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She didn’t have long to wait. The faint scent of mage energy clouded her head. She freed her mind. Let her unconscious tease the wheat from the chaff. Was this Doran? Some random Other who’d crossed his path? No, she recognized Doran’s powers. Saw them in her head as a twisting double rope of red and purple, though the breadth and depth of mage energy stunned her.
“Anything?”
She’d put Cam’s impatient presence at her elbow out of her mind. So his brusque words startled her. Opening her eyes, she pointed. “That way.”
They followed the trail on and off for the best part of the day. Losing it for stretches. Backtracking until they caught it again. Cam let her lead, saying little. As if he’d said everything he meant to last night. Or as if he’d said too much.
Thankful he hadn’t brought up their conversation again, she kept her own words to a minimum. It made for an extremely long, awkward afternoon. Too much left unspoken. Too much unresolved.
By the time shadows slid long over the streets, and the sun dropped orange and red behind the church towers and chimneys, her legs ached, her mind felt like mush, and she’d decided Doran’s trail had been all flash and no substance. Too random and yet too pat. As if he knew exactly what she’d do and had led her on like waving a red flag in front of a bull.
She sighed. “He’s gone, Cam.”
He followed her into a nearby chop house, the heat steaming the damp from their clothes. Making her nose run. She turned her mind off to the dyspeptic looks that followed her entrance into this bastion of man. Too tired to care. And perhaps a bit interested to see how Cam would handle her.
He never flinched. Simply followed in her wake. Fell into a chair across from her.
She closed her hands around her coffee. Hated the sick ache of defeat shriveling her insides. “It’s long odds, but there may be someone in London who can help.”
“An Amhas-draoi?”
She laughed. “A librarian.”
That caught him off guard. He lifted a brow in question.
“Lord Delvish. He’s a friend of the family. What he doesn’t know about the old ways isn’t worth knowing. His library is immense. Bigger than my aunt’s and that’s saying something.”
“And he lives in London?”
“On Cheyne Walk. He’s a bit odd, but the sweetest man. I can pay him a visit. See if he has any idea why Doran would flee to London. Any ideas how to track him.”
“You really think he’s going to be able to help?” The skepticism coming through in his voice.
“He’s a link to Neuvarvaan. If we understand the goddess blade, we may be able to predict what Doran will do next. And why.”
“We know why Doran’s hacking his goddamn way through the British Army. Because he’s looking to create his own personal army of Undying.”
“Don’t snap at me. I’m grasping at straws here. He’s using the Morkoth’s dark magics to cloak his powers. And I can’t track what I can’t sense.”
“Then if we can’t find him, we’ll have him find us. I’ll have Rastus pass the information to Doran. We’ll flush him out into the open.”
“And if he doesn’t take the bait?”
Cam’s eyes glittered, a ruthless smile playing over his face. “He’ll take it. He’ll not chance leaving us alive. He’s running because he’s scared, Morgan. Scared of you and me. Fear can make a man do all sorts of things he shouldn’t.” His gaze stabbed right through her, leaving her unsure if he intended a hidden meaning. Was he trying to tell her he had regretted revealing so much to her last night? That he didn’t mean it? She couldn’t tell. Wished she had the true Fey’s ability of mind-reading.
His eyes flickered over her, flat and cold, every emotion hidden from view.
Mayhap it was just as well she couldn’t read minds. Some things were best left unknown.
The charred front door was their first clue. The gray-faced butler who reluctantly opened the door to them their second hint that things were far from right at the home of Lord Delvish.
“His Lordship is not at home to visitors.”
Morgan, being Morgan, didn’t take that as a no. Instead she oozed her way inside using three parts female flattery. One part brute Amhas-draoi force. The poor fellow didn’t stand a chance in hell.
Once they were inside, it was more than obvious something very bad had occurred.
As if a bomb had gone off, furniture stood askew or toppled. Books lay on the floor. Glass smashed underfoot. A rug sat curled in a corner, the dark stain seeped through to the backing an indication of why.
