “What happened?”

“What happened,” Spectra says, appearing behind Sparrow and pushing them gently aside, “is that a high fae attacked us.”

She’s dressed down compared to the other night, wearing dark jeans and a hoodie. Her hair is pulled back out of her face, shadows under her dark eyes.

“Who?” I ask, though I have the sinking feeling I already know. “Why?”

“I’d love the answer to both those questions, myself,” Spectra says. She squeezes Sparrow’s arm as she moves past them. “We lost a lot of fae.”

“Killed, or…?”

“Killed.”

Sparrow shakes their head. “Some were taken.”

“Taken?”

“I didn’t see,” Spectra says. “I was trying to maintain the wards. I didn’t want the magic to spill out.”

“Who did they take?”

Sparrow shrugs. “A couple of newbies. Both glaistigs, but I don’t know their names. A banshee, Clara. And Reijo. Selkie.”

Reijo. I frown. Is that why the high fae came here? I’m pretty sure he’s working with Sehild, the selkie who lured me away from Njáll. Reijo’s cousin. Do the other fae know something, too?

“Do you two have anywhere safe to go?” I ask.

Sparrow’s gaze is still distrustful, and Spectra looks at me with surprise. “Here,” she says. “We only have here.”

“What if he comes back?”

“He won’t,” Spectra says, but she doesn’t sound certain. Maybe he got the fae he needs, sure, but Spectra might be a threat to him, even if she’s not high fae herself. “He won’t.”

“What does it matter?” Sparrow asks. “The Wild Hunt don’t help fae.”

But maybe we should. That’s what I’ve been thinking, isn’t it?

I lean back against the wall and mull it over.

Moving them from the city is a bit much—I don’t know how long they’ll have to stay away from this place.

But where can they stay here? The Council will be no help, and I don’t know them well.

Njáll might let them stay with the clan, but there’s every chance the high fae is after him anyway, for whatever reason, so that might not be safer.

Same goes for Deacon, but—Well. There’s one place they could go.

I look at them both and hold out my hands placatingly. “So, quick question. How do you feel about wolves?”

Asher replies to my text with nothing more than an address. No commentary, no follow-up, and I honestly doubt he’ll have questions when our paths cross again.

It’s the one thing I like about him, really.

The phone says I have missed calls, too, but I don’t bother struggling with the notification. This is more important.

Spectra and Sparrow wear equal expressions of distrust as we stand on the street in front of Alpha Kieran’s pack house. Well, it’s a block of flats, kind of grey and boring looking from the outside, but I feel the buzz of their wards, though it’s—

The front door slams open and the mage—Sam—comes striding out, magic crackling around him. Oh, he might give me a run for my money, but Spectra squares her shoulders next to me, angling her body so she’s between him and Sparrow.

“We need some help,” I call because I don’t much fancy the idea of getting in the middle of this, and yet I think I’ll be expected to.

Sam comes to a sudden stop. He’s still well within his wards, and I resist the urge to probe at them. There’s a weakness there, and I don’t want to alert him to the fact I know it.

“Help?” Sam asks.

“Yes, uh—” I glance at Spectra and Sparrow, then back at Sam again. “Can we come inside the wards?”

Anger darkens his features, and he crosses his arms over his chest. “No.”

“Okay. Well, look, something happened and—”

“We were attacked,” Spectra says. She’s not looking at Sam. Her eyes map out the curve of Sam’s wards, the way they stretch around the entire building. “You were, too.”

A muscle in Sam’s jaw twitches. “We were.”

“By who?” I ask and regret it when he turns that gaze on me. Why didn’t the Huntsman recruit him ? He seems even less sociable than me.

“That fucking vampire who’s after Quinn.”

I frown. That doesn’t make sense. Augustine is an old vampire, sure, but not as old as even Njáll, and he wouldn’t be able to walk through these wards if Sam didn’t want him to. He doesn’t have magic. I know . I would have been able to sense it.

I stare up at the wards myself, focusing in on the hastily patched-up hole that I felt as we walked up. “May I?” I ask Sam, and he nods, some interest in his expression.

Of course he’s probably not met another vampire who can wield magic before. And I’d imagine my magic is not all that different to his; my fae blessing was given to me directly, but we both have one.

I don’t know that his can be removed, and I feel a stab of envy for that.

It’s easy enough to push that aside, to use my magic to dig around and see what I can feel. I’m not all that surprised at what I find. It’s the same magic that trapped me and Njáll, the same magic that obliterated the wards and Spectra’s bar.

“It’s the high fae,” I say, and she nods. She feels it too.

“Which one?” Sam asks. He isn’t standing any closer, and he hasn’t invited us inside the wards, but he seems a little less on edge.

“Not the Huntsman,” I say because I’m sure Sam knows of him. “Another. One who came through the veil not long ago.”

“One who’s already caused trouble for the Hunt?” Sam says sarcastically, eyes moving from me to Spectra and Sparrow, then back again. “I thought you all were supposed to be good at your jobs?”

No point fighting him on this; I need him more than he needs me, and he might not have realised that yet, but he soon will. “So did I.”

Sam stares at me again for a second before he turns on his heel and walks back into the building. Sparrow scowls after him. “He’s not going to help us.”

I open my mouth, but Spectra answers before I do. “Yes, he will,” she says. “They both will.”

“What makes you think that?” I ask.