‘The Muse?’ Callum asked with a note of interest and humour.
‘You know about her?’ Dylan asked from his left.
‘We’ve had a run-in with her before, haven’t we, Kyan?’
Kyan grunted his assent, but his eyes hadn’t left Nicole.
‘Couldn’t we send Kyan, then?’ Dylan tried. ‘Stay out of the way and reassess here?’
Callum laughed and Dylan shot him a look. ‘Kyan isn’t on the best terms with her.’
Nicole’s curious gaze skidded to him. ‘What happened?’
‘Whatdidn’thappen?’ Callum answered. ‘She nearly killed dozens of people at the height of the Pre-Raphaelites’ productive years. The 1800s in London and Liverpool were a – how did you put it, Kyan?A fucking nightmare?’
‘I managed.’
‘You complained so much. And youhatedthe fireworks.’
Questions painted through Nicole’s mind in a spray of colour.
‘Erm—’ began Bells from where she perched near Callum, eyes a stark, worried blue. ‘Howdid she nearly kill that many people? What is she, exactly?’
‘She’s one of theLennán Síde,’ Kyan said. ‘The oldest and most powerful I’ve ever met. An Irish Muse that artists and others waste away near, because they become so obsessed. They go without food and sleep to create around her. It can drive them mad and has killed a fair few.’
‘If she’s so dangerous,’ Bells said, ‘why isn’t she …’
‘Dead?’ asked Callum. ‘Because in the supernatural community, when you’re a type of creature that by its very nature induces madness, mania, or violence in humans, you’re not doing it on purpose and therefore out of malice. Thus, you don’t release a kill hormone or trigger an Empyreal’s transformation. But you can be put on eternal house arrest. Which means it’s the perfect place to hide information.’
‘Wait,’ Nicole said. ‘You’re saying she’s been hidden away since the 1800s?’
Kyan shifted on his feet. ‘She’s in her plush apartments and has everything she could need. But, yes. It’s not something we took lightly. But it was either that, or …’
‘Report her to the Wake and have her locked up in some distasteful padded cell, or worse,’ Callum said.
Nicole took in the tight angle of Kyan’s shoulders. He’d been bending some of the Wake’s rules for years. Had her mother known of the grace he’d given the Muse? Was that one of the reasons she’d chosen to leave a clue with her and had tried to stop Kyan taking the Wake’s second binding oath?
‘What information are you hoping she’ll give you?’ Kyan asked. ‘She doesn’t give it out lightly and everything she says is a riddle. She might not even agree to speak to you unless you give her a gift.’
‘What kind of gift?’ queried her father.
‘That depends on her mood. Rare pearls, silk robes. Often an artist who can come and paint her, but that has to be strictly monitored.’
‘A woman with good taste,’ Verin mused.
Nicole mentally scoured their family’s small collection of art. Anything truly precious had been passed down from her mother and was currently hidden in one of her secret storage facilities. They could stop and get something before they went, but what would be enough to tempt an immortal Muse? They couldn’t give away her mother’s portrait. They still had the semi-burnedDantepainting, but Nicolewas reluctant to part with any art her mother collected, especially if it might still have hidden secrets.
‘I might have something you can offer her,’ Kyan said. ‘We can go to my place and pick it up, but first I’ll need to get the key for her apartment from my contact.’
Kyan had a place? With art inside?
‘You’re coming?’ she asked.
‘Is that wise?’ Dylan cut in. ‘If the Wake know you’re after Nicole, wouldn’t going with us only lead them straight to her?’
The air strung with tension.
‘I’d make sure not to be seen making contact, but could be close enough that, if they’re watching me – which depends on how much they know – it would look like I was doing my job. Hunting her.’
