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“I’m not that lucky. You ever heard of hellseher aura magic being assigned to different categories?”
“Could you be more specific?”
Darien paced faster, boots thumping. “Blue has blue magic and a blue aura,” he began.
“So I’ve been told,” Arthur prompted.
“Ever heard of something called the Mist?”
If Darien thought Arthur was paying attention before, it was nothing compared to the emotion he now felt coursing through the phone. “It was a subcategory of Arcane Magic.”
“What’s that?”
“A type of very strong magic lost a long time ago. Abilities that are now myth, and considered far from the truth.”
“What if it wasn’t a myth,” Darien said, “and someone’s managed to bring it back?” Whatever the hell it even was. His head was spinning.
“Then I would tell you to ask yourself why they’d want to.”
“Where would you look for the answer?”
“On the surface. Some things aren’t always as deep as you think.”
Darien had a thought. An idea that might not get them anywhere, but he was willing to try. At the core of the idea was the Arcanum Well—the ancient artifact that was the only logical explanation for any of this, and the only conclusion he could think to draw.
But he had another plan he would attempt first. Something that might give them answers faster than translating. Something that was slightly less risky than going back to the old house on Bernard and Tulsen with nothing to back up the decision but a hunch.
“Thanks, Arthur,” Darien said.
“I trust you’ll fill me in at some point?”
“Need-to-know basis.”
Arthur sighed softly. “I’m sure the need will come soon.”
So was Darien. Because as soon as he retrieved what might bring them some answers—that is, if he didn’t get the answers he sought from his first plan—he would need Art’s help.
Art was better at translating Ancient Reunerian than he was. And he didn’t feel like stewing over an old piece of parchment again, at least not this soon. Especially when he considered where he would have to go to find that parchment. Needless to say, he wasn’t looking forward to it.
Darien hung up. “Malakai.”
The Reaper had been staring at the briefcase in thought, brow creased. He looked up at the sound of his name.
“You up for an abduction?”
“Does it involve torture?”
“Of course.”
Silver canines glinted with a smile. “Sounds like a party.”
41
“Hey, kid.” The Butcher’s voice rumbled through Darien’s phone speaker, punctuated by the thumping of music in the background. The noise never stopped in the Chopping Block, not even now, at ten in the morning.
“You got that room I asked you about?” Darien leaned forward in the driver’s seat of his truck so he could see the warehouse in the Black Alder District better. The watch shift had just switched for the day. He and Malakai were here to collect one of those poor fuckers walking the perimeter of the building.
Someone would be getting a makeover today.
